Diagnosis 1600.2: Spoonfuls of Splenda

Four years have now passed since my diagnosis as a Type 1 diabetic (with a 1600 blood sugar) back in January of 2008. And what a journey it's been. I've spent two of those four years on an insulin pump which is under warranty for just three years. It is my goal to be off the insulin pump before that warranty expires... Here goes nothing!! 

In the meantime, I thought I might entertain you with another trip down memory lane. Here is the long-awaited second half of my diagnosis story. [Click here to read Part One.] Please remember that my below description of events is from an online letter originally composed on Monday, February 18, 2008 and no longer reflects my current thinking where dietary knowledge and practice are concerned.

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It's a lot to choke down, really.

I remember feeling it when I was leaving the hospital, just after my conversation with the burly, soft-spoken, young Latino guy steering my wheelchair. I asked him about his job in transportation and learned he spends his entire day moving things. If something needed to get from one part of the hospital to another, he transported it - heavy boxes, medication, food, sick people... even bodies. And it hit me: I could have been one of those bodies.


Suddenly, I was very grateful to be in that wheelchair. But now, here I was, being separated from the institution that had kept me alive with insulin and food (which wasn't bad, actually, once the taste of the ice chips subsided), and I had little clue anymore how to keep myself alive. Until now, I'd never had to *think* about it.

Kickin' the Habit

For once, choosing and committing to a New Year's resolution took no time at all. Usually, I don't play that popular game, for a variety of reasons. But this year, I just couldn't resist... This year, I've decided to give up my diabetes.

What's that you say? It's not my fault that I got diabetes? That's what my doctors tell me, and they may be correct. It's a question with which I've struggled for quite a while myself. At the time of my diagnosis I was (what I considered then to be) a relatively healthy and active person. But the truth is I may never know for sure to what degree I played a part in my own condition. The truth is, for my purposes, that it doesn't really matter. My journey is not about laying blame. What matters - and what I can take responsibility for - are the choices I'm making right now, either to the tune of impeded progress or to the continued nurturing of this new healing lifestyle unto its highest manifestation.

Get the BS Out of Your BG

I wanted to make you all aware of this free discussion by James Hopson, a man whose insight and guidance have been most influential in my progress. If you're going to be in the Los Angeles area and available on the evening of Monday, January 16th, please come to this lecture for some free information or to ask questions. If you're not available that night, or if you're decidedly out of the area, then please feel free to contact Mr. Hopson directly at 310-773-2323. Either way, you won't regret it!

Raw Food Revenge

The more I doubt, the more I find reason to hope.

My interpretation of Ani Phyo's raw apple pie.

I cannot honestly recall a holiday season during which I felt so unbelievably blessed. Even amidst the stress and emotion of several recent drastic changes and potentially daunting challenges in my personal life, my healing progress continues. Despite a most current A1C of 5.4 (and falling) and an average daily insulin dosage now below 5 units per day (4.29 of that being basal), I've been so busy these days that I sometimes forget to applaud myself for how far I've come since beginning my Raw foods adventure earlier this year. What I cannot now ignore, however, is how much I am no longer alone in the journey.

I've alluded before to my own personal [we'll call it a... ] diabetic's dilemma - this fear I've had of somehow being ostracized or marginalized by my group of diabetic friends because I refused to place all my trust in someone else's search for a long-awaited, much delayed "cure" and instead dared to take my healing into my own hands, as much as possible. I had thought that perhaps the institution of illness might overcome the

Treat or Trick?

I deserve it. This cookie, that cake, a taste of pastry, a bit of candy... It's a just dessert.

When it comes to my own immediate gratification, I am capable of rationalizing almost anything. To my good fortune, however, my idea of what it means to treat myself appears to be changing radically these days. If ever there be conventional sweets on my fork, or some other highly refined or overly processed culinary assault of all things nourishing and sacred, the Frankenfood that  still seems capable of satisfying my palate clearly does not love me for long. 


On the rare occasions I indulge, the passion of that first kiss fades all too quickly. What seemed attractive when I was drunk with desire becomes suddenly less appealing in this more sober light of morning. In truth, these indulgences have never loved me back. And now that I am less intoxicated - quite literally less poisoned by pesticides, preservatives, fertilizers, synthetic hormones and numerous other chemicals

In Defense of Food Rights

Los Angeles Superior Court
210 W Temple Street

Los Angeles, CA 90012

Dear Honorable Judge of the Los Angeles Superior Court:

I'm guessing you don't want the responsibility of holding my health in your hands any more than I want you to have it. Nonetheless to some degree, that is the situation in which we now find ourselves regarding the August 3rd government raid of the Rawesome Foods private co-op of Venice, California. As the case unfolds, I ask that you consider these very important points:

First, the folks who will stand trial before you - James Stewart, Sharon Palmer and Victoria Bloch - are nothing short of heroes to their community, their friends and family, and especially, to people like me who suffer from chronic or degenerative illness. Each one of the defendants has been directly and profoundly instrumental in my own journey of recovery from Type 1 diabetes. Without their passion, strength and commitment to the

Doctor Love

I like to look good for my doctor.

I dress up for doctor visits these days almost as if I were going on a date rather than to a medical appointment. Of course, I'm pretty sure it's ultimately not my fancy shoes, form-fitting skirt and bare shoulder V-neck top he's thinking of when he says, "Well, look at you! Don't you look fantastic?!" The cute clothes probably don't hurt in helping to produce that desired reaction, but I trust he's commenting more on my increased vitality and apparent happiness - my "glow" if you will.

He's not the only person verbally acknowledging the change, but I will credit my doctor with a unique perspective. He's seen me at my very worst, after all. He's told me himself he is still haunted by the image of me in the ER, my fragile underweight frame - just a pale ghost of a barely responsive and nearly comatose 27-year-old new diabetic, fighting like hell from some unseen place against an unheard-of 1600 blood sugar. He still recalls how I emerged from that Great Fight, terrified, trembling and confused, looking perhaps more like the loser than the winner.