"I Am...." by Maxine Mintz, Age 10 (T1 x 3 yrs) I am loving and strong
I wonder how many creations there are in the world
I hear the heater go off in the classroom
I see people everywhere
I want world peace
I am loving and strong.
I pretend to be an animal I feel like I'm loved by my family
I touch ice cream and candy
I worry about family and death
I cry when I feel sad and broken.
I understand why people get mad I say that things will get better
I dream about a clean world
I try to be my best
I hope I'll be safe
I am loving and strong.
I live with a gun to my head The barrel digs into my temple.
I follow orders
I pull on the plunger, draw out the clear liquid
that smells like band aids, and pierce my skin.
I’d rather shoot myself than die.
For years they prayed for the day,
the day they could stop
bleeding him for blood sugars.
staring at his food,
counting the carbohydrates,
insulin on board...
They wished they could forget it all, all of the knowledge and lore,
the glycemic index,
... as if it weren't all complicated.
They wanted to stop worrying about the impact of joyful play
on blood sugar balance.
So they wished for the day, the day they could get rid of it all...
boxes of test strips,
the sharp things, needles, lancets, syringes,
the technological marvels...
meters, pumps, sensors,
the tools of replacing beta cells
the way the body is supposed to work,
would all finally be stacked up in a big pile,
packed up to be sent away.
They wished and prayed the day would come, But diabetes left in the night,
And with it took their son.
How little did I know, This was a blessing in disguise.
My sugars could go low,
But I had mostly highs.
It came out of nowhere,
When I was only nine.
Fifteen years later,
I am doing just fine.
There are obstacles to face,
No matter what your race.
Just remember to always place
A smile on your face.
Check your glucose,
As I check mine.
And take your insulin,
So you can live a long time.
It’s a tough thing to do,
Believe me – I know.
But, we all have an angel,
That guides us to and fro.
The road stretches straight ahead Miles and miles, off into the darkness
and yet it seems so oddly familiar
like an endless loop
for I am no hero,& I have been here before
drop-by-drop,counting the gallons lost
hole-by-hole, playing Connect-the-Dots with the scars
Diabetes: 5000 Me:0
seeking to lessen the damage
in this Diabeti-Marathon
I run to live
and my prize is being alive
for in this race,there is more taking then giving
every other complication under the sun
Am I doing this right?
no one can tell
Although confirming my failures is easily done
and yet I think at least I'm doing well
and good for many more rounds around the track
but the monotony is stifling
and I am tired to my core
day in,day out
days to weeks to months to years to decades
it never ends
Can a human being live this way?
I want to believe in a cure
but the passage of time
jades the most enthusiastic of people
so I settle for survival
and I wait for the sun to come up
the diet coke to kick in
And then I see that I am not alone
You are not alone
We are not alone.
We run together.
I woke up today to a bright, shining day
my number was good, a 79
and off a meet up where others i hoped to greet
the smile on my face soon turned
when for coffee 'twas just me and my mother
with numbers still good, a 107 before lunch off to the next stop we went
and talked and talked a bunch
laughing too along the way and it was a day well spent
but home again, tired and irritable moody and snappy on the phone
a 57 out of the blue and suddenly i was alone
what if i messed things up, because i went too low?
quickly downing dextrose tabs and ginger ale
sending "i'm sorry" via email
went downstairs to eat real food once i was back at 82
texting "i'm sorry, check your email"
and wondering "what did i do"
why does so much matter on a silly number a snapshot into time
that five second photograph
can mean be one's life on the line
and living life with diabetes
you don't ever get a vacation
a full time job that no one wants
you can never start, pause, or quit.
insulin is better than no cure at all
but it certainly a cure it isn't
like holding your islet cells
together with tape, staples, and glue...
and waiting to see which one is best for you.
pump, regular, Lantus, NPH, Log, Lente, Ultralente,
can i get a cgm?
dr. is it up to you?
yes, living with d is a full time job, and it's learning a new language too.
i'll do it if it means
living a longer life
seeing one more day
looking outside at the garden, the flowers the sunshine
the warm summertime
one more season
one more year
i'll do it for you
with courage, with fear
you'd do it for me
(you say you can't, but i know you can)
when will it end,
injections no more,
the lancets and ketone strips, glucometers
things of the past
a dream, a dream
a very good dream
no carb counts
no bolusing per cupcake
not to treat a low
or holding off because of a high high
no strange looks
when you say "i'm high"
or "i shot up"
or other dThings
that only ds get
is this a dream?
sorry, not a dream
just a day
in the life
of a 24year old
In the hospital again a young lady with an infection
and oh yeah,
type 1 diabetes
Each time that the nurse would come in to her room
to check blood glucose levels
the young woman would quietly lay her hand
over the side rail of the bed
as the nurse would demand
"which finger this time, dear?"
the young woman would answer, in the same forlorn way:
"they are all abused. each and every one, from testing and testing, sometimes 15 times a day. go ahead, prick whichever one you'd like."
after the number was determined, 30 seconds later, the young woman would enter the blood glucose reading into her pump and move forward, either with medications, or eating a meal, or going to physical therapy or to bed. occasionally, there was the 3 a.m. blood glucose check, for which the young woman never even woke up.
at those her mom quietly entered the reading into her pump.
and hoped that a cure would come soon for her sweet, young girl.
US Hispanics are often portrayed in the press as a single, monolithic group. But anyone who has spent any time in San Francisco’s Mission District or the Bronx can tell you, we’re not all the same. Now we’re finding out Read on! →
Traducido por Mila Ferrer. A menudo los Hispanos en Estados Unidos son retratados en la prensa como un solo grupo, monolítico. Pero cualquiera que haya pasado algún tiempo en el Mission District de San Francisco o el Bronx se Read on! →