I felt like I was viewing the experience from just outside my body. I was still shaking and shivering from the anesthesia. I was nervous about holding her, because I didn’t feel stable.

Some of these feelings were driven from a sooner-than-expected delivery and shock of being a new parent. The other part, I now know, was due to postpartum hemorrhaging…which we hadn’t yet discovered.

…So where does this story start?

It was the Friday morning before Christmas. I was driving to work with my decaf coffee and sporting my maternity bootcut jeans (the only pants that I could fit my swelling feet and legs into…) The skies were cloudy and traffic was light. It was a great morning. I paused the music to call my maternal fetal care doctor. (Over hands-free Bluetooth, of course.)

At my appointment the previous morning, my doctor was concerned about my elevated blood pressure in combination my lower body swelling and rapid weight gain. All symptoms of preeclampsia. My blood work had been coming in normal, so the doctor requested that I call in my blood pressure if it reached a certain limit. I barely slipped under it that morning, so I decided to call in just to be safe.

The outcome: Drive straight to the labor and delivery unit.

My response: “Wait. What!? …….. What does that mean? Is baby coming!?”

The nurse: “Maybe. We want to be cautious.”

We had waited for this moment for years. Actively seeking options to overcome fertility issues, and we got pregnant through in vitro fertilization. (read about how I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes during IVF.) And now it was finally time. Baby could be on her way.

I called my husband, and that’s when my tears came. Surprise. Joy. Fear. He was just as flabbergasted as I was. He jumped in the car and drove to the hospital.

That Friday was spent on a lumpy hospital bed while machines monitored my blood pressure and baby’s heart rate. A few hours in, the doctors decided to schedule me for a c-section the following morning at 7:15 am. (Four weeks before baby’s due date and two weeks before the previously scheduled c-section).

Holy cow. When I was driving to work that morning, it never crossed my mind that the next time I returned home it would be with a baby in my arms–instead of my uterus.

We texted our close family and friends this photo and gave them our exciting news.

Jordan left the hospital to grab us lunch, pack the hospital bag, and arrange for his parents to pick up our dog from the house. That night was originally planned to be our family pajamas and tamales night, so my mom, sister, and soon-to-be brother in law brought the party to us in my hospital room.

Jordan and I didn’t sleep much that night. Beeping machines. Lumpy beds. Parenthood in the morning!? But alas, 6 a.m. still showed up.

As the nurses came in to prep me or surgery (IVs, special soap, medications), I remember how surreal this all felt. I nervously went through the actions and watched Jordan get dressed in his hazmat suit. My blood sugar was stable in the low 100’s, and I passed off my insulin pump for Jordan to monitor during the surgery. (I insisted on wearing my pump and managing my own sugars–instead of getting an insulin drip.) All prepped, we walked down the hall to the operating room.

The surgery itself was relatively easy. I was more nervous with anticipation than anything else. I remember the sound and smell of burnt skin as they made the cut (yuck), the pressure of the doctor pushing baby out of the incision, and me holding my breath until I could hear her cry.

They brought her around the curtain for a brief moment of introduction.

Vivian Mae Nelson came into the world at 8:09 am at 6 lbs 12 oz and 19.5 inches long.

Recovery is where my struggle started.

Coming off anesthesia was a beast. I shivered so much that I was convulsing. My teeth chattered so intensely that I couldn’t speak. Nurses placed piles of blankets on me and even ran a tube of heat under the covers.

When my maternal fetal care doctor called to adjust my insulin pump settings, I couldn’t hold the phone or have a conversation with her. They paged my husband out of the nursery to come help adjust my insulin pump settings to pre-preganany range…now that I only needed insulin for one person again.

Nurses told me that the shaking would only last 30 minutes…it lasted more than 4 hours. I desperately wanted out of recovery so that I could hold my baby girl.

Hours later, they finally wheeled me up to a postpartum room, and minutes later, they wheeled in my baby girl. Unfortunately, her time in our room didn’t last long. And it would be days until I could see her again.

My temperature was reading 103.8 F, so they took Vivi to the NICU for monitoring. Back in my room, nurses started tests to figure out why my temperature was so high. They took multiple blood samples, throat cultures, and x-rays looking for signs of flu or strep. The testing lasted all afternoon.

There was one nurse, Ashley, who was a godsend. She had been watching my blood loss and became increasingly concerned. She was changing my pad every 30 minutes because it was soaked through. At one point in the afternoon she was so frustrated because the doctor wouldn’t come check on me…so she rummaged through the bathroom garbage to find and weigh all of the used pads to quantify my blood loss.

It worked. The doctor came to check on me…and decided that I needed to go into emergency surgery to stop the bleeding. Nurses wheeled me out of the room and down the elevator to an operating room.

During surgery prep, I asked the doctor how this surgery (and the day away from baby) would impact my ability to breastfeed. His response: I shouldn’t be worrying about that right now. His major concern was making sure that I didn’t lose my uterus…seriously!? It was that bad?

When the doctor asked whether Jordan or I had any more questions, Jordan replied, “If it’s that serious, why in the hell are you talking to us? Go into surgery.”

At this point, they knocked me out with anesthesia.

