2 months after I ordered it, the Richmond JDRF finally sent my t-shirt.
I love it. (Even though he lost, he's still my American Idol!)
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Today, I also received the results of my latest a1c, and, it stunk. Really, really, stunk. At the end of the report, my endo added a note that if I needed any help on basal adjustments, just call her. I am now in the depths of despair, why I even care about the stupid thing is one for the debate club. I don't want any more a1cs, the only thing they accomplish is make me feel like 2 cents when I can't measure up to the gold standard. I'm serious about this, no more a1cs until I feel I can handle it emotionally. I'm aware that my endo(bless her) didn't want to really lay it on think on my very tender ego, but she didn't even need to. I feel terrible.
Once, there were two ipods. A pink ipod, and a blue ipod...
The pink ipod had a long + fufilling life, bringing great joy to its owner(each and every day, for the
next two years) Its only problem was, well, it was pink. Not exactly the owner's first choice, color wise. But considering where it came from, it was simpler just to keep it(and be glad that it worked). On the day the Pink Ipod died, the owner (who couldn't afford another new ipod) decided to do a little tinkering + combine elements/parts of another ipod to get the previously longed for BLUE Ipod.
The blue ipod came from CA, a Refurb-Retard-Return + in worse shape the the pink one. Who knows what its previous history consisted of. But one thing was obvious- this was a match that was meant to be.
This project, obviously, required a working knowledge of how an ipod is put together. And the owner is a total klutz at all things mechanical.
But eventually, it'll happen.
Match made in Heaven.
(The two, shall become one)
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I've woken up with reactions the past three nights, its so wonderful to be pulled from a dead sleep back into the instant demands of the diabetes world. Both waking up high, and low, make you feel like a overcooked spagetti noodle the next morning. 0.7 obviously needs to be cut down by .2...
Still no word from the gastro doc, I will have to call her + remind her that I do exist.