Lostness And Finding Along The Shore

Incoming tide, Ventnor, NJ
Photo by Kathleen Boyce - Ventnor/Beijing

I’m no Olympic swimmer, I don't have the talent or the skills and I get bored swimming pool laps. But in the ocean or bay, I can more than hold my own. I am at home in those living bodies of water, and feel graceful there.
This weekend I spent a lot of time at the beach. The weather was perfect, not to hot, not to cold, and the water was the warmest it’s been all season. The waves were breaking due to the hurricane off the Florida coast.
I believe we are ¾’s salt water for a reason. We are part of the ocean. Not only chemically, but our movements mimic the rhythm of the waves at certain times and moments of, and in, our lives. To quote a lyric whose singer’s name & song title escapes me, "I am the ocean.”

I grew up, 3 blocks from the beach and could swim in the ocean from the time I was knee high. I vividly remember my brother (who was a lifeguard) taking me out in the surfboat (lifeguard boat) and diving in. He tread water and convinced me to dive in while his partner was at the oars. I did – and remember doggie paddling towards him. He kept encouraging me that I could do it. I didn’t care that I was out over my head - I didn’t care that I was out over his head either. Every day we went out early in the morning or after 5pm, and every day I swam further.

I learned how to float on my back, how to do the backstroke, and freestyle.
Soon, I didn’t need (or want) anyone’s help. As a child, I’d swim in the ocean for hours, until my teeth were chattering and my lips turned blue from the cold. I’d swim out way over my head and then turn around and swim towards shore.
I’d body surf the waves with my father, trying always to make him proud. The ocean was the one place where my father connected to everyone of his children.

My father loved the Atlantic Ocean. He was born in Atlantic City and used to dive off the fishing piers & the Trenton Ave bay bulkhead. He’d been in over 30 countries in WWII, but was a “Jersey Beach Boy” through and through. He never wanted to leave South Jersey when he returned after the war. As kids, he’d always tell us, “See this beach right here? This is the BEST beach in the world! I’ve been in over 30 countries, and it doesn’t get better than this!”

When he died, I went to the beach the night before his funeral and the sky was this amazing swirl of gray and yellow – like a Mother of Pearl shell. I filled a tiny glass Skippy jar with sand and screwed the lid on tight. On the morning of his viewing, I open the lid of the jar, sprinkled a hand full of sand under his shoes, and placed the jar in the foot of his coffin.
I wanted to make sure that he'd always have sand at his feet and under them.

I like to the think that heaven is all things to all people. For me, heaven is an ocean in the sky. The waves are always good, the riptides are never strong, the spindrifts are always bubbling, and everyone I love who has ever died is either on the shoreline or in the water, happy and in excellent health - having a blast.

The ocean makes me feel peaceful and at home. I respect the water; I know how dangerous and powerful it is. My cousin Mark was a teacher, and he ( and 11 others) drowned in a canoeing accident while trying to save one of his students on Lake Timiskaming in 1978 - It was a national tragedy in Canada.

Not only was that the year I was diagnosed, that was the year I learned that water could take the life of some one I loved, no matter how nice or strong they were.

Still.., I loved being in the water. When I was fearless child, I got caught in a riptide, and had absolutely no ideal that I was in trouble. One of the lifeguards (who was a friend of both my brothers) swam out and offered to race me to shore, as long as I followed his path. Side by side, swimming parallel to the shore until the action of the waves pushed us back towards beach. I never knew that I was in any sort of danger. 25 years later I ran into him at Malooney's Bar and he told me the story. “Kel, you were a fish – you had no ideal, and you weren’t scared. I didn’t save you, I just guided you.”

Sunday-early evening, after my friends left the beach, I sat there and stared at the ocean for a good half hour with a lump in my throat. I stood up; took off my insulin pump, placed it in the cooler, put the cooler in my knapsack, and walked towards the waves. I felt so free, I felt at home…and I felt sad.

