The Big D

Once a certain death
Diabetes is now
something a person can live with.

Once a certain death
of a boy I read about
reminded me
Diabetes isn't something a person can ignore
and live with.

Once a certain death
standing in the darkness by the bed
as I came sweating and trembling to awareness
reminded me my death
is something I live with.

the cost

daily, i take
shots and pills
so that
my imperfect body
can do what
others do naturally
lower this
raise that
playing God
in small doses
cursing one day
thankful the next
owing my life
to little bottles
with miracles inside
in awe of the mysteries
of modern day science
indebted to man made
chemical concoctions
that keep me alive
but wondering
at the price
to be paid
am i somehow
different than
i was before
less of me
more of them
evening out
my highs and lows
lessened the stress
on my body
but did it
stifle the muse
words come slower
these days
i miss the rush
of the frenzied flight
from one emotion
to the next
the dances with inspiration
seem fewer
and i’m tempted to
forget the pills
and endless shots
to rediscover the muse
but is it worth
the final cost
if i must
pay with my life

Blue Candlelight

I light a blue candle as I shed a tear,

The sorrow I feel surrounded by fear.

Why did this happen? Why once again

must I light a blue candle to signify end?

So many promises of hope and a cure,

So hard to see clearly what a candle can obscure.

Where is the hope I had the day before last?

When the blue candle is lit, hope is something in the past.

I see the blue candles and cry even more,

For parents, for friends, for all who adore.

I cry for those who are next on the list,

I wonder if I’ll be the one missed.

When the family is together it feels so safe,

Like nothing dark and evil can enter this place,

In flesh or in spirit our souls stand their ground.

‘til I see those candles. And my world breaks down.

I light a blue candle as I send up a prayer,

My heart aches, my eyes sting, I cry, “it’s not fair!”

Anger is silenced while my sorrow lingers,

“Protect those with tiny black spots on their fingers.”

Just Float

Someday, when the angry waters stops rising and the Tides of Trouble circle back to focus in on real problems.
We will let our own faults, gasp for their last breath while they drown out to sea.

For pleasant, calm warm water is left in their place.
There is a comfortable waterline with no fear of deepness.
There are shallow puddles to splash in, your smiles to reflect in,and joy to seep in, everywhere around you is true.

Make yourself a moment.
Having no control of such a Life filled Beast is what scares everyone.
Being in control? or losing it? is a struggle for one's Life either way.
For Life, with no room for error is no life.

There is truly nothing like being consumed from all sides with Love.
Your possibilities are endless; your decisions are made for you,
You can finally freeze time and unknowingly enjoy one's true self.

It's that unexplainable frame of mind, that Water and Love both share.
You can either drown yourself in happiness or drown trying to be happy.
You're always going to be too deep or too shallow when you try too hard.

So welcome Love to take guide of your ship.
You'll peacefully float, slowly and sure.
Just don't forget about the Troubled Tides that stir.

10, 9, 8 …………..The Countdown Begins
By: Juan Carlos Vazquez
Every day is a ritual
10, 9, 8………the countdown begins
What can I eat today?
7, 6, 5 ……. Will it be high or will it be low?
4, 3 , 2 ……..I feel like a video game
What target will I have to hit……..
What adventure am I going to have to play today?
Is it the Galaxy of Needles?
Or Will I have to go with the flow of the Animas Pump Universe?
1, 0 ……. 95 score perfect!!

Ravage

Normal blood sugars are seventy to one-forty.
His reach forty and four hundred.
His average is “acceptable” and we celebrate.
But the reality is, his body is strained.
His nervous system, vision and heart are always challenged.
Seizure, coma and even death are real risks every single day.

He is a human pincushion.
Forced to bleed ten or more times daily.
He wears his pancreas on the outside.
He must tell it what to do all day long. Even when he sleeps.
He must visit the school nurse throughout the day to deliver insulin and check his sugar levels.
He must leave class when he doesn’t feel right.
He must measure every single thing he eats.

With all this effort, it still ravages.

He is low.
He feels “out of it” and “wobbly”.
I feel guilt and like a failure.
He is high.
He feels “woozy” and “foggy”.
I feel irritable and anxious. I failed again.

We wait.
For the sugar to work.
For the insulin to work.
Every day. Throughout the day.
We wait.

It ravages us both.

His eyes, his kidneys, his legs, his heart.
Night after night, I check his blood sugar while he sleeps.
I worry.
I wake with a number in my head - his last blood sugar.
Midnight. Three AM. Six AM.
It never leaves me.
It takes my spirit.
It makes me age.