I woke up hours later in another hospital bed with two IVs (one for drugs and one for the blood transfusion), bakeri balloon in my uterus (used as a temporary stop to a postpartum hemorrhage…apparently the leading cause of maternal deaths…), and a lovely catheter.

The next few days were brutal. I was stuck in a painful recovery, and I wasn’t allowed to see my baby. (Not only because of my high temperature…but I also couldn’t get out of bed to go to the NICU).

Vivi was doing well in the NICU. At 36 weeks, she was on and off a feeding tube as she practiced her coordination to suck and swallow for eating.  Her platelets were low, and they were also monitoring her blood sugars before and after meals because of my Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis.

Jordan was in the NICU every chance he got to help Vivi practice feeding from a bottle. Since my recovery would take a few days, the goal was to get her to graduate the NICU and come to my room. While Jordan was in the NICU, we would video conference (Thanks, Duo!) so that I could see baby. It was heartbreaking to see Jordan and my family with baby…when I couldn’t be there. It was an emotional few days.

On Christmas morning Jordan surprised me: They wheeled Vivi Mae into my room. It was the best present that I’ve ever received. To get to hold my baby girl three days after being separated. There was a moment with my baby, me, and my amazingly resilient husband. Happy tears.

…throwing in a photo of Jordan and Vivi in their Christmas PJs.

P.S. This is how Vivi felt about the NICU…

We both spent a couple more days in the hospital for monitoring, and we were released to go home six days after the initial c-section. More happy tears.

This past week Vivi turned one month old. (Does time as a parent always go this fast!?)

Jordan and I are loving our time at home with her. Lots of snuggles, reading, and family time.

And things aren’t perfect: Our schedules are non-existent (breakfast at noon?). We’re taking less showers than we’d like and hardly leaving the house (baby during flu season!?). My breastmilk production is super low (…oh, my mental battles. I know how silly this looks typed out, but every time we feed her formula, the mom guilt is real. I have to remember that my boob milk doesn’t define me as a mom. ) And other parents were for real about the lack of sleep. Sometimes I’m so tired that the tears flow down my cheeks.

All that being said, I’ve never felt more fulfilled with this new addition to our family. We have lots of loving help from our family, and Jordan and I are figuring out our new normal with this whole parenting thing. And I can’t stop looking at her. I mean, I already filled up my phone storage with photos…

For the past year, I’ve been working behind the scenes on trademarks, designs, product testing…and more product testing, photo shoots, and website building. I’ve learned a ton, and I’m proud to show you where I landed.

I’m at a point in my journey where I can proudly rock my diabetes status…and I want to empower others to do the same. The inspiration came from all of the seriously amazing T1Ds that I’ve met through JDRF and Instagram who’ve taught me two things:

1. I am a Diabadass – A diabetic who’s not afraid of a bum pancreas. Strong-willed and persistently fighting the finger pricks and blood sugars–and all the numbers that come with it. Overcoming the stereotypes to show others what’s possible as a diabetic: anything we put our minds to. It’s the ultimate combination of a diabetic and a badass = diabadass.
2. I Greater Than My Highs and Lows – A Diabadass knows that she is greater than her high and low blood sugars. While we manage through the shaky lows and the “man, I am suddenly the most cranky person on Earth” highs, we don’t let our blood sugar numbers define us. We fight through them.

And so, that’s why I worked with a super talented designer to create diabetes workout gear and bracelets. Not only for you to rock your diabetes status, but also to create awareness, conquer the stigma, and help raise money to fund Type 1 Diabetes advocacy and research. 5% of every purchase is donated to JDRF. (We’re going to find that cure!)

Go to my Type One Living Shop

First in the lineup: Four tank tops to help you rock your highs and lows at the gym, running errands around town, or let’s be real…while binge watching your favorite TV series. The fabric is pre-washed and a high-quality blend of cotton and spandex, so it fits in all the right places.

Next: Super proud to show off these diabadass yoga pants. They keep it all sucked in while showing off those calves through flexible mesh detail. I studied all my favorite yoga pants to find the perfect blend of nylon and spandex. The fabric is stretchy and sturdy…and definitely not see-through like some of the more popular brands on the market.

And they’re super practical with a zip-up pocket for your insulin pump, gym key, or even your phone. These diabadass yoga pants also have a small key pocket in the waist band.

And finally, two stainless steel cuff bracelets in rose gold and black. They’re sleek, stylish, and a rebellious way to wear a half cuss-word on your wrist.

Are you a diabadass? Treat yourself! Know a diabadass? Christmas is right around the corner…so consider buying them something nice.

And please, tell others! I appreciate you passing along to any of your diabadass friends and family.

BIG THANKS to my own family and friends. I could not have made it this far without you guys. My husband for putting up with my crazy ideas and letting me take a risk. Steven for his beautiful design work. My cousins Hannah and Mackenzie for trying on samples for fit…while I’ve been rocking a baby bump. My model McKenzie for rocking the photo shoot. My father-in-law David for being an awesome photographer. You guys are my heroes.

