Dear John

Dear John,

I talked to your mom tonight. It seemed like we were on the phone for hours even though it was really closer to 20 minutes, but I guess there are situations were minutes drag out forever.

She seemed like a nice woman, certainly a mother who loves her son very much. I heard her love for you in every word she spoke, in the quiver of her voice, the pain in her screams. I think if we had "met" under different circumstances we might have become friends, but I know in my heart I'm the last person she ever wants to speak to again.

When your mother called me tonight saying she'd found you unconscious and barely breathing I immediately feared the worse.  Twenty-two year old men with no medical problems rarely collapse without cause, but when I asked if there was any chance you had overdosed on drugs she adamantly denied it. She assured me you were a good kid, a collage student who held down a part time job while keeping your grades up. You routinely mowed your grandmother's lawn and drove her to do her grocery shopping.  You didn't do drugs, absolutely didn't do drugs, there was NO WAY you had taken drugs!

I kept talking to your mom, waiting with her for help to arrive, encouraging her to check your breathing often, to unlock the door, turn the porch light on, check your breathing again, put the dog outside, check you again, reminding her to tell me if there was even the slightest change in your condition.

When your mom said you were making "funny noises" I told her she needed to pull you off the couch and onto the floor. I know my request didn't make any sense to her but I knew what was coming, I've seen it hundreds of times before and I wanted to be ready for the inevitable.  That's when you're mom found the syringe under your body and started crying hysterically. I only had seconds to get her calmed down, to ask if she knew CPR. I almost groaned out loud when she told me she had meant to take a class but had never found the time.

I told your mom how to reposition your head to open the airway, praying that this would be enough to keep you alive until the paramedics arrived, but knowing it probably wouldn't, and sure enough in seconds your mother screamed that you were no longer breathing

I tried to talk to her calmly John, I really did, but she was screaming and not listening to me. I had to yell to get her attention so I could teach her a 4-hour CPR class in 30 seconds while you lay dying in front of her.  I counted the compressions for her, encouraging her to go faster, make sure she was pressing hard enough, two compressions per second I counted for her "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 , 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30... one hand under the neck, one hand on the forehead, tilt the head back, pinch the nose close, completely cover his mouth with your mouth, blow two regular breaths into his lungs, about 1 second each.  Did the chest rise with each breath?  Okay, 30 more compressions... 1,2,3,4,5... FASTER... 6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,27,28,29,30...two more breaths, hand under the neck, the other on the forehead, tilt the head back, two regular breaths... did the chest rise? Good...30 more compressions..."

Your mom worked so hard to keep you alive, I worked so hard to keep you alive...we did CPR for 16 minutes until help got there....16 minutes that felt like 16 hours.  Even I was asking the medical dispatcher what was taking so long.

I had to explain to your mom the ambulance that is normally near your home was already on a call so the next closest one had been dispatched, but it would take a little longer to get there. "Keep doing CPR" I told her while also assuring her the fire department was responding too and everyone was getting there as quickly as they could.   I could hear your sister crying in the background, calling your dad, screaming for him to come home.  You're mom was working so hard that she was gasping for air, trying to count with me, pleading between the numbers for you to stay with her.

The scream that tore from your mother's lips when the paramedics got there and took over broke my heart.  I've heard it before, so many times. It's a scream you never forget, unlike any other scream you've ever heard.  It rips your heart out to hear, I wanted to wrap my arms around her, comfort her and tell her everything would be okay, but I couldn't because I didn't want to lie to her. Instead I told her what a great job she did, how she had done everything possible to help you, I tried to calm her and keep her attention focused on me instead of what the medics were doing to you.

You were lucky John, your mother found you while you were still alive, I was already on the phone with her when you stopped breathing, we started CPR immediately. So often it's too late when we get the call, more often than not the person is already dead and no matter what we do, no matter how long we do CPR or how much Narcan the medics administer we can't get them back.

I hope your near death will save your life.  I hope you learned from your mistake, I pray you turn your life around, but I know that using heroin even one time forms an addiction so the odds are we'll be dispatching another ambulance for you in the future for yet another overdose.

I only hope we're not too late.

Honoring my promise

Since Brandi is having surgery this week I have had to make the heart breaking decision to not participate in the Ride to Cure Diabetes in La Crosse, Wisconsin next week.  As much as I want to ride I simply must put my daughter's health and recovery first. Brandi has been and always will be my #1 priority.

However, I strongly believe that a person's word is their bond and a true measure of their character, so after talking with both my team captains (the one from my local JDRF and Moira, our Team Outspokin' leader) I have received approval to have my own personal Ride to Cure Diabetes.

So...here's my plan.

Brandi's recovery will take approximately 6-8 weeks (barring any complications) so on one of my weekends off in October I will be hitting the Katie Trail in St. Louis and making good on my promise to ride in honor of all those who live with diabetes.  The ride is TENTATIVELY either the weekend of October 5th or October 19th.

You all have supported my ride efforts both emotionally and financially and I WILL honor my commitment.  I may not have a crowd or get the pretty medal, but I will have the satisfaction of honoring all the men, women, boys and girls who have shown such strength and courage.