He gets on the bus.
I worry.
It’s time to check his blood sugar with the school nurse.
I worry, with the phone in my hand.
It’s snack time.
I worry.
It’s time to get back on the bus.
Still worried. Still have the phone.

The worry ravages.

We put on smiles. Brave faces.
No use dwelling on the negative.
There is much to be thankful for.
He eats birthday cake; celebrates Halloween.
He is smart.
He is growing.
He is happy.
He is kind.
He is strong.

But it still ravages. His body and my mind.

I am thankful.
I am also greedy.
I want more.
Better technology.
More freedom.
A cure.

I want the ravaging to stop.

Diabetic Dreams

I awoke from an odd dream last night-
In a barren room sat upright a baby girl, crying.
She cried and cried and cried.
And then she drew up in her pudgy hand a stick,
And with a prick drew blood
And placed it onto an electronic tongue.

I wasn’t worried;
I knew what this was about.

72. She bawled,
Removed the strip,
Tested again.

Click! Prick! Slurp!

72. And so she bawled,
Removed the strip,
And tested again.

Click! Prick! Slurp!

72. She wailed.
“She won’t accept it,
Wishes for it to change”
I thought. Suddenly a maternal face appeared,
Loomed over her, extending arms.
Then I awoke.

Dilute. Fuzzy. A bit like someone had walloped me a good one.
Damn. My turn.

Click! Prick! Slurp!

62.

Kill count:
1.Clementine, ravaged, unyielding exterior mashed in mouth’s haste.
2.Granola bar, decimated, burial crumbs line the sticky floor (see #1)
3.Fudge: quarter of a piece. Admirable restraint shown. Much better.

So I sigh, and think that
I’ve got to work on setting better temporary basils.

I dream funny dreams. Sometime I am eating in a kitchen
And I can’t stop. I’m full and my stomach aches. But I keep eating.
And eating.
And eating.
My mouth needs the food, vacuums it in, unstoppable, devouring,
Helpless.

Sometimes I awake and make the most disgusting culinary creations.
I remember once it was supposed to be
An ice-cream-chocolate-brownie sundae,
With the chocolate and brownies to be warmed and placed on top-
But I was confused and microwaved the ice-cream too.
Sludge! Horrible, glorious sludge! But I
Still, willingly, greedily engorged the slime in my salivating maw.

Sometimes when I dream it’s just me and my bloodstained tester.
I know what that means- I’m either high or low, no question about it.
I wish it was just a nightmare
But it unfairly sneaks into the waking moments of my world.
And after a bad night;
A 3AM pump fail, 450 floating nauseatingly above the world,
More sugar in my blood than in my four family members combined;
An uncontrolled low followed by the unrestrained response,
Just waiting for the rebound and sickening consequence;
I look at my haggard self in the mirror and say:
All it takes is a few touches:

Act. Bolus. Use Bolus Wizard. Sugar whatever. Oh, only 300 grams of carbs.

You say 37.5 units? Of course!
Lie down somewhere,
Wait.

A funny way to die.
What could have saved, killed.
A hundred years ago, I’d have been dead anyway.

But I glare at myself and look into my tired eyes and smile
And go back to sleep
And hope tomorrow will be better.

Forever Blue
By Carrie Sumner

Some days I am only gray
Some days I’m seeing red
Some days I’m green with envy
But with you, I am forever blue.
A child bride was I
Forced into an unholy matrimony
You were my first codependency
An immediate departure from normality
A swift slap of reality,
And my first taste of mortality,
My forever blue.
When someone asks me, “how are you today?”
I’ll never answer, “Today I’m just surviving on borrowed time
From a needle and a vial”,
I’ll smile and say “Fine”.
Because you were my first acting coach,
My forever blue.
“Fine” is a lie, no one really knows,
How you threaten me.
No one knows all the variables
You try to control.
No one knows the daily pain
You course through my veins
My forever blue.
But…
You were also my first determination to keep a journal every night
One of those many monsters
I will always have to fight.
You were the first inspiration
For my very first verse
At the tender age of ten
You were a blessing and a curse.
And if forever you must be
A damaged, but integral part of me,
Then as the warrior I am,
This is my declaration
This is my affirmation
You will not define me
You will not defeat me
You will not break me
You will not make me,
And you will not take me
Mark my words today,
I will outlast you.
Because the truth is,
I don’t have to be
Forever blue.

Dream Reactions

My dreams are wild and vivid.
My dreams tell stories of pursuits,fears;
Decision-makers for present and future state,
Reintroducing the past—unraveling mysteries.
Sometimes there are no answers;
Just quirky dreams or dream-reactions
Caused by an insulin reaction,
A condition that I wish was only a dream.