I knew I couldn’t stay in for long. I’d already disconnected my pump several times that day. Earlier that afternoon, I'd gone swimming for almost an hour. Before that, I’d taken my friends daughter for a swim and we played in the waves for a good 20 minutes. I was pushing my luck and I knew it.

Still, I continue to plunge myself full force in the waves, Diving under them, arching up towards the surface, or catching them just as they were ready to crest towards shore, surfing them with my body. It was time to go and I had to get out, I didn't want to go. I took my last dive under a huge white cap, and waited as long as I could before I surfaced.

As walked out of the water, I had tears in my eyes. It was as if whatever sadness I'd ever felt regarding diabetes had walked in the water with me, and I couldn't wash it off. It was if the sadness still shadowed me as I walked towards the dry sand.

The place that I felt most free was also the place where my freedom was most limited.

Scott called it, “that feeling of lostness.” I not only felt lost, but I also felt a tremendous sense of loss, in a place where I normally went to find myself.
Why was I feeling this way? Was it reading Birdie's thoughts on her "not so new normal?"Hearing about Bernard's friend? Was it hormonal? Was the churning of the waves making my thoughts churn as well. Was I just fucking nuts?

Most likely it was a combo of all the above.

It happened, I recognized it, and eventually, I moved on from it...I even managed to trip going up the boardwalk steps, which caused me to loose my balance just a tad, drop all my stuff to grab on to the railing, and cause a 5-person pile up on the steps.
“HOW GRACEFUL AM I?!...I totally meant to do that...really, I did.” I said to the people behind me, and we laughed.

So yes, I had even been able to find the funny… ;0

Cortisone's A Bitch.....And So Am I

Cortisone is a BITCH, pure and simple.

Especially when injected into a joint of a diabetic.

OUCH! ON EVERY LEVEL.

Yesterday morning, I sat on gurney in a darkened room, with an audience consisting of a Radiologist, a nurse, and three attending physicians, (including one from China,) all crowded around an ultrasound watching as the image of my foot went from a grayish hue to reddish orange.

The Radiologist showed me (and my audience,) exactly where my foot was inflamed on the ultrasound, and I knew what was coming next. The one thing that I’d tried so hard to avoid these past 8 months was about to become a reality. Damn Metasalgia! He turned on the lights and started to speak.

Radiologist:“You have severe inflammation of the foot, second metatarsal & ligament. First, I'm going to numb you with lydacane, and then inject you with cortisone in the exact area that’s inflamed. Oh GOODY, I think to myself. I'm going to mark your foot exactly where the injection goes, because we need to be precise as possible, especially when it comes to the metatarsal area.

Now Kelly, are you aware that cortisone can cause elevated blood sugars for the next 7 to 21 days? I also need to make you aware of infections that can occur. Your a diabetic and this is your foot.”

Me: “Yes, I know all about the elevated blood sugars caused by cortisone and I’m totally aware of infection and foot issues for diabetics.”

Radiologist: Before I give you the shot, I need to know how you’ll handle your blood sugars.”

Me: “I’ll test often and keep in contact with my CDE.”

Radiologist: Great. Any sign of infection, I need you to go to a Dr. ASAP.

Me: “No problem. So will this fix me? If it doesn’t work, what’s next? When can I start aerobic activity and resume my longs walks? When can I wear pretty shoes again? When will everything be back to the way it was?”

Radiologist: You need to stay off your foot for a few days, ice it, elevate it, and take Tylenol for the pain. No aspirin for 24 hours. You can’t walk or run a marathon just yet Kelly. You’ll need to ease back into that type of activity, but not for at least 3 weeks, and then, start slow. It takes the cortisone a good 4 to 7 days to actually reduce the inflammation and your foot is really going to hurt for the next week or so.”

Me: “OK, I just want to get better. I take it that strappy peep toed wedges are still off limits until then?”

He didn’t answer me.