Thank you all for the love and support you've given. I plan to make you proud!

Hope

 

 

Several months ago a dear friend sent me a bracelet that had silver blocks spelling out HOPE. It was an unexpected but cherished gift that has always been with me. It helped me stay focused, it helped me remember to never give up, it reminded me that our family is loved by people who have never met us.

 

Yesterday the bracelet broke and I was heartbroken. I gently picked up all the pieces and placed them lovingly in my wallet, and then I went back to caring for my daughter.

 

As I waited for Brandi to finish her test today I pulled the pieces of the bracelet out and thought about how much hope has been a part of our lives for the last three years. At times hope and faith have been the only things keeping us going, and of course Brandi's diabetic alert dog Hope has changed her life.

 

What I realized is just like my bracelet, it may seem as if your ability to hope is broken, but I've learned you just have to gather up the pieces, string them together with your faith, and nothing is impossible.

 

 

 



Controlling the crazy thoughts

Last night I was standing in the doorway to Brandi's room while she was getting her CT scan and I overheard one nurse ask another what the date was. When I heard the reply of "August 2nd" my mind immediately went to a dark place. 

It was two years ago this month that we were told Brandi needed a pancreas transplant to survive. Two years ago that we were told she would probably only survive another two years without one. 

I immediatelely set off to find the doctor and see if this was it... if her body was shutting down because we were officially out of time, panic clawing at my gut and tears filling my eyes. I wasn't ready, we couldn't be out of time, we just celebrated a year of no hospitalizations...

It was my fault, I got too lax, I got too cocky, I had to make a big deal out of the anniversary and this was Fate's way of smacking me down, putting me in my place. How could I forget how sick she still was? How could I be so STUPID!?!

A long talk with a very sympathetic doctor assured me this wasn't "the end", it was just another bump in a very long diabetes lined road. A big bump, a serious bump, but just a bump. 

DKA is bad, it can be life threatening, but the truth is no matter how hard we fight, no matter how much food we measure, how many carbs we count or insulin we inject sometimes our diabetic loved ones just get sick. 

We have 504 plans, sick day plans, backup plans, and management plans but the bottom line is diabetes doesn't give two shits about our plans. How many times do we have to hear that diabetes doesn't follow rules until we stop trying to blame ourselves for this hideous disease's behavior?

Brandi's sick, she's been sick for a long time and although we had a pretty good year it doesn't mean that she's been magically cured. Her pancreas still doesn't work. Her adrenal glands still don't work. She still has seizures and her back is a mess. Nothing's changed so why am I...or any mom and dad of a diabetic...so quick to blame ourselves?

The truth is we work our asses off to keep it all under control. We go years without sleep, we stand toe to toe with doctors and insurance companies demanding our children get the best medical care, we write letters, we meet with our political leaders, we advocate, we educate, we do EVERYTHING right yet still blame ourselves when something goes wrong. 

Nothing short of a cure for diabetes is going to make our kids better. But that's okay, because I....WE...are doing everything we can to fund that cure. We walk, we ride, we have galas, bake sales, and drive our friends crazy asking for donations...we do whatever we need to do to raise the money needed to keep those scientists doing the research to find the freaking cure we so desperately need. 

I must stop blaming myself... WE as a community MUST stop blaming ourselves. We must take all that energy we're wasting on our guilt and  harness it for good, use it to educate, use it to advocate, use it to help our kids grow up feeling "normal" and secure in the belief they can do wonderful things...powerful things, despite having diabetes. We need to teach them that diabetes hasn't made them weaker...it has proven they are stronger!

I want a damn cure and I'm not going to stop till I get one. 

One Year

Today marks one year since I brought Brandi home from her last hospitalization. 

Oh what a difference a year makes!

A year ago my daughter was a walking skeleton at 93 lbs. 

A year ago she was telling me what music she wanted played at her funeral. 

A year ago I prayed Bella was old enough to remember her mother. 

A year ago I had nightmares of finding my daughter dead when I went down to check on her. 

A year ago she was placed in palliative care and I was told it was the last step before hospice. 

A year ago I was clinging to hope by bloody fingertips. 

A year ago I cried everyday, several times a day. 

A year ago the doctors talked to me in hushed tones telling me Brandi had no quality of life and her body was too sick, too tired to continue fighting. 

A year ago I wondered how long we'd have before we were rushing Brandi back to the hospital. It was normally a matter of days but never longer than two weeks. 

A year ago we were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Brandi's diabetic alert dog, praying her intervention could keep Brandi alive until she was well enough to receive a pancreas transplant. 

Today Brandi is a healthy weight and she looks amazing. 

Today she is able to have outings with her daughter, not many, but even one every month or two is significantly more that what she had. 

Today Bella no longer asks me if her mommy is going to die. 

Today Brandi smiles and laughs. She has tickle fights with Bella and she's able to attend family functions more often than not. 

Today, every day isn't filled with gut wrenching fear. We still have fearful moments but it doesn't rule our lives anymore. 