Note: When I originally told my diagnosis story, I held something back that I wasn’t emotionally ready to share: our journey of infertility. I’ve overcome a lot and feel ready to share. I’ve joined the JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation) Family here in San Antonio, and this afternoon I was a guest speaker at a special event. Below is what I shared: 

A little bit about me: I’m 32 and have been a Type 1 Diabetic for 15 months. So I’m pretty new to this journey.

For me, my diagnosis started with something completely unrelated: back pain. I was heading to bed one night, leaned forward awkwardly, and experienced a sharp pain in my lower back. My husband helped me lay back, got a heating pad, and we went to bed for the night. I figured it would go away. But the next morning, it hurt so bad that I couldn’t move.

Every few years I deal with back pain, and every time the solve from the doctor is pain killers and muscle relaxers. I hate how I feel on both and often delay going to see the doctor. But this time I was especially stubborn, because we were going through an in vitro fertilization (IVF) cycle. I was full of hormone shots and growing the eggs that could one day be my future kids…I surely did not want to take a bunch of drugs.

But when I couldn’t even get up to use the restroom, my husband made the call that we were going to the ER clinic down the road. This particular clinic had just opened, and I was one of only two patients in the clinic at the time. I thank God that the nurses and doctor took their time to fully examine me—even though I thought it was silly at the time.

They had me take a urine test, because they thought there was a chance I had a kidney stone. When they got the results of my test, they came into the room to confirm that I was diabetic. This threw me off a bit. I assured them that I wasn’t diabetic, but they asked if they could prick my finger for a glucose test. I was completely okay with that, as long as we dealt with my back first. I was either going to throw up or pass out from the pain.

As I sat there with my barf bag, I remember them placing the IV for pain meds and fluids…and then reaching for my hand for the finger prick. Blood Sugar: 286. They tested again: 294. I remember thinking, “That sounds high, but what the heck is a good blood sugar?” But now I know that my blood sugars were about three times my current blood sugar goal.

Then they said they normally didn’t do this at the ER, but they were going to test my A1C (3 month measure of sugar levels in the blood).

I got a moment to rest and the pain relaxed into a dull ache. They came back into the room with the A1C results. Diabetes results are 6.5 or higher. Mine was 12.9. They assured me that I was diabetic. I was in COMPLETE SHOCK….and if I’m honest: denial.

I remember heading home late that morning being in a haze of disbelief and crawling back into bed, grabbing my cell phone, and googling Diabetes. I had obviously heard about it a lot, but I didn’t really know what it was.

The next few days were filled with doctors appointments: primary care, endocrinologist, eye doctor, and my fertility specialist (who triple assured me that everything would be okay, even after the pain meds that I took). All of my appointments confirmed my diagnosis as a Type 1 Diabetic. And that I would have to start taking insulin shots multiple times a day.

I was horrified.

Because we were going through an IVF treatment, I had been getting multiple shots a day. But I was not good with needles. To get my nightly IVF shots, I would put on a sleeping mask, my husband would play relaxing music, and I would lay back while he administered the shots. Ridiculous, I know. But I had to get over that REAL quick.

A week after my diagnosis, my fertility specialist harvested the eggs, fertilized them in the culture, and froze what I lovingly refer to as our babycicles. The doctor told me that I had to get my A1C below 6 before we implanted. My husband, who works in the medical field, went into protective mode and told the doctor in a stern voice that an A1C below 6 for a diabetic was dangerous and impossible. And we left the clinic downtrodden.

After a month or two, I snapped out of my haze and was determined to get my A1C below 6. I got on the Omnipod insulin pump and then a few months later the Dexcom Continuous Glucose Monitor. I kept my carb counts low and regularly went to the gym. And I’m proud to say that about a year after diagnosis, my A1C came in at 5.9.

When my diabetes started to get under control, I felt like a new person. I didn’t come home from work, eat dinner, and fall asleep on the couch. I wasn’t constantly thirsty…and hungry. I didn’t have to pee all the time. My dry skin had started to accept lotion again. All signs of diabetes that I had written off to stress.

My story of hope is that on May 1, we implanted our first babycicle, and I’m blessed to say that I’m 15 weeks pregnant with a baby girl due in January.

And I feel like I’m starting to figure out this journey of Type 1 Diabetes. Of course, I’m still learning. I have moments of extreme lows like last Monday when I flew to Dallas for work and landed with a blood sugar in the 20s. Or when I’m sitting in a meeting and my Dexcom alarm keeps going off because my blood sugar is high…and I feel like I have to quickly explain to others that I’m not rude because my phone is going off. My phone is on silent,but it’s a medical alarm.

Over the last 6 months, I’ve been a walking/talking diabetes advocate. I want others to know about this disease. I want them to know that we don’t have diabetes because of the stereotype that we don’t take care of our bodies…instead it’s quite the opposite. We’ve just been dealt the cards of a bum pancreas. And I want to empower, support, and encourage other T1Ds and their families…because T1D can be taxing.

I also want others to know that I believe we will find a cure in my lifetime…and definitely my daughter’s lifetime. There are so many exciting medical advances that it’s imperative that we do our part to fully fund the research.

Now fundraising can be an uncomfortable topic. I get it. My Walk Team goal is $5,000. You may not have thousands to give, but I’m hoping that you’re willing to give $10, $50, or maybe $100. And that adds up to an important and impactful amount.

