Friday 21 February 2014

Hanging Out in the F*** It Zone

It's never much of a conscious decision, but every once in a while I realize I've been hanging out in the Diabetes Fuck-it Zone (the "D-Fiz") — known in politer circles as "diabetes burnout." I still take my insulin when I need to and test my blood sugar 5-10 times a day; I correct problems when they arise. What I don't do when I'm in this zone — because it's just too damn exhausting to sustain without a break — is all the obsessive micro-managing that diabetes invites. Testing 10-20 times a day, recording blood sugars/food intake/activity level/stress/etc., analyzing, and trying (usually with minimal success) to spot trends ... measuring, carb-counting, endlessly tweaking ... and, of course, worrying.

I realized I was in the D-Fiz this morning when I discovered my blood sugar to be 10.3 (that's about 180 for my American friends, and, for my non-diabetes-speaking friends, about double what it should be), and my reaction was, as it has been lately, whatever. Take a shot; forget about it. I think my 3-month lab work is nigh on 3 months overdue. The only diabetes-related thing that I have been micro-managing lately is Freddie's training ... but I must confess that glucose levels are not what's on my mind when Freddie and I do our BAT sessions, or even when I do scent work with him.

[Scroll down to find out where this Team Canada fan is heading at 8 a.m.]

Clearly the Fuck-it Zone is not a safe place to remain — diabetes-wise or otherwise — for very long. But I do believe it's a helpful form of respite in the Big Picture. Being a pancreas is a thankless full-time job* (I'm also employed as a thyroid, but that's a relatively cushy gig by comparison), and even though I can't take a true leave-of-absence, these occasional sabbaticals in the D-Fiz provide a kind of pseudo-holiday and allow for a recharging of the D-cell batteries (wow, that's way too many metaphors for one sentence).

*My awe and admiration go out to parents like Meri Schuhmacher (longtime blogger and mother/pancreas of 3 kids with T1D).

"Look at those jokers, glued to that damn hockey game ..." 
~ (Gotta love) Joni Mitchell

By the bye, the Canadian gents won their semi-final game against the U.S. (and I say "gents" as a response to all those folks who refer to the women's team as "ladies" or "girls" ;-))

Maybe my cumulative time in the D-Fiz will shorten my life; maybe the little bit of stress reduction will lengthen it. Maybe everything will more or less balance out in the end. Or maybe I'll get abducted by aliens or vigilantes, and none of that stuff will matter ... which reminds me of a dark and funny Bruce Cockburn song. I can't find a good YouTube version (it comes from the album Big Circumstance, 1988), but here are the lyrics (mixed in with a few more pics):

"Anything Can Happen"

You could have gone off the Bloor Street viaduct
I could have been run down in the street
You could have got botulism anytime
I could have gone overboard into the sea

Anything can happen
To put out the light,
Is it any wonder
I don't want to say goodnight?


I could have been hit by a falling pane of glass
You could have had shark teeth write "finit"
We could have been nailed by some vigilante type
In a case of mistaken identity — obviously

Anything can happen
To put out the light
Is it any wonder
I don't want to say goodnight?

We could have been lynched and tarred and feathered
Been on a plane that crashed in flames
Could have done the neutron melt together
But here we are just the same!


You could have been daggered in the dead of night
You could have been gassed inside your car
I could have been walking in the open fields
And been drilled through the head by a shooting star

Anything can happen
To put out the light
Is it any wonder
I don't want to say goodnight?

Thanks, Bruce.
Hey, how come when the women's hockey team wins gold, the players are women first, and when the men win (at least silver this time around), the players are simply Canadians? Freddie calls sexism! (And doesn't expect much sympathy...)


Stop pooping on the parade, "Freddie."

But back to the business of holidays and sabbaticals and whatnot ... Paul, Freddie, and I will be taking off on Road Trip #3 this Sunday. We'll be gone for four days, sans laptop, so Walking With Freddie will be briefly on PAUSE — adventures to be photo-documented when we return.

Looking forward to some hippy-dippy, far-west-coast tranquility ... and maybe an escape from the D-Fiz, also when we return. In the meantime, look for one more post tomorrow, in which Freddie experiences rotten luck and exotic foods.

Peace, wo/man.


  1. D-Fiz!! exactly the kind of acronym I'm looking for! I'm definitely quoting this. You're brilliant.
    that no pooping sign is amazing. just... amazing!

    1. Scully - I'm honoured! You're the queen of that kind of lingo play. :)

      And feel free to use the no pooping photo wherever you like. I can take no credit for the sign itself, which IS quite great.


What say you?