Today Brandi is planning to have a spine stimulator implanted to help manage the pain she has from all her herniated disks. She's at the end of the process that we had to scrap two years ago when her health rapidly declined. 

Today she's getting things ready for her child to start school, another dream we didn't think she'd live long enough to see. 

Today is a day I never thought I'd see. 

Thank you to all our family and friends who have sent daily prayers on her behalf. Thank you sweet Jesus for bringing us Hope, because her arrival is when everything started changing. Thank you Dr. Raju for the tremendous love and care you've given my daughter.  Thank you my darling Brandi for being the fighter you are, for continuing to fight when you wanted to give up and thank you God for answering our prayers. 

Brandi still fights, still takes obscene amounts of insulin and other medications to keep her alive and keep her pain under control. My baby is a warrior, the strongest person I have ever known. Although each day continues to be a battle for her, we know its a battle she WILL win!-

Oh the irony!

Today we had our second bake sale benefiting the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation's Ride to Cure Diabetes and I'm happy to say it was a HUGE success!  Between our two JDRF Bake Sales we have raised $1,285...that's a LOT of cookies, cakes, pies and other baked goods, but as I told someone today, if you're going to eat crap you might as well eat crap for a cause!  The irony of raising money for diabetes research by selling food with high sugar and high carb content is not lost on me.

One of the greatest joys of these bake sales is meeting other people who have family members living with diabetes. 

Even though our family has people with Type 1 (my daughter) and Type 2 (my grandfather, grandmother, father -all now deceased- two of my brothers, and my best friend) it's still nice to meet others in the diabetic community and connect. The best part is watching them live...really LIVE...not letting this disease stop them from pursuing their dreams. 

These people inspire me to continue fundraising, educating and advocating, because realizing their dreams is so much harder with diabetes. My goal in life, my #1 priority, is to raise money to fund the cure or at the very least come up with better medications and treatment options for everyone living with diabetes, especially my daughter. 

Last week my dear friend died due to complications of T1 diabetes. I hear so many stories of people young and old who lost their lives due to this disease, I've seen my daughter close to death, and now I watch my beloved 5 year old granddaughter who has been tested and has the markers for diabetes and I say ENOUGH. 

I want to find a cure for this disease BEFORE it is triggered in Bella or a million other unsuspecting children's lives are irrevocable changed forever. I want to find a cure for my friend's children, Liam and Netty, who I love with all my heart. I want to honor the memory of all the children who were found dead in bed or died because their families, and even their doctors and school nurses failed to see the symptoms of diabetes prior to their tragic deaths. I want to continue the fight on behalf of every mother and father  who is pulled into the hallway of a hospital emergency room and told their child has diabetes. 

So the fight continues but make no mistake, a cure is out there and we WILL be the generation that finds it!

Rest in peace my friend

My friend died yesterday and I'm heart broken.

Steve and I have been friends for 30 years. We met when we both worked for the sheriff's department and we immediately became friends, as the years passed our friendship blossomed into a much deeper brother/sister type of relationship.

We supported each other through marriages and divorce, birth of children and death of parents. He teased me about being a bleeding heart, I teased him about having no heart...but he did...he had an amazing heart.

Steve can best be described in one word...SALTY.  He could - and did - cuss like a sailor, he was outspoken and at times crass.  He had the most hysterical dry sense of humor.  He didn't entertain fools and if he took a dislike to someone there was absolutely nothing that could change his mind, but if you were one of the lucky few he allowed into his heart, he loved you with every fiber of his being.

I was blessed to be one of the lucky ones.

Steve was a cop, one of the best I ever worked with although I often teased him about being a "shit magnet." He loved sitting with the "fucking rookies" (as he called them), telling tale after tale of his law enforcement career.  New guys would sit with their mouths gaping open in amazement, listening to all he'd done over the years.  That man was one of the best story tellers ever.

Every conversation I ever had with Steve started with the same four words, "Hey kid, what's up?" My answer was normally, "Nothing old man, what's up with you?" and usually at some point during the conversation I'd nag him about his diabetes.  He'd tell me to stop being a bitch and I'd tell him to stop being an asshole, then we'd both laugh and tell the other we loved them.

When Brandi was diagnosed with diabetes Steve became my go-to guy, my walking, talking diabetes encyclopedia.   During every conversation we've had over the last 8 years he ALWAYS ask how she was, how her numbers were, if she was staying on top of the disease.  More than once he told me to remind her of all his problems...which of course would lead to me telling him to get his head out of his ass and start taking care of himself...and the fight would be on again.

He gave me unflinching support and I gave him the same. 

Steve has been and will always be part of my life.  I miss him so badly I want to scream, but instead I'll honor his memory by continue what I've been doing...educate and advocate about this monster we call Diabetes. Steve knew the monster intimately, it almost killed him several times and caused part of his foot to be amputated.  He hated diabetes, hated the shots and finger pricks, the effect it had on his body and his spirit.

