Pedicures - in my mind - are the perfect, inexpensive way to relax. A good leg/ foot massage takes me away to a place where chocolate trees grow beside a stream of perfectly brewed coffee. Choosing a polish is the icing on the cake. Pedicures make me happy.
The weather in Atlanta has been phenomenal, especially for March. The sun is out and many of the trees in my yard are blooming. Although it's not exactly time for sandals, I decided to spend my "me time" getting a pedicure with a dear friend.
While pedicures make me happy, the procedure is not without stress. Type II diabetics must be extra careful with their feet. Our feet are sensitive to injury and bacteria could cause a variety of problems. My uncle has lost both of his feet to infected wounds. His loss is partially due to uncontrolled diabetes, but that's a different story for another day. I indulge, but with caution. Use a salon I trust, take my own tools, have the bowl cleaned and sterilized in front of me and put tea tree oil in the water.
My friend watched in awe of the lengths I took to prepare for my pedicure.She remarked although she knew how diabetes affected my health, she never considered how something so routine required so much thought. Ironically, I can't remember pedicures before my diagnosis. The end result is the same...beautiful feet.
So, I ask you. How has a diabetes or any other health condition forced you to re-examine your simple pleasures? Did those changes become routine for you?
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentine's Day with a Little Sweetness
Valentine's Day is more than just a commercial holiday for me. The day brings back fond memories of exchanging cards with friends and most importantly, my Mom. My father died when I was an infant. Mom worked hard to make sure every holiday was special.
She would wake me up with a big, red paper heart every Valentine's Day. The center was always stuffed with various treats. Candied hearts, truffles, Hershey's kisses and miniature toys were stashed in my own special treasure chest. As I grew older, the toys were replaced with notes and plans to spend some time together. Oh, but the candy was always there.
February 2010 was my first Valentine's Day as a Type II diabetic. For 34 years, Valentine's Day meant indulging in deliciously, sweet things. Now my focus had changed to maintaining healthy blood glucose levels. And, I was pregnant. My raging hormones wanted truffles more than anything in the world. As much as I hated insulin shots, I would've traded a prick for a fix. Yep, I said a fix.
My poor husband scoured the grocery store for sugar-free sweets. He bought everything from coffee-flavored hard candy to peppermint. Nothing satisfied me. I called my Mom, crying about how much I hated being diabetic. The disease, I told her, threatened to take the joy out of my life. And yes, eating chocolate was just that important to me.
She listened, waited for my tantrum to end and said, "Honey, stop crying, have a truffle and eat some protein." Yep, it was just that easy. I sent my hubby back to the store for truffles. He opened the pack. I took one and place it on my plate next to my chicken and vegetables. He devoured the other two, while I savored every bite.
Just like that, I learned diabetes is not about denial but learning to live with a little sweetness.
She would wake me up with a big, red paper heart every Valentine's Day. The center was always stuffed with various treats. Candied hearts, truffles, Hershey's kisses and miniature toys were stashed in my own special treasure chest. As I grew older, the toys were replaced with notes and plans to spend some time together. Oh, but the candy was always there.
February 2010 was my first Valentine's Day as a Type II diabetic. For 34 years, Valentine's Day meant indulging in deliciously, sweet things. Now my focus had changed to maintaining healthy blood glucose levels. And, I was pregnant. My raging hormones wanted truffles more than anything in the world. As much as I hated insulin shots, I would've traded a prick for a fix. Yep, I said a fix.
My poor husband scoured the grocery store for sugar-free sweets. He bought everything from coffee-flavored hard candy to peppermint. Nothing satisfied me. I called my Mom, crying about how much I hated being diabetic. The disease, I told her, threatened to take the joy out of my life. And yes, eating chocolate was just that important to me.
She listened, waited for my tantrum to end and said, "Honey, stop crying, have a truffle and eat some protein." Yep, it was just that easy. I sent my hubby back to the store for truffles. He opened the pack. I took one and place it on my plate next to my chicken and vegetables. He devoured the other two, while I savored every bite.
