Sorry I haven't been big with the blogging. I've been doing well with my writing. It seems that when I write and when I blog the two don't seem to mesh.
So now I'm blogging.
My period was due last week. Hasn't come, I'll probably need provera. One thing that happens when I miss periods is that I get pissy. That's been happening.
**Please note that the following is a RANT. I adore my husband. He is my heart and my soul and my life. We are made up, we are not splitting, he just happens to be a jackass sometimes and that is the story that follows**
D and I have been picking on each other. Little things. The fact that we haven't had sex in some time probably comes into it. Not too long--but longer than I'm comfortable with. Bad timing, bad allergies, bad moods. But then, it's April, and TS Elliot had it right.
Tonight we scuffled over dinner. His blood sugar was 240 (should be 100) when I was starting to make dinner. I was ready to put the stuff back in the fridge and make myself some pasta. But D said no, I could make the stuff (burgers and baked "fries") and he'd eat only a little and have the rest for leftovers. Fine.
Dinner made, we sit down and are enjoying dinner and D is enjoying a handful of fries. Then one "fry" and then three more and you get the picture. I try to be subtle. I give him a look. I put my hand over the fries when he's reaching. He waits until my hand is gone and grabs some more. I then say, "Enough."
I am then bitched out because he's not a child and I should have said something nicer. I lose it. I respond I am not the effing diabetic police and since he has told me (a number of times) that he prefers when I pause him he has no right to tell me how.
An aside here. I HATE BEING THE DIABETIC POLICE! I don't do well with portion control, but I'm learning stuff. D however has no "filter" that tells him he is full, not after 20+ years of eating when the glucose meter tells you to. But this goes against my Jewish mother nature that says that everything can be fixed with the right meal. I HATE telling him to stop eating. I HATE IT.
Anyway I get bitched out and then I respond that he is ignoring his own responsibility. That he had the responsibility to do as he said he would. He ignores me. I repeat this again until it sinks in and then we retreat to corners of the house to lick our wounds.
We made up. But I'm still annoyed. I'm still raging that I have to do this, and knowing he won't. There are days that I don't know when to pick the battle, and I probably should have not done anything. But then he snaps at ME when his blood glucose is high. Okay, I should note it isn't at me. He snaps, and I happen to be there and listening to it.
Currently there are clinical trials going on in MA for a possible cure. When I read about it I imagined a day in the future when I wouldn't have to ask D "What's your blood like?" I wouldn't have to touch his back or hand to see if he was sweaty and that meant low. When I could cook whatever the hell I want for him and not worry about the carbs. I actually started to cry.
People don't think of diabetes as a disease. People think "Well there's insulin" but it is so much more than that. It is everyone around the diabetic worrying about various things.
I hate this disease. I hate that it might take my D away from me. I hate it. I hate that we have these stupid fights because I worry so goddamn much.