When I talked to Steve about wanting to participate in the Ride to Cure Diabetes he laughed at me, saying I'd lost my mind and reminding me I wasn't 20 years old. But when the laughter stopped and I explained why I NEEDED to ride, why I NEEDED to do everything I could to find a cure for him and Brandi, and after a moment of silence he told me he understood and thanked me, and from that moment on he supported me 100%.

I miss Steve, it hurts to know I'll never hear his grumpy voice or listen to his stories again.  I will love him and I'll miss him every single day for the rest of my life, and I imagine when it's my time to go and I reach the pearly gates my grumpy friend will be there saying, "Hey kid, what the hell took you so long."

Rest in peace my friend, I take comfort in knowing you'll have no more pain, no more needles and no more suffering.

Wuss or Warrior

I'm one of those irritating people that sets her mind on doing something and works her ass off to reach her goal. I don't believe in failure, it's not in my vocabulary, it's not something I have much experience with.

When I decided to do something I hurl myself towards the goal at top speed.  I'm focused, I confident and I have always been successful in my endeavors. It's not always easy, but I like hard work, I think it builds character...and anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I am quite a character.

I always have a plan, and a contingency plan...and a contingency plan for the contingency plan.  Above all, I'm prepared.

But now, for the first time ever, despite my gut wrenching desire and hard work I think I may not be able to reach my goal and I'm not happy about it...not one little bit.

It seems that I am no longer a spring chick who bounces back from injury, and to be be honest, that really pisses me off.  I've heard older people moan about aches and pains but never....EVER...imagined I'd be one of them. Yet every morning when I stand on my right foot a moan escapes my lips because of the pain.

The training ride I went on last Saturday made me face the fact that I'm no longer 20 years old, my throbbing foot telling me in no uncertain terms that I was DONE riding for the day...and it pissed me off.

I'm not a quitter...it's just not in my make-up.  So I iced my foot and decided I'd get up at the break of dawn and ride Sunday morning. The only problem was when I woke up in the middle of the night and tried to sit up every muscle in my body screamed. I lay down in bed, caught my breath, then c-r-a-w-l-e-d out of bed and to the bathroom for a hot shower.

Getting old sucks....it beats the hell out of the alternative... but it still sucks.

I may be committed to my goals, but I'm not stupid, so I listened to my body and didn't ride Sunday, and because I was still sore I didn't ride Monday, but every so often my gaze would drift to my bike and I longed to be back in the saddle, wind blowing through my hair, peddles turning as the miles flew by, instead of laying on the couch, foot packed in ice, so sore I could hardly move...feeling like a great big giant wuss.

The realization that riding 100 miles in a single day may be something my body cannot physically accomplish has me (to quote an old Millie Jackson song) depressed as shit. All the work...all the pain...all the damn shots...for what? To NOT accomplish what I set out to do? To NOT flip a great big giant bird to diabetes as I cross the finish line? To be beaten by this flipping disease AGAIN?

I talked to two special people about my feelings of failure; my coach Chuck, who has ridden the Ride to Cure twelve times...and our kinda sorta team captain Moira, who inspired me to join the ride this year. Both gave me excellent advise.

Chuck said the goal of the ride is to raise money for diabetes research...and I've done that. I've reached my goal so it doesn't matter if I ride 1 mile or 100...I've still succeeded in what I set out to do. He's not trying to deter me from riding...not at all, he's just being truthful about the pitfalls of riding while injured.

Moira had similar advise, adding the next time I go riding I shouldn't worry about speed or miles, I should just experience the joy of riding, because in the end we'll either ride the 100 miles or we won't, but no matter how far I ride it will be an amazing and beautiful experience crossing the finish line...if I let it be. She pointed out the importance of savoring our mission...to raise money to find a CURE for diabetes...to work together as a team...making a better future for our children. Then she reminded me of what I told her many times last year...the ride isn't about doing the 100 miles, it's about trying our hardest, giving our all the day of the ride, but knowing no matter how far we ride we are warriors.

That Moira is one wise woman.

So here's what I'm going to do....

I'm going to get on my bike every chance I have between now and August 17th and I'm going to train my ass off, and on the day of the ride I'm going to ride as far as the weather and my injuries allow me to ride.  It may be 1 mile...or 50 miles...or all 100 miles, but however long it is I WILL cross that finish line with a smile on my face because I gave this ride 110%, and that's all anyone can do.

And I hope that someone captures that moment on film, because if you look beyond the big smile and the tears I know will be streaming down my face, you'll see my hand up in the air...flipping diabetes a great big freaking bird.

Bella

Bella is being admitted to St. Louis Children's Hospital. They are still running test but believe she has developed Type 1 Diabetes like her mommy due to two high blood sugar readings, excessive thirst and frequent urination. 

The doctor said because we were educated and vigilant in our watch for symptoms we caught it very early...which is great.  

Brandi was 14 when she was diagnosed so caring for a 5 year old with Type 1 will be a new experience, but I know Brandi and I have all of our D-Families that will share their knowledge with us. 

Bella's actually taking it like a champ and asked if I was going to ride and walk for her now too. 

Yes Bella, I'll ride for you. 