Just like that, I learned diabetes is not about denial but learning to live with a little sweetness.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Is it Better Not to Know?
Pregnancy as a type II diabetic filled my calendar with appointments. I had a team of doctors - including an obstetrician, a perinatologist to monitor Bella's development and an endocrinologist to track my blood glucose levels and A1C numbers. The consensus was to schedule an induction at 39 weeks to ensure Bella did not gain a ton of weight in those last few weeks.
Researching the process did little to ease my mind. The facts about inductions were very scary. Inductions, as it turns out, are evil or lifesavers. Either the pitocin would fail or produce pains so severe my body would almost split in half. Eight hours into the first induction attempt, I'd felt a couple of cramps and nothing else.
The second time around I went into labor. Bella was born on July 1, 2010 via cesarean.
This is where things get sticky. I knew a c-section was major abdominal surgery. I expected a longer recovery time. No one told me after my glorious epidural was removed that the nurses would kick me out of bed and force me to walk, the hospital toilet would be 6 inches from the ground and my favorite phrase would become, "I'd like my meds now please."
Seven months later my incision itches, the scar is quite noticeable and my tummy is almost back to its original state. Getting pregnant was the easy part. Thinking back on my pregnancy journey and the dozens of books I read, very few pages were devoted to labor, delivery and recovery. I asked my Mom, friends and a few surprised strangers why women don't share the birth horror stories. The replies have ranged from "you wouldn't believe it" to "it's best not to scare a soon-to-be mother."
I disagree. What do you think? Is it really better not to know?
Researching the process did little to ease my mind. The facts about inductions were very scary. Inductions, as it turns out, are evil or lifesavers. Either the pitocin would fail or produce pains so severe my body would almost split in half. Eight hours into the first induction attempt, I'd felt a couple of cramps and nothing else.
The second time around I went into labor. Bella was born on July 1, 2010 via cesarean.
This is where things get sticky. I knew a c-section was major abdominal surgery. I expected a longer recovery time. No one told me after my glorious epidural was removed that the nurses would kick me out of bed and force me to walk, the hospital toilet would be 6 inches from the ground and my favorite phrase would become, "I'd like my meds now please."
Seven months later my incision itches, the scar is quite noticeable and my tummy is almost back to its original state. Getting pregnant was the easy part. Thinking back on my pregnancy journey and the dozens of books I read, very few pages were devoted to labor, delivery and recovery. I asked my Mom, friends and a few surprised strangers why women don't share the birth horror stories. The replies have ranged from "you wouldn't believe it" to "it's best not to scare a soon-to-be mother."
I disagree. What do you think? Is it really better not to know?
My Sweetness
Every night, I climb into bed with my dear husband, seven month old daughter and my beloved laptop. This is when I read emails, share jokes with my hubby, shop for Bella and most importantly, read my favorite blogs.
About a month ago, my husband watched as I read my umpteenth blog for the night, turned to me and said, "You could do that." Startled, I asked what he meant and he said, "You could have a blog. You have lots to say." So, here I am.
Oh, but what do I have to say? Better yet, what would I call it? After tossing around a few ideas, hubby threw out the perfect name ... Mommy's Sweetness.
In 2009, I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes. It was also the same year I married my Prince Charming and conceived Bella. Mommy's Sweetness is not just about my struggle with Type II diabetes. It's about embracing the sweetness of life while walking the tight-rope of diabetes...
...and making sure I'm here to enjoy the goodness that God has given me.
About a month ago, my husband watched as I read my umpteenth blog for the night, turned to me and said, "You could do that." Startled, I asked what he meant and he said, "You could have a blog. You have lots to say." So, here I am.
Oh, but what do I have to say? Better yet, what would I call it? After tossing around a few ideas, hubby threw out the perfect name ... Mommy's Sweetness.
In 2009, I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes. It was also the same year I married my Prince Charming and conceived Bella. Mommy's Sweetness is not just about my struggle with Type II diabetes. It's about embracing the sweetness of life while walking the tight-rope of diabetes...
...and making sure I'm here to enjoy the goodness that God has given me.
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