I'm officially off Symlin. I was on the fence for a while, but I'm definitely done with it. I have a brand-new Symlin pen with pen needle attached sitting in my purse waiting to be used. It's essentially wasted now. I'm OK with that. I don't like to waste money or stuff (I'm such a pack rat), so this is really a big step for me. You'll remember when I did pretty much the same thing toward the end of my Byetta run.

The two main reasons are this: I'm tired of the tummy trouble and I eat even when I'm not hungry. The last roughly month of not taking Symlin have been mostly tummy-trouble-free. And it's been a nice change of pace, frankly, to not be constantly wiped out from having diarrhea. Going shopping -- going anywhere, really -- was also taking a chance on having to find a bathroom in an emergency. With three kids in tow. And did I mention it's not fun to rush to a PUBLIC bathroom? (READ MORE)

The phone rang yesterday morning and I shook The Mr. almost violently to make him wake up and answer so the rings wouldn't wake the kids. It was 6:30 a.m. Something must be wrong, I was thinking, for us to get a call this early.

The Mr. answered as if he hadn't just been sucking the roof tiles off. The conversation was odd and Detective Kowalski couldn't figure out who was on the phone.

Then I started hearing familiar instructions -- put the strip in the machine first... you have to wait until it's done with the numbers then you can let it suck the blood up... no, prick your finger first.

  (READ MORE)

1. I have no issues wearing my pump where everyone can see. I typically wear Toohey on my waistband or on my front pocket. I'm also not a wearer of dresses, so I have yet to encounter a situation where I didn't have a place to put my pump. It's my undergarments I've had to adjust. I've had to stock my unmentionables drawer with heavier fabrics to support Toohey at night. I don't like my pump roaming around in bed; I much prefer to clip it to my undies. Which means that the finer fabrics The Mr. prefers have made their way to the back of
my drawer.

  (READ MORE)

Olivia left for camp on Sunday. This was the first time in six years that I didn't bring her myself. I was at a blogger gathering in Niagara Falls, thoroughly enjoying myself, albeit a bit guiltily. I talked to her several times on the phone over the weekend and she seemed fine with me not going. "Well, I won't have to watch you cry this year," she said. Rotten child. (She's right. I do cry, every year. I'm a sap.)

  (READ MORE)

I've got that nervy, kinda sick feeling.  A type of cold feet, but all in my mind.  Maybe it's butterflies I feel, but it's not really in my tummy.  I'm dreading the stop on the scale on the way back to the tiny little interview (maybe I should call it interrogation, that seems more accurate) room.

It's Endo-Nerves.  Tomorrow is my endocrinologist visit.  It's only been a couple months, but with my impending insurance (maybe I should call it un-surance) upheaval, I'm going in a few weeks early.  

This may be the last time I go to this particular doctor (maybe I should call her Physcian's Assistant, that seems much more accurate).  Since I won't be commuting up to work following my lay-off, it's really silly to consider driving over an hour each way to see this highly rated and very popular specialist (and his minions, AKA PAs).  

  (READ MORE)