**********************************************

The above was written while we were waiting for Bella to be taken to her hospital room. Her IV was inserted, a room was ready and we were ready to begin our second of "Diabetic Bootcamp."

I was devastated but resigned to the diagnoses, Brandi was in denial, saying she didn't believe Bella was diabetic. I understood how she felt, I went through the same thing 8 years ago when she was laying in the hospital bed after being diagnosed, and Bella was...I guess chatty would be the best way to describe her. 

"Mama, do I have diabetes?"

"Yes honey, the doctor thinks you do."

"Am I Type 1?"

"Yes baby, you are."

"Am I like my mommy?"

"I think so baby."

"Can I have my own blood checker?"

"Yes sweetie, you may have your own and we'll keep it in a special bag with your supplies."

Bella and I talked about diabetes and I asked her if she understood what is was...she did. We discussed checking her blood sugar before she ate and taking shots like her mom. We looked at cool medical alerts for kids...I was surprised how well Bella was adjusting, but then it dawned on me that diabetes has been a part of her life since conception. All of this craziness was normal for her. 

Then a miracle happened. The doctor came in and td us the lab results were back and she didn't have diabetes, but she said she did have the markers and would most likely develop it at some point. She said the two false highs were probably due to something on her skin or the alcohol not evaporating all the way, but her A1C and blood serum test were perfect. 

She encouraged us to remain vigilant and get her checked any time she showed high blood sugar levels because at some point diabetes will probably invade her life. 

I cried happy tears but Bella wasn't happy. She said it was because she wanted me to ride for her. 

Oh my dear child, I DO ride for you and every other person who may one day develop diabetes, but for now we've been granted a reprieve and my soul is singing with joy. 

Thank You!!!

Our big Ride to Cure Bake Sale has come and gone, and Elma and I want to extend our sincerest thanks to everyone who helped make it a HUGE success!

Nancy Boesch, Kelly Johnston, Karen Chotrow, Joyce Oakley, Laura Bunch Stroup, Charlie Parrott,  Ashley Shannon, Courtney Massey, Gina Harris (and daughters) Billie Hawkins, Vanessa Roman, Dorothy Boehm, Darleen Trumbo, Marilynn Shaver, Cindy Boehm, Sari Marie Rourke....thank you for the wonderful baked goods you made and donated to our sale. Hopefully I remembered everyone!

Diane Stecher, Lynda Harris, Mom Boehm, Mom Oakley, Marilynn Shaver, Gary Daughtery, Milton Boehm, Darlene Trumbo and Little Miss Bella...thank you for all showing up and helping with the event.

Courtney Jean the Flower Queen aka my amazingly talented niece Courtney Massey, as always you were a hit with your balloon creations. Thank you for not only spending the entire day away from your family to help our cause, but also for donating all your tips to our ride.

Karen of Karen's Kwik Mart...we owe you a HUGE debt of gratitude for allowing us to take over your parking lot for our sale.  If you're in the Barnhart area please patronize her store.

And finally, to everyone who heard about our bake sale and made the effort to come buy some of our goodies....THANK YOU!

We made over $600 at our bake sale, which means I have now met my goal and can participate in the Ride to Cure. We're still planning more fundraisers to help Elma reach her goal, the next being another bake sale with even more great offerings on June 28th from 10 am - 7 pm at the Wal-Mart located at 2201 Michigan Avenue in Arnold, MO.

I deeply appreciate everyone who has supported me in my Ride to Cure Diabetes, it's because of your generosity I get to fulfill my dream of participating in the Ride to Cure.  If anyone else would like to show their support I respectfully ask that you do it by sponsoring Elma's ride. She's been training every single day for months for this ride, and it would be a travesty if she wasn't able to get enough donations to participate.  If you click the link below it will take you to Elma's Ride to Cure participant's page.

http://www2.jdrf.org/site/TR/Ride/JDRFNationalRides?px=1380024&pg=personal&fr_id=2244

Thank you all again for your love and support and Elma and I set out to kick diabetes ass!

Nervous

I'm laying in bed unable to sleep, watching each minute pass silently on the clock, fighting back a feeling of panic.

There are 10 weeks and 5 days until the Ride to Cure Diabetes, but only 4 weeks until Elma and I have to make the final decision whether we'll have to drop out of the ride because we haven't been able to raise the minimum $2000 in donations each participant is required to raise. 

I still need to raise $500, which may not seem like much, but it's about $425 more than I have. I'm a 9-1-1 dispatcher, and in general we make barely enough to keep a roof over our heads and food in our family's bellies. 

In 5 hours Elma and I are having a Ride to Cure bake sale, the money we make will be divided between our individual rides, which is only fair since she's worked as hard on the preparation as I have. 

I hope all our friends in the area will come show their support. We have lots of things to offer with prices ranging from 25 cents to $10. 

One of my D-Mom friends recommended that I also have a "Virtual Bake Sale" for all my friends and family who would like to help our fundraiser be a success even though they can't physically attend...so that's what I'm going to do. 