A deceased loved one appearing jovial: a net of safety.

3 visions in 3D, black and white, rouge, azure, shocking pink.

Colorful as Crayola Crayons, primaries in a box of Trix,

I vision neon. I’m tripping’ on my trips, profound and esoteric,

for me the drum beats. Only I write my lyrics, melodies.

Illusions in chapters, chuckles during sleep,

As I continued dream from chapter 1 of last week.

I

Under a bridge, dressed in floral lingerie,

Mother and I pranced over broken glass

in the street. Drizzling, raining, pouring buckets

of squealing cats, barking dogs;

she and I danced without cutting our feet.

II

Vision transformed Chapter 2 another scene.

Frantic heart beats at the sight of a rat.

“It’s okay. Pet it. Pick it up,”

commanded the voice mildly.

I Paralyzed, hands clenched by sides.

Wedged between stove and sink, a craft:

stuffed, hand-stitched fabric of felt.

Nightmare became dream. A Rodent:

Symbol of situation unresolved.

It is time to stand in charge.

III

Stay focused, 3rd Chapter and last.

A friend’s hand I pulled

as we whipped through a maze.

Boyfriend followed shouting,

“I HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL YOU.”

This was a chase with craze.

A liar, a bad dresser sporting

Croatian-inspired Farrakhan bow-tie,

Kaddafi battle wear

Conflicted escalated,

he picked up pace midair.

“DON’T LOOK BACK OR LISTEN TO HIM,”

Defending a friend, to my chagrin

her heart he did win.

Torment became truth:

boyfriend’s 100 G’s

lured greed to wed sin.

Sorry it’s her, glad it’s not me.

For mother reminds,

“Step lightly my dear,

And for you, the dream beats.”

NATURALLY SWEET

Too much sugar coursing through my veins
As a result a Type 2 diabetic I became
The symptoms I knew was sure and true
Excessive thirst with a blurry vision
Oh how I wished to reverse this condition
Now I'm on the ultimate fight
To lower my sugar and to constantly eat right
A true blue quest of pricking my finger
Taking daily meds x's2 to help out my pancreas
that doesn't know what to do
Naturally sweet yes that's me
but I'll overcome this challenge
just you wait and see
I accept this trial as God's permitted will
To be a testimony of emcouragement to others in this plight
Together we will stand strong against this diabetic fight
So, don't be discouraged or even dismayed
This ailment is controllable at any given age
Do support this cause and stay informed
because the life that's saved could be your own.

Still

No one ever quite comprehends.
Maybe they don’t want to.
On the outside I look fine, normal even.
The times that my disease does manifest,
to the healthy ones it remains incomprehensible
that my life is so marked,
so caged by the numbing routines.

It’s easier for most not to think
about the complications that await
or the daily reminders I face
that make me feel as though I were
born in the wrong body.

Meaning well
I am offered a sympathetic look
and the ever-infuriating phrase:
“I hope you get better soon.”

I’ll still be diabetic.

My Life Has Become a Detail
(Diabetes, Death and Dreams) by: Michelle Kreiner

My life has become a detail,
minute as a number,
thin as valley mist,
dull as a needle,
vague as a dream.
A dream of death…

She is a baby
I still lift up,
dark brown pigtails
on each side
of her chubby face.
I am crying,
she will not
become her present age
and I know
I will die.
It is just a detail:
my passing.

Details.
Small infinite pieces
that make up the end.

What can be done?
Dreams sometimes come true,
dull needles always hurt,
mist often conceals
and numbers never add up?

The only true equation:
Details equal death.

The Carnival by Aliza Chana

A Carnival ... Filled with the most amazing rides
the tilt-a-whirl that spins round and round, faster and faster
then!
Just when you get used to the spinning flying swirling motion the ride s l o w s d o w n to a STOP.
and the arms of the ride start flailing again
faster, faster, round and round
until everything around is just a dizzy tizzy blur
Life when one has "d" and has those days, living
in a tilt-a-whirl
a dizzy tizzy blur between high and low.
The tilt-a-whirl starts slowing down
the arms flailing slower a n d
s l o w e r. STOP!
Walking off the the tilt-a-whirl,
fuzzy unstable ground
Is it just the tilt-a-whirl
or am I high right now,
or perhaps I'm low?
Pulling out my meter on the carnival walkway
find a safe place to test
clean my hands
prick my finger, blood on the strip, and wait
5 seconds seems like an eternity
have my results,
No, I'm just fine, 128!
So I can keep going
off to the next
ride in the Diabetes inspired
carnival
where the roller-coasters
were built based on the CGMS graphs
of so many people with diabetes
which makes for some amazing hills
and very steep drops down
Just trying to integrate the regular day to day diabetes life
with an amazing exciting dream
where the roller-coasters follow CGMS,
the tilt-a-whirls follow the angles of some of the graphs as well.
A Diabetes friendly carnival, from the rides to the food, to the people filling the carnival.
A girl can always dream, right?