Please consider giving to my team. And if you’re local, please join my team and walk with us! Donate or sign up by clicking here. 

Thank you for your support and helping to create a world where Type One becomes Type None.

I’ve waited about a week to write this post. Why? It’s embarrassing. Maybe a bit risqué. And scary.

But I’ve decided to tell the story (with the permission of my husband), because other Type 1 Diabetics should understand what happened…and be better prepared.

So here’s the scoop: We had a super fun weekend with company. My cousin, sister, sister’s boyfriend, and of course, my husband…all under one roof. It was like a weekend lock-in…except that we also went out to explore. We happy houred (that’s a verb, right?) at The Pearl, ate delicious Mexican food at Chuy’s (my guilty pleasure), played horseshoes under the Saturday sun at Specht’s, rocked the San Antonio Rodeo (corn dogs!), and wound down the weekend with some craft brewery visits on Sunday. Lots of laughs, food, and booze. It was delightful.

Sunday night we were exhausted and decided to head to bed early. My sister’s boyfriend had an early drive back to Houston before work on Monday morning, and my cousin had a flight back to Denver.

It was about 9:30 pm, and I checked my sugars before getting in bed: 86. Kind of low for me to head to bed with an 86, but my sugars had been rising in my sleep the past couple of nights…so I let it go. I figured my Dexcom would alert me if there was an issue.

I started to cuddle with my husband and reminisce about the awesome weekend…and one thing led to another and a certain affectionate activity happened.

And a bit later as I was lying in bed, my Dexcom alarm went off at a 56. I checked my glucose: 35! Not good.

I downed glucose gel and glucose gummies that are always sitting on my nightstand. Sixty grams of carbs and 15 minutes later, I checked again: 29. Sh*t. (And I usually don’t curse unless I’ve had a few drinks and am feeling feisty.)

I hear my husband asking, “How do you feel?” And honestly, I felt pretty normal. Maybe a bit hot and buzzy, but I would say that’s normal for the intimate circumstances that had just taken place. And then I hear, “I’m giving you the shot.”

And unlike last time on the plane, when I resisted the glucagon, I was completely okay with it. Yes, I felt relaxed. But I was also over downing the sugar, especially with the gluttonous weekend we just had.

I could hear him tapping on his phone—double-checking the Glucagon app for best place to give the shot. (First-timers…) He decided in the glutes. I turned over and wasn’t even anxious. It stung a bit, but I was hopeful that this would get my sugars up.

We waited. Checked again: 35.

My husband jumped out of bed and grabbed a jug of orange juice. (Thanks, Joey, for wanting mimosas last weekend!) I downed two glasses with aggressively shaking hands. Maybe I wasn’t feeling all that normal…

Then I hear, “We’re going to the ER.” This is when I knew it wasn’t good. I got up to get more fully dressed. I couldn’t find my clothes or shoes. It was that mind-of-molasses feeling…almost like I was a child. Jordan helped me get dressed, and we went out to the car.

During the drive, I took my sugar again: 59. A good sign that it was on the rise, but Jordan insisted that we continue on with the trip. I don’t blame him. It would be difficult to head to bed after such a dramatic low, and what if it happened again in my sleep? (ugh. Let’s not think about that too long…)

In the end, all was well. They monitored my blood sugar every 30 minutes or so. The nurse was trying to get me to drink more OJ and eat more snacks, but I didn’t think I could fit anything else in…and my sugars were already heading up.

I was soon in the 200s with all the sugar and the shot, but much better than in the 20s.

After a couple of hours, the doctor told me that I could head home, but I needed to eat some carbs with protein. She was worried that I would crash with all of the fast-acting sugar that I had consumed. So I ate a peanut butter and jelly Quest Bar. (I always have a Quest Bar in my purse.) And about 1 am, we headed back home.

In the moment, somehow this incident wasn’t as scary as my last 29. I’m not sure whether it’s that I wasn’t alone (and up in the air on a plane full of strangers) or that I was so out of it…but I was ridiculously calm this time. Which if I’m honest, scares me a bit. 29 is not something to be calm about.

So how the heck did it happen? All we can do is speculate. I could have over-bolused for my dinner of a fried chicken sandwich. Maybe a bit of this is true. I also need to remember that intimacy can be an aerobic activity…and if you think of it that way, it’s a bit dangerous to start working out at an 86.

Moral of the story? As unsexy as it was…the next time, I checked my blood sugar and suspended my pump beforehand. And I’ve been much more conservative about my insulin before meals. I’ve been working hard to keep my A1C down, but keeping my sugars “tight” doesn’t really matter if I don’t wake up from a low. And I’m a lot less anxious about that shot. I won’t hesitate next time.