Below is a price list for my virtual bake sale, if you want to help me be able to participate in the Ride to Cure just pick out what you would have bought if you could, then donate that amount at my Ride to Cure participant's page. I'll post a link at the bottom of this page. The best part of participating in a virtual bake sale? NO CALORIES!!!

Menu

2 cookies .....$1

1 dozen cookies....$5

1 brownie.......$1

A pan of brownies. $10

Mini strawberry cheesecakes. $2

An entire cheesecake...$10

Gooey Butter Cakes...$10

Chocolate covered pretzels. $2

1 cupcake....$1.25

6 cupcakes ....$5.00

1 pie..........$8.00

Thanks for any support you can give. 

http://www2.jdrf.org/site/TR/Ride/JDRFNationalRides?px=1378497&pg=personal&fr_id=2244 

Bake Sale!

If you live in the St. Louis area I hope you'll join us for our bake sale benefitting our Ride to Cure Diabetes.

Sunday, June 2nd

9 am - ???

Karen's Kwik Mart

7004 Monticello 

Barnhart, MO

In addition to the normal bake sale goodies we have several items which are 100% Gluten free.  The majority of items will also have their carbs listed in order to allow all Type 1 diabetics adjust their insulin dose. 

Back in the saddle again

 

 

Tonight was kind of a big night for me.  It was the first time in the almost two weeks since my bike accident that I wasn't in pain.  There was discomfort, but thanks to the medication my doctor gave me there wasn't any severe pain.  So when I got off work at midnight I decided it was time to pack up the bike and go for a training ride.

 

So I did....and I was scared.  I'm talking hands shaking, legs quivering scared.

 

My fear took me by surprise.  I'm not use to being scared, not that it never happens, but it's pretty rare.  I use to be a police officer and although I was always cautious I don't ever remember being really scared.  I have literally run into a house that was on fire...okay, it was a small fire, but there were still flames...and I didn't hesitate, not for a moment.  Had major surgery to donate an organ...no fear.  I handle life and death situations every single day at work and never bat an eye....

 

But as I pulled my bike off it's rack I was SCARED.

 

I don't think it was because of the accident I was in a couple weeks ago. It may have left me a little battered and bruised, but I've had much worse injuries from accidents.

 

I had a couple false starts, mostly because I was shaking so badly I was afraid I'd fall again, but eventually I took a deep breath, said a prayer and just rode.

 

Once I let go of the fear I was able to enjoy my ride. It wasn't anything major, just five miles of circling a nearby school's parking lot...but it was five miles with bruised ribs and a torn pectoral muscle...so I think that's a good start.

 

I didn't push myself, as soon as the discomfort in my chest turned to real pain I packed up the bike...but I had a huge grin on my face all the way home.  I was scared, but I over came my fear. I was uncomfortable, but I rode anyway.  It was a great feeling.

 

After a little soul searching I think the fear was more of the unknown. What if I couldn't ride? What if the pain was too much? What if I crashed again and injured myself more seriously? What if I end up not being able to train and am not prepared for the Ride to Cure Diabetes?

 

I'm not scared anymore.  A little nervous...okay, a LOT nervous, because the doc said it will be 4-6 weeks before the pain from the torn muscle goes away. That means 4-6 weeks before I can ride long distances again, but that's okay. All I can do is all I can do.

 

If giving 100% means only riding 10% of what I was able to ride before my accident, then I'll have to be satisfied with that...at least for now.  The important thing is that I'm back on bike and giving my all.

 

Today 5 miles...the next time I'll shoot for 7 miles...I'll increase a little more each ride until I'm back where I was.

 

Slow and steady wins the race.

 

 



Happy Birthday Baby

Sometimes, if you're very, very lucky, a person will come into your life who loves you unconditionally, someone who really does adhere to their vow of "for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, as long as we both shall live"

I'm one of those lucky people

I've known Milton since I was 11 years old...more than 2/3's of my life.  Perhaps that's why he's able to deal with all my idiosyncrasies so well...he watched them develop over the years.

My husband is a special man, he has a pure heart and honorable intentions. I have seen him literally give someone the coat off his back and his last dollar because the person needed it more.  He sincerely cares about every other person on this earth more than he cares about himself...and he cares about our family most of all.

When we married my children became OUR children. He could not love them more if he were their biological father.  I remember the tears in his eyes the first time DJ called him "Dad" or the pride in his face when he showed me the first card Brandi had addressed to Dad.  Being a father is a big deal to him...as it should be to all fathers, and he takes the job very seriously.

Milton and I are very different. I'm a typical Type A personality who is always going 100 miles a minute, and rarely sleeps.  If he were any more laid back he'd be asleep.

I believe pre-packaged food is poison in a box...he spent most of his adult life happily eating the stuff...and still does if I'm not around to feed him properly.  I'm loud...he's quiet, I live by the clock...he doesn't.  I try to be kind...he actually IS. 

I'm going to be honest, there is nothing I have done in my life that makes me deserving of this man.  I've never had a man love me unconditionally, to stand firmly next to me even when he doesn't completely understand why I'm doing something.  Not in a "whipped" kind of way, but in the way a loving husband shows honor and support of his wife. 