He dimmed the lights again and showed my inflamed area on the ultrasound to the audience of attendings. The shot and the pressure of the lydacane and then the cortisone being injected into my joint brought tears to my eyes. I tensed up and tried to be brave.
I continued to breathe deep and waited for it to be over.

When I looked up, one of the attendings, a woman near my age, who had asked me about the insulin pump and my experience with diabetes, looked right into my eyes and told me it would be OK. “Your going to do your 10 mile walks again Kelly.” At that moment, I really needed to hear that.

“Thanks," I said and smiled.

I took my blood sugar (139) and increased my basal rate before I left the office.
By the time I drove home, my Blood Sugar was 63. I treated and watched it creep up every hour and adjusted the basal accordingly.

When the lydacane wore off, I could barely apply pressure to my foot, it hurt me more than words can describe. Basically, it felt like I’d stepped on a butter knife, continued walking on said knife, while traipsing over hot coals. I could tell I was in for a long evening of testing, icing, and elevating,
Which I did - religiously. I live on my own, no one to help or watch me. I need to be able to handle this if I want to continue to live an independent life.

By the end of the day, my Basal rate was up to 4.25 units an hour. Normally, my basal rate is between 1 and 1.15 units an hour. My blood sugar was around 199 at 9 p.m, and I raised my basal again to 4.5 units. I woke up with a low of 66 at 6 a.m.

Yesterdays total insulin intake 58 units.
Today’s insulin tally so far: 60.

Normally, my daily insulin total in a 24 hour period is somewhere between 30 and 39 units.

My highest cortisone blood sugar was 245 and my median cortisone blood sugar was 186.Not great, but not terrible, as far as cortisone and it’s diabetes issues are concerned.

When I had trigger finger two and a half years ago and received cortisone, no one at the Dr’s office bothered to tell me that steroids cause severe spikes in blood sugar.
I had to learn the hard way, by blowing close to a 500 BS when I got back home. Which resulted in several infusion set replacements, almost throwing out a new bottle of insulin, and an emergency call to my CDE, who set things straight. I also called the hand surgeons office and threatened to sue, if they didn’t immediately create a document that warned all diabetic patients of cortisones effect on blood sugars, which of course, they did….But I digress...That’s another story for another post.


Back to the whole inflamed foot thing. When I tested at breakfast this morning I was 115.
And At lunch I was 68. I treated and have started to decrease my basal rate, ever so slowly.

The foot feels a bit better, certainly not as tender to pressure as it was last night.
It no longer feels like I’m walking on a knife plunged into my foot while walking over hot coals. THANK GOD.

I’m still monitoring like a hawk stalking prey and I’ve gone through almost two containers of test strips so far.

Tomorrow evening I go to my acupuncturist for the pain. I’ve been going for a month and have seen a huge difference in the pain caused from Metatarsalgia, I wish I had started seeing her sooner.

Diabetes complicates things, but it doesn’t mean that it will win. My Metatarsalgia was not caused by diabetes, (it was actually caused by my love of walking long distances and a nasty toe brake two years ago) but the diabetes certainly didn’t help matters.

Still, the whole thing is teaching me patience on every level, and is reinforcing me to be an active patient in my recovery.

Today, I sit at home working, with my foot elevated and my ice pack near by.
I’m visualizing my first 3 mile walk on Kelly drive, and my first 5 mile walk on the Ventnor /Atlantic City boardwalk. The sun is shining on my face, the wind is blowing my hair, and I’m walking to the beat of my own drum. I can smell the ocean and I smile just thinking about it. I’m also dreaming about strappy wedge heeled, peep toed shoes with my toenails painted red.
I'm looking good and feel great! "FEET DON"T FAIL ME NOW!"

I plan on making the above paragraph a reality in the very near future.


Cortisone may be a bitch, so is Diabetes & Metatarsalgia for that matter. BUT, I got news for you Cortisone; Diabetes, and blasted Metatarsalgia, SO AM I !