————————–

Some of you might be a bit confused on the details of what all this really means. I know that I would have no clue if I wasn’t experiencing this as a T1D myself. So here’s some of the straightforward details about going hypo:

• What is hypoglycemia? A condition of abnormally low blood sugars, usually below 70 mg/dL. Symptoms can include shakiness, sweating, nervousness, fast heartbeat, headaches, and blurred vision.
• Severe hypoglycemia happens when the blood sugar drops below 55mg/dL. The brain is deprived of glucose and can’t function properly. It leads to confusion, slowing of reflexes, and inability to comprehend. At this point, it’s likely that the person isn’t able to treat the hypoglycemia themselves—and needs help from someone else.
• If the blood sugar falls below 30mg/dL, it can lead to seizures, coma, and even death.
• What can be scary is that people with tightly controlled sugars and A1Cs below 6.5% (like me with a 5.8%), can start to “reset” what feels normal to their body. So with sugars below 40mg/dL, I can feel reasonably normal.
• What’s scarier is that doctors say it’s well known that each episode of severe hypoglycemia has the potential to be followed by an even lower level. The only way to “reset” the body is to let go of some control and allow the body to experience higher sugars.

I went to the dentist today for the first time since my T1D diagnosis and updated my medical history. I was completely exasperated and annoyed at my dental hygienist’s commentary. Seriously. I wanted to correct everything she said…but her hands were in my mouth. How could she be so misinformed?

“You’re diabetic? But you’re skinny. That doesn’t make sense.”

“You know. It’s all in the genetics.”

“Yeah. That glucose monitor would be helpful even for people without diabetes. You know. Some of us just have low sugars.”

Even at these few comments, I was fuming.

Then I had to do a gut check…and remember the things that I misunderstood about diabetes before living with it. My worst: I used to think that juvenile diabetes was so sad, because it was diabetes that happened to parents who didn’t take care of themselves and then they taught that same behavior to their kids. How idiotic.

So I decided to give my dental hygienist some slack and instead do my part to inform others about Type 1 Diabetes.

I get it. I do. When I was first diagnosed, I went home and consulted the Google machine…and I was still confused. So here’s my Sarah version (and not guaranteed medically correct version) of things I wish people understood about Type 1 Diabetes.

1. I have no idea how I got Type 1 Diabetes, and many of the other 1.5 million Americans with T1D don’t have that answer either. One factor is genetic: But there are no Type 1 Diabetics in my family. I’m the first. Another theory suggests that a particular virus could attack the insulin-producing cells in the pancreas and result in T1D–though they’re still researching the unknown virus. (Read my T1D diagnosis story here.)

2. I didn’t cause diabetes through being lazy or eating junk food…And I can’t get rid of my diabetes with exercise and healthy eating. This one drives me crazy, because I like to think that I take good care of myself. Though exercise and eating healthy are great for me, just like they’re great for you.

3. Type 1 Diabetes is an autoimmune disease. The insulin-producing cells in my pancreas attacked each other, and they no longer produce insulin. This means that (on it’s own) my body isn’t able to get energy from food. (Type 2 Diabetes is a metabolic disorder where your body still produces insulin, but it doesn’t use it effectively. Not all Type 2 Diabetics need insulin.)

4. I’m insulin dependent. To stay alive I must effectively manage my insulin levels to be high enough that my body grabs energy from the food I eat, but I can’t bring so much insulin on board that my blood sugar drops to life-threatening levels. As you likely guessed, T1Ds are constantly thinking about highs and lows…and unfortunately, sometimes it borders on obsession. (And yes, I’m drinking wine and prepping insulin in the bathroom photo above…)

5. I can technically eat what I want. Pizza. Pasta. Carbs. Burgers…but that makes it stinkin’ hard, because my sugars go all over the place and are extremely difficult to manage. Shoot. I could eat the same dinner three days in a row, give myself the same amount of insulin, and have three different blood sugar levels. That’s because my levels are also impacted by sleep, stress, exercise, caffeine, and only God knows what else. Because of this (and I also choose to believe it’s healthier in the long run), I choose to eat a relatively low carb diet. (Except for those times when I splurge. Like the photo above too soon after I ate late night Whataburger breakfast…)

5.5. Technically this is related to 5, but it’s so annoying that it’s getting its own line. I will have to count every carb that I eat for the rest of my life. It’s like being in Weight Watcher’s hell forever. Every time I want to eat, I have to enter the amount of carbs that I will be consuming into my insulin pump. So watch out world. Expert carb counter in the making.

6. When my sugars are suddenly climbing high or are in the pits of a low, I don’t feel like myself. This one is difficult to explain, but just remember that I constantly take drugs NOT to get high. Interesting concept, eh? Highs and lows can often feel different. Though when I’m high, I tend to feel buzzy and loopy. When I’m low, I feel sluggish, get the sweats…and my mind can feel like molasses.

7. Most of the time diabetes feels like a nuisance, but sometimes it can be pretty scary–and also cause zombie-like lack of sleep. I’ve had a few scary lows that cause the “cries”. (You can read about the lowest of my lows here.) I’ve also experienced many nights where my urgent low alarm goes off over and over and over again.  Sometimes a legitimate low. But other times it’s just because my continuous glucose monitor has a mind of it’s own.

8. And now to my bionic nature. I wear two medical devices: My insulin pump (pulses insulin throughout the day and before meals) and my continuous glucose monitor (reads my glucose level every five minutes). My devices might look strange and creep people out. But they’re (most of the time) not painful. You can touch them. I’m not delicate. Trust me. I often catch them on clothes and run into doors/corners.