We just celebrated our 8th "secret" wedding anniversary.  We both had our own idea of the perfect wedding...I wanted to elope and he wanted the big traditional wedding...Milton won.

We were in full planning mode for the big event when I became sick.  Five more tumors were found where my ovaries use to be and I was scared to death.  I offered him an easy out, a chance to walk away with no hard feelings, but he said he'd been waiting 20 years to marry me and he wasn't about to walk away now.  So we flew to Las Vegas, got married, had dinner, then came home the next day...with only a handful of people knowing what we were doing.  Then 5 months later we got married again in front of our friends and family.

Sometimes I make him crazy...sometimes he makes me crazy...but we work through it, because at the end of the day we are both committed to this marriage.  It's a bit unusual, but it works...and we both agree that we're in it for life.

Today is Milton's birthday and I won't be home to share it with him because of my work schedule. I'm sure he'll enjoy the day with Bella and other family members. I have my own surprise planned for him on our next day off together.

I love you Milton, I may not always show it, but it's true. You are one of the greatest blessings in my life and I am honored to be your wife.

Happy Birthday baby

Last Words

In my line of work I deal with a lot of death...and a LOT of angry people. People who say horrible things to  their loved ones.  Sometimes they're deserved, most often they're not, and when I hang up the phone I always wonder... "What if those are the last words you ever say to that person?"

I never leave for work without telling my family I love them. I never hang up the phone without telling those in my life how much they mean to me.  I always keep in mind that it may be the last words I say to them.

As I watched the destruction caused by the tornadoes in Oklahoma I wondered how many people were regretting yelling at their children to hurry up for school that morning, or how many now widowed people were regretting the stupid argument over breakfast. 

My daughter brought the issue home to me this afternoon when I asked where she was going as she started to walked out the door.  Instead of a simple answer I was informed that she was 23 years old and she didn't have to tell me where she was going and I was driving her CRAZY asking her where she was going every time she walked out the door. 

I had about a dozen snippy comebacks pop into my head - none of them very nice -  but I bit my tongue because I always think about last words.  I wondered how Brandi would feel if she came home and found me dead of a heart attack, or how I'd feel if she was in a car accident, and I didn't want the last words I said to be her to be venomous and filled with anger

Then I sat on the couch and had a good cry because IF something had happened to her I'd always remember the the pain of last words she said.

I think sometimes people forget that it's not okay to be rude, sarcastic or hateful to those you love.  It astounds me that they'll be smiley and polite to a complete stranger, but they're complete assholes to the people they love most. Not that I'm an angel...I've had some pretty harsh parting words come out of my mouth, words I've regretted later.

I know the theory about people feeling "safe" enough to vent their anger towards their loved ones, even when it's undeserving, because they know the person will still love them.

I'm calling bullshit on that one.

While the theory may be true -a parent will always love their child- when someone you love says hurtful things while they're lashing out,  the pain runs deeps and stays with you for a long time.  We D-Moms and Dads are quick to forgive when our child's blood sugars are out of whack, but the words still sting...a LOT.

My heart aches for all those who lost their loved ones in in Oklahoma, but I'll be saying extra prayers of peace for those whose last words to their lost loved one were harsh.

You can't cure a klutz!

I'm a klutz.

As a matter of fact I could be the poster girl for klutziness.  My dad use to say I didn't walk so much as fall in a continual forward motion, which is actually a pretty accurate statement.

Worse than being a klutz, I'm a klutz who's always dreamed of being athletic.  Dumb, very dumb...but a girl's gotta dream.

I've broken my arm four times rollerskating (a total of 8 actual breaks) but didn't have enough sense to stop skating until I broke my arm (in two places) AND my tailbone.  Broken tailbones hurt...a lot...for a VERY long time.

I've broken fingers playing soft ball, jammed joints playing volleyball, put a hole in my leg riding a dirt bike, got a fractured foot from walking...that's right...WALKING....and more concussions, bumps, scrapes, and sprains than I can remember. I even broke my ankle walking down the aisle in an airplane (not completely my fault - there was a lot of turbulence!)

Last night was my latest mishap.  I got off work at 2 am and decided to do my Ride to Cure training.  I was a bit out of sorts...ticked off actually, due to my interaction with one of the most hostile and obscene 9-1-1 caller's I've ever had the displeasure of speaking with (which is a totally different story that I won't get into.)

Anyway, it was a beautiful night and I needed to ride, but it was a bit overcast and darker than usual so I decided instead of riding the streets of Kimmswick I would visit the parking lot of a local business and just do laps.  And I did....LOTS of laps...5 miles worth of laps..and then I hit the road, wondering if I could ride all the way into town. 

I did and it was a fabulous!

With the wind blowing in my face, music playing through my ear buds and nary a car in sight I was in heaven.  Relaxed and at one with Bart the Bike we rode without a care in the world, the stress of the night melting away and the soothing feeling of peace and contentment finding its way into every fiber of my being. I didn't worry about speed, I didn't worry about distance...I just rode and enjoyed my bliss.