Trust me

You tell me you understand.
you won't
trust me
you don't.
If you did, then why must you look away squeamishly?
staying alive offends.
mimicking nature.

You tell me you know how I feel.
you don't
trust me
you don't.
you don't know what its like to not be believed.
grounded from drinking
from water.

You tell me you can relate.
you can't
trust me
you can't.
The same way I can never relate to you.
1000 different afflictions.
same name.

You tell me I can relax.
I won't
trust me
I won't
I'll always have to stay vigilant.
only one given.
no retakes.

you won't
you don't
you can't

I won't
trust me
I won't.

Blue Ring Haiku

My agate ring, blue
as a hidden mountain lake,
symbolizes hope.

Yeah, I'm Talking To You
I am not a number
Nor a statistic
I won't be labeled
This disease is not me
My sickness will not call the shots
I will reach my dreams, whatever they may be
I will eat healthy, because I say so
You, Diabetes, you will not be in charge
I will have beautiful, healthy children
I will watch them grow
One day, I will play with my grandchildren
Reading is one of my passions
So I plan to keep my eyesight, thank you so very much
I like to run, jump, dance
Just so you know, Diabetes
So I plan to keep my legs and feet too
This heart I have, won't be corrupted by you either
You already took my pancreas
You should be happy with that
But if that's not enough...
You get my blood multiple times a day
I've jabbed myself with more needles than I can count
And have an endless amount more to come
Someday I'm afraid I'll start to leak
Seen more doctors, nurses, diabetic educators, dietitians and labs
I couldn't possibly remember them all
That's it
That's all you'll get from me, only what I have to give
The rest, well, the rest I plan to keep
Diabetes, you are not me
I can't get rid of you, but you won't be my master either
I will be happy
I will survive
While patiently waiting
Until the day comes
Hopefully one not too far away
A cure for your wretchedness will be found
On that day, oh Diabetes, to you I will say "Bye-Bye" and be on my way

Oh, Dear Diabetes,
Where do you live?

You live in the countless bottles of countless pills
with counted minutes and counted doses.

You live in my fingertips pricked and bruised
pulsing with numbers, predicting the hours to come.

You live on the pages of my journal, the ink a map
scratched out by purpose, making legend my trials.

You live in my life as predator’s eyes,
eyes devouring, my hands denying that wished for taste.

You live in each lost footfall, the struggle recognized
my step numb, my pain felt, my resolve unbroken

You live, ingrained in my day.
imbedded, inherent, intense.

You live on my path, on the road I travel
I chose to follow the signs and I chose life

You live in my every choice.
You live in my every dream.
You live in my every thought.

You are like the first cup of coffee in the morning
– my life doesn’t continue without
You are like the pattern on a zebra’s back
– expected but unpredictable
You are like a tattoo
– not my skin, but undeniably there
You are like a rose
– the beauty of life that is a lie if we don’t see the thorns
You are the uncommon portrait
– it is different but it hangs on my wall every day

Class

Billy was a kindhearted kid
Who always tried his very best,
But sometimes he’d just feel stupid,
And then he’d have to do that test:

Out would come his grimy meter,
Out would come his vivid blood,
As his child’s hands quaked and teetered,
Praying for any number good.

But instead the meter beeped back
That his sugar was fifty-four,
Alas! Poor Billy grabbed his snack,
While teacher still wrote at the board.

Surreptitiously as he could,
Crinkling open the plastic wrap,
He hoped that no one would
Notice the food resting upon his lap.

Alas that the class fell at that time!
Alas that they hadn’t had lunch!
For his classmates saw his sweet crime,
And they too wanted something to munch.

“Mrs. Pierce! Billy’s at it again!”
Shrilled the voice of a hungry girl,
Who didn’t know of Billy’s pain,
Or his brain’s tumultuous whirls.

Her accusation brought a blush,
To his already sweaty cheeks,
As he continued to discretely chew
On his hated stash of sweets.

“Billy! Out! That’s not allowed!”
Cried the teacher with a harsh glare.
So Billy, shaking and thoroughly cowed,
Hastily slid from his classroom chair.

He miserably sat down outside,
Sick to his stomach but still craving food,
He ate and ate and he cried and cried,
Wondering why, when he’d been so good?