9. Working out is a serious mind game. I used to think that it was enough work to motivate myself to workout. Now before I workout, I have to monitor my blood sugar, make sure that it’s within range…and often eat snacks to regulate it. Then as I workout, I have to decide if I want to run regular levels of insulin, reduce the amount of insulin, or suspend the insulin completely. Much like the food thing, the results are different every time. Some days I completely suspend my pump and still drop to rock bottom lows…and then end up eating packets of glucose gels and sugar tabs…and then think “What was the point of working out!?” (Like the photo above when I had to bail out of kickboxing to sugar up…) Other days I have my insulin running full capacity and quickly rise to the 200+s. I love to workout and make it happen. But man, it’s a challenge.

10.Currently there is no cure for T1D. So for now I rely on my devices to act as my mechanical pancreas…and even though the technology is improving (and I’m so thankful I live today when it’s available), please don’t be fooled into thinking insulin is a cure. Though there is some exciting research happening at Harvard and MIT that created insulin-producing cells, which means that T1Ds might just need a transfusion of engineered cells every few years. Keeping my fingers crossed.

Rant over.

I consulted my two Diabetic Living cookbooks that have been my go-to resources for low carb meals: Diabetes – Meals by the Plate and Diabetic Living – Quick and Easy Meals.

I landed on Quick Hamburger Soup from this book. The reality is that some recipes taste more diabetic than others…This soup was make-again worthy.

And I don’t know who puts carrots on burgers, but I won’t complain about the extra veggies. And potatoes on burgers for that matter? Guess it’s kind of like the fries in the soup…

I made a few lazy girl edits to the original recipe:

• I bought julienned carrots, so I didn’t have to shred them.
• I cheated with the minced garlic, so I didn’t have to deal with garlic fingers.
• The recipe also called for half ground beef and half ground turkey. I just went for the ground beef for simplicity.

And two changes for flavor: I grabbed the H-E-B Chipotle Diced Tomatoes, because I wanted a bit of kick. (Diced jalapenos would also be good in this.) I also opted for fresh herbs over dried herbs, because I’m convinced it adds more taste.

I chopped two white onions and three stalks of celery. Then heated my dutch oven, added a swirl of olive oil, and scooped in the chopped onion and celery. I also dumped the whole bag of carrots in, because again: veggies.

The recipe called for browning the ground beef with the veggies, but my dutch oven was getting a little full…so I dirtied another pan. (Hey, you see that utensil to the right of the pan? It’s a Mix ‘N Chop…seriously great for browning ground meat.)

And then I added the browned ground beef to the party.

After the veggies and ground beef are happy, you add the diced tomatoes, beef broth, and the fresh herbs (sage, thyme and rosemary).

Once the soup comes to a boil, you add the potatoes to the sauna party.

Then you cover and simmer for 15 minutes until the potatoes are cooked through.

And finally, you scoop 1 and 1/2 cups per serving. Only 18 carbs!

Delish even as leftovers tonight…but now I’m exhausted. Bed time.

Here’s the original recipe: Diabetic Living – Quick Hamburger Soup.

29. blood sugar at 29 doesn’t feel good.

the sweats hit me like a truck. every pore is leaking: my forehead, my back, even my shins. my clothes = instantly wet all over. my mind = mush. shaky hands. shaky arms. panic.

and when this happened on a crowded plane full of strangers, i’m so grateful that God placed the right people near me to make it through.

our plane started to descend, so i stood up to place my bag back in the overhead bin. as i reached up, i caught a glimpse of my blood sugar reading on my watch. it was dropping curiously quick. i grabbed my omnipod out of my bag and sat down to take my blood sugar.

the girl one seat to the right of me asked, “type 1 or type 2?” and started a conversation. her dad has been a type 1 diabetic since age 13. she glanced at my reading of 65 and kept a conversation going as i started chowing on a packet of swedish fish (my fave). my next two dexcom readings (every five minutes), we’re dropping like it’s hot (literally in this case). i opened my second pack of swedish fish.

ten minutes later i was rocking a finger prick at 48. not good.

i suspended my insulin and asked the flight attendant for orange juice. she informed me that we were landing, and everything was locked up. as i told her i was diabetic and flashed my blood sugar reading, i got a “you got it. i’m on it.” (the flight attendant was also diabetic.)

i downed a can of orange juice and knew i was still in trouble. sweats were in full force. i checked my sugars again: 29. pretty sure i let out a passionate four letter s-word.

the guy across the aisle (his wife is type 1) handed me a pack of protein sugar. the flight attendant handed me a bag of almond m&m’s. my hands shook too much to open, so she ripped them open with her teeth. i started popping those babies as fast as i could chew.

i could feel my eyelids grow heavy and started to see the black curtain make its way down my vision. i let the flight attendant know where my bag was located in the bin above me and requested that she find my emergency glucagon shot. she got my bag down and set it at my feet.

then she picked up the phone to make an announcement to ask if we had a nurse or doctor on board. God had my back. the nurse sat in the seat directly behind me. i hear, “i’ve been watching the situation from back here. how bad is it?”

she stood up and asked my current sugar. when i told her 29, i heard “where’s your glucagon? you need the shot.” panic. tears welled up in my eyes.