When my thoughts were interrupted by my ride app telling me I'd ridden 10 miles I pulled into a gas station and refilled my water bottle.  I chatted a few moments with the clerk then headed back to my vacant parking lot.  I knew I wasn't suppose to ride more than 10 miles but I didn't care. My foot felt fine, my breathing was fine, I wasn't tired and I was really enjoying myself...so I decided I'd ride another hour and see if I could hit 20 miles, and even as I set the goal I knew I could reach it with no problem...I was in "the zone" enjoying the best ride I've ever had.

I continued with my laps around the parking lot, moving at a fairly good pace, thinking about the celebratory post I would make on Facebook when I completed my 20 mile ride, then suddenly a opossum ran directly in front of my bike. I swerved, missing the animal but then over corrected and off the bike I flew, landing hard on the pavement.

I lay there for several minutes, catching my breath and doing a silent inventory.  Conscious, alert, breathing a little rapid... but that's to be expected.  Heart pounding, but no chest pain.  Can I move my arms...yes...legs...yes. Any pain?..a little, but nothing horrible.  I slowly sat up, feeling a bit shaky, but was soon on my feet.  "Okay," I told myself, "walk it off."

After a couple minutes I decided I wasn't really hurt and could finish my ride, however when  I tried to mount my bike a sharp, excruciating pain hit me in my rib area.  I stood for a moment, catching my breath and decided perhaps I shouldn't finish my ride but go home and stand in a hot shower instead.

I tried to get on my bike once more to ride it across the street to my car but again the horrible pain hit, literally stealing my breath from me and leaving me physically shaking. I'd felt that same pain before when I cracked a rib a few years ago, and I knew in that moment I needed to go to the hospital.

Brandi and Elma had both sent me text less than 30 minutes earlier so after calling Brandi and getting no answer I called Elma and asked if she could take me to the hospital. Then I started the long (okay, it was actually pretty short, but it SEEMED long) walk with my bike back to my car.

While waiting for Elma I called my sleeping husband to tell him about my latest boo boo, assuring him I was fine but needed to get a couple of x-rays taken just to make sure nothing was broken.  He wanted to come get me, but I told him Elma would be there any second, promised to keep him updated, and urged him to go back to sleep.  Brandi also called me and offered to come to the hospital, but I knew hours of sitting in the hospital's chairs would kill her back.

So after Elma secured Bart on his bike rack we were off to the emergency room.

At the hospital the nurse looked at me like I was crazy when I told her how I'd been hurt (I think because it was the middle of the night) but once I explained my schedule and how I have to train whenever I can squeeze an hour or two in...and why I was training she understood. 

This particular nurse had treated Brandi many times over the last three years and remembered her well...as did the doctor.  They understood the importance of the Ride to Cure for me, they had lived the drama with us and had watched me sit next to her unconscious body so many times, they had been on the medical teams that worked fervently trying to bring her back from death's door...they understood when I started crying that it wasn't due to the pain from the injury, it was the pain I felt at the thought of not being able to ride in Brandi's honor, of not be able to raise the money to fund better treatments and a cure to save my daughter, of not being able to complete the challenge.  They understood this was my way of fighting back.

When I returned from being x-rayed my husband was in the room waiting with Elma.  He talked with me a few minutes and eventually brought up the subject of the Ride to Cure.  He said he'd been thinking about it and he decided he wanted to ride in my place.

OH HELL NO!

I know he only wants to protect me from further injury, but truly the only way that's going to happen is if someone makes me a suit from bubble wrap and keeps me locked in a padded room. If you're a klutz you're going to get hurt at some point, that's just the way it works.

Besides, this is a me and Elma thing. It's something we've planned and worked on together. I know that sounds harsh, and it's not meant to be, but I kind of look at this whole experience...the planning, choosing bikes, training our asses off, bitching about sore muscles, my foot injury, Elma's sunburns, all the painful cortisone injections, putting off my foot surgery, trying to get the donations we need to actually qualify for the ride...I see ALL of it as an adventure that Elma and I will talk about for the rest of our lives. 

So...

The x-rays came back and there are no broken bones.  Cuts, abrasions, a sprained wrist and bruised ribs...but NO fractures which means....drum roll please....

I CAN STILL RIDE!!!

So I'm taking the rest of the week off training to let myself heal and get past the soreness, but come Monday morning I plan to be back on Bart and peddling my fanny off.

I've got training to do, we have a disease to cure, and I must still raise $525 in donations in the next 10 weeks to actually be able to participate in the Ride to Cure.

I'm not giving up and I hope you won't give up on me either. I can do this, I know I can. I always knew it was going to be hard but it the long run I know it's going to be worth every bit of pain I've felt along the way.

I'm fighting for my kid....for your kid...and for all the people fighting diabetes.  I'll hurt for a little while...but their disease never goes away.

It's not over until the fat lady sings and I'm not evening humming yet.

***If you'd like to support my Ride to Cure by making a donation please click on the link below***

http://www2.jdrf.org/site/TR/Ride/JDRFNationalRides?px=1378497&pg=personal&fr_id=2244