i squeaked out, “are you sure? i’ve had swedish fish, orange juice, m&m’s. shouldn’t it be going up?” she asked if i would down one more orange juice. “of course.”

we waited another five before another reading: 47. “thank God.” i skirted the glucagon.

i don’t remember the plane hitting the runway. i don’t remember the taxi to the gate. i do remember when i stopped sweating. relief.

i stood up as the first one to walk off the plane. God knew what he was doing placing me in the front row.

as i staggered up the tarmac, i thanked God for the chilly denver air. so soothing as my shirt stuck to my back and my jeans to my legs (the high boots i was wearing didn’t seem like a good idea anymore).

when i walked into the terminal, it felt like a new world. i drifted through the crowded gate and found an open seat.

i sat there in a moment of relief and looked down to a text from my husband checking in. when i turned my phone off airplane mode, he received my low blood sugar alerts. i called to give him the story. as the words started to roll off my quivering lips, tears started to fall. panic. survival. relief.

i sat there for about 30 minutes after the call. then took two strolls around the terminal lost in my thoughts. it felt good to be in the company of my sound mind and working legs. and then my buzzing watch alerted me. i pulled up my wrist to a high blood sugar warning with double up arrows. i let out a chuckle of relief.

screw this stinking disease. i’m eating a pizza. 

as i sit in the wine bar sipping sauvignon blanc (and about to order a flatbread with a blood sugar of 200+), the kindness and generosity of others amazes me. and because i walked off the plane too tipsy to think about it, i didn’t even get to say “thank you.”

next flight: insulin on my omnipod is going to be suspended. and because i’ve had sugar lows (never this low) on my last dozen flights, i’m going into research mode. i’m convinced that my pump is leaking too much insulin on flights.

p.s. just kidding on the flatbread. apparently, they’re sold out. i guess God has my back on making better choices as well.

update: a friend sent me this blog link from a t1d who has a good hypothesis. check out what A Sweet Life has to say.

I was scrolling through my Instagram feed last month and saw a delicate geometric arm tattoo on a friend of a friend in NYC. Instantly, I knew I wanted the same artist for my tattoo. I started reading through the comments, and one of my BFFs commented saying that she wanted one from this artist as well. I commented that I was in, and I bought my ticket to New York to make it happen!

Turned out to be amazing timing, because I also got to be there for Sarah’s birthday party! So fun.

Back to the tat…Yesterday afternoon we took a car out to Brooklyn to Fleur Noire to meet Laura, our artist. She recently opened her shop in October. Super cute.
We had sent ideas via email, and Laura sent sketches back the day before. Emails were a bit confusing as I (Sarah) was emailing about my appointment with my friend Sarah as a referral from another friend Sarah. Seriously. She sent some sketches the day before, but we worked out the final details at the shop.

I knew that I wanted a tattoo that symbolized my new Type 1 Diabetes diagnosis and possible medical identification if I ever go down for the count. I also wanted it to represent the strength that I have over the dang thing. So we landed on the simple script (I like words.) with a dot representing a drop of blood, and the symbols representing that I’m greater than my highs and lows…in life and in blood sugars.

We had lunch right before the appointment, but my sugars were staying low. Nerves maybe? I brought some OJ and ended up drinking half the bottle before I was up.

Here’s me looking nervous as Laura prepped for tattoo time. Five minutes later I was thankful for the past year of needles and blood. I was prepared for it to hurt much worse. It felt more like stinging. I’ve had pod and dex changes that have been worse. But mine was also tiny. My friend Sarah braved through an entire side tattoo…about seven inches long.

And here’s the fresh tattoo. A bit red and the goosebumps are because it was freezing by the window where we took the photo. I’m curious to see how it heals this week. I’ve noticed overall that my cuts and bruises have been slower to heal since T1D. But I’m smoothing on my Hustle Butter like a champ.

Some of you might be wondering if there are any considerations for diabetics getting tattoos. I’m definitely not an expert but here’s what I’ve got:

• I asked my endo, and he said “It’s stupid, but you can do what you’d like.” I took that as approval when he didn’t have a good reason for the stupidity other than preference.
• I read that you should have a decently low A1C. I’m purposely not going to mention numbers here, because I’m not a doctor. Just what Google said.
• Took advice from T1D Instagram friends to take ibuprofen (or pain med without blood thinner) before the appointment. Also took the OJ.
• That’s really it.

I love it. Super glad it happened. And awesome that I got a tattoo with one of my BFFs in Brooklyn.

Before T1D, I would tell you that my favorite food groups were cereal, ice cream, and wine. (No joke.) I’ve evolved a bit to cheese, veggies, wine…and Halo Top Ice Cream. I’m pretty picky. I don’t eat seafood, steaks, or any meat on the bone. (Unless I’ve had a couple glasses of wine and that’s what’s being served…)

I try to keep my carbs under control, so that my blood sugars don’t go haywire. I shoot for meals under 45 carbs that have a lot of protein and veggies. That usually means I get some carbs, but not overload. (For example, a cup of risotto has 144 carbs…discovered that while out to eat last night. Wow!)

This week I tried a new recipe from heb.com (Full disclosure: I work there.): Sweet Potato Noodles with Meatballs. I’ve been digging the Veggie Noodle Co. Zucchini Noodles and tried the Butternut Squash noodles, but this was my first attempt at the Sweet Potato Noodles. The recipe came in at 36 carbs, 420 calories, took less than 30 minutes, and tasted delish. Bonus: Only dirtied one pan! I will definitely make this again.

So here’s what you need: sweet potato noodles, meatballs, pasta sauce, baby portabellas (or any mushroom I suppose), red bell pepper, and olive oil.

Saute the baby bellas and red bell pepper in olive oil for a few minutes.

Push the veggies to the side to make an open circle in the middle. Add the meatballs.

Cook the meatballs until browned on each side and cooked almost all the way through. About 10 minutes.
Pour in that pasta sauce!

Add the sweet potato noodles and toss with tongs to mix. Cover with lid and simmer for 10 min. (This is where I went a bit rouge from the recipe. If you like to follow the rules, you’re welcome to follow the recipe too.)

Then your about 10 minutes out, so bolus time!

Taste test the noodles to make sure that they’re slightly al dente. (I had my stove too low and had to turn it up and keep them on a bit longer.)

Finally plate a quarter of the noodles and three meatballs per serving. (Serves four.) Ciao!

P.S. I wrote this on a plane using the WordPress app. How cool is that?!

I was about to throw up or pass out from so much pain. That’s what the IV was for: Pain meds. Not the Diabetes.

So why was I in the hospital?

Back pain. Seriously.

As I leaned back in bed the previous night, I experienced a screech-worthy pain in my low back. My husband got me a heating pad, I found a somewhat comfortable position, and I fell asleep.

The next morning, I couldn’t move. I tried to get out of bed myself. Not happening.

I’ve struggled with back pain in the past, and all the doctors do is give you muscle relaxers and pain meds. I hate how I feel on both. I hesitated to go to the ER, but I had to make a decision before my husband left for work. So to the ER we went.

I’m thankful that this was a brand new clinic, and I was the only patient. I got a lot of attention.

First, they ordered a urine test–thinking I had a kidney stone. No kidney stone. But there was blood in my urine, so they asked if I was diabetic. “No.”

Then they asked if they could prick my finger. “Ok. Just get me some pain meds asap.”

My blood sugar came back at 286. Are you sure you’re not diabetic? “Pretty sure.”

So then they asked to take my A1C. Results: 12.9. Many of you reading likely know what that means, but I didn’t at the time.

I got my pain meds, muscle relaxers, and then went home to google a primary care doctor who would refer me to an endocrinologist…who took my insurance and would also see me right away.

A few days and a couple doctor visits later, I was officially a Type 1 Diabetic.

At first I was in denial. I seriously questioned whether or not I had diabetes for the first couple of weeks. Were the doctors wrong? I had just spent a week in Europe eating like a beer-drinking German obsessed with fondue and pretzels. And then spent a week in Italy pigging out on delicious filled pastas. And then came back to a party at work by eating the largest pizza I’ve ever seen and tasting a bit of each cake celebrating 1 million Facebook fans. My blood sugars were just out of whack, right?

But after the third doctor, I started to believe them.

Then I was angry. At the world. I couldn’t talk about it without tears forming. For months. I didn’t know what to freakin’ eat, so I was hangry. And I was pissed that I was 30 and just diagnosed with an auto-immune disease. Plus I’m terrified of needles. Why me!?

Seriously. I was crazy. My sweet husband got me medical ID bracelets for my birthday (three months after my diagnosis), and I lost it in the restaurant. I couldn’t stop crying. He took them and hid them. I had to convince him just last month to give them back to me.

When I look back before D Day, I see symptoms that I previously passed off as stressed and tired. I would eat dinner and fall asleep on the couch. I was always thirsty…and hungry. I had to pee all the time. (This was an issue in Europe…There were some really close calls trying to find public restrooms. Yikes!) And one night in Italy during a three course pasta meal, even two double shots of espresso couldn’t keep me awake. I had to excuse myself from a work dinner to go for a walk. (Now which I know sounds super dangerous…)

And after more than 8 months past D Day, I’m finally evolving into Diabadass mode. That’s me rocking my Omnipod, Dexcom G5, and Grif Grips. But it’s been a journey.

I thank God for the two weeks of TOTAL pig out before I was diagnosed. I also thank God that I fell in love and married a clinical pharmacist. Oh, the scripts and needles and devices. He is a Godsend.

And the reality is that doctors will never be able to tell me how long I’ve been diabetic or where it came from. I’m the first diagnosed Type 1 Diabetic in my family.  I’m finally getting over not having the answers to both these questions.

I’m learning how to workout again while managing my blood sugar lows. Figuring out how to eat again. And I’m so much better with needles. (Still getting over the Dexcom insertion. Husband still does that one…)

I’d love for you to join me on this journey. Sharing what I eat. How I travel (bag issues, am I right!?). And being there for each others’ questions. I have a ton, and I’m sure others do too.

Fellow Diabetes Friends, please visit the forum. Ask questions, leave comments. I would love to hear from you. We’re in this together! #type1strong