Category Archives: Historical Record

Progress Report

I went for a run today on the treadmill. (I like watching “The Walking Dead” while I run and go nowhere. It seems appropriate for the brainlessness of the treadmill.) It was my first run since I felt the pain of plantar fasciitis appear six miles into my easy, seven mile, recovery-week run on Sunday. Even though I didn’t feel any pain this morning when I got out of bed (the time when it’s usually worst) I only ran three easy miles. I don’t want to push my recovery.

And tomorrow morning, I’m going back to the pool for the first time since last Friday. I had such a great swim a week ago that I planned to write that evening about how awesome it was. Except, by the time the evening rolled around, I couldn’t raise my left arm high enough without pain to use the computer. After five days off, I probably could have gone back yesterday, but I didn’t want to push that either.

Being injured was hard. Being doubly injured was ten times worse. I’m so happy to be well enough to get back to training. *touch wood*

(I’m not a superstitious or magical-thinking thinking kind of person, though I am known to indulge in two things. When things are going really well, I don’t like to talk about it. Everything could suddenly change. Why? Hubris, of course. It’s best to just keep going quietly as long as things are going well, all the while expecting that bad things could happen at any moment. . . . I also throw salt over my shoulder when I spill some, because throwing salt is fun.)

Friends, I am not good at being injured. The first few days were the most difficult. On Monday, I definitely had my cranky pants on. I tend to arrive at the worst possible conclusions: I’ll be injured for a long time; I won’t be able to do the events that I’ve signed up for; I won’t be able to achieve my goals; I won’t be able to be who I want to be. I’m a very goal-oriented person, and I derive a lot of my self-worth from setting and meeting them. (Lisa and I debate whether or not this is not a good way of thinking. At any rate, I need to remember to take the long view.)

I’m trying to be better at handling the occasional injury, and I feel grateful that each of my recent issues were very minor in the great scheme of things. And I need to start working on my injury prevention.


So what was I going to write on Friday? Given that I already injured myself, there’s no fate to tempt by talking about how great my swim on Friday was.

I’m not very fast yet, but I’m consistent during my workouts. I also think I’m improving my technique: I have started to feel my catch more, and I’m starting to see how to generate power during my stroke. Despite these improvements—which may or may not have caused my shoulder problem—I was starting to wonder whether I was actually getting faster or not. After all, the whole point of working on technique is to reduce my times, and I was much faster in the open-water over the summer than I ever have been at the pool. But what about my times just at the pool?

I went back to the historical record (a.k.a., mapmyrun.com). Turns out, I am swimming faster—and not just a little. Last Friday, I swam a bit over a mile at 36:12/mile pace. That’s two minutes faster than on Halloween and more than three minutes faster than just before my first triathlon. At this time last year, I swam at a 43:00/mile pace . . . and I wasn’t even going a full mile. This is a great trend, and I hope to keep it going. (And for the record, the first time I went to the pool, I swam six lengths in twenty-five minutes. That’s 277 minutes per mile.)

See you at the pool!

Posted in General, Historical Record, Life Lessons, Reluctant Triathlete, Running, Swimming | 1 Comment

Two Poems for Today

Five years ago, I published pages from my journal to make sense of 9/11. [1] On this day, ten years after the attacks, the only thing I can offer is poetry. I had been working on the first in my head over the last few years until it came spilling out of me last week along with all of the tears. The other is from Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno’s award-winning book of poems, Slamming Open the Door.


She showed up with her shovel and started digging,
The woman from across the street whom I had never met.
We dug for a quiet hour that was really only a minute
Or two beneath the severe blue of a Wyoming April morning.
“My father died when I was about your age.”
There was too much snow to use the blower so we dug
With the shovels reserved for light October dustings
Which swirled around on my birthday,
The first snowfall after he brought us here.
“We suspected when you didn’t clear your driveway yesterday.”

Yesterday was still there. Waking to a too early phone call.
The shriek and commotion and “We have to go in a few minutes.”
Waiting in a hospital conference room with two other families,
Coworkers coming and going all day with news and snacks and hope.
Hours later, the sun already setting on a snowy scene
Beyond the window across the hospital bed in the unneeded room
Where I had come to escape the condolences,
The hand on my shoulder and a voice I almost knew:
“C’mon back. Your mom needs you.”

The smoke from her chimney rose into the clear sky.
“Thank you.” It was all I knew how to say in that moment.
That evening in my basement, Maggie the skier sat across the void from me,
In silence, knowing what she had to say, what I vaguely knew.
“My father died the year before you moved here.”
I apologized in sympathy knowing how hard this visit was for her
And retreated into silence, so different than my awkward mania
When friends brought by a potted plant and a disco LP.

Snow melts fast during a Wyoming spring and was gone
Before the funerals of the four people aboard the flight.
I had tried to read a few words for the occasion,
But they got lost somewhere over the casket.
After the service, one of his fellow paramedics
Put his hand on my shoulder and confided.
“We all had our difficulties. He was hard, but he was trying.
He talked about you all the time, more than his own kids.”
After hard years we were learning how to live together.

Grief keeps its own timetable, making regular stops at first.
The effects collected at the scene. The ashes in a cardboard box.
The coroner’s report I accidentally saw with details I never wanted to know.
The telemarketer calls trickling in over the rest of the spring:
“No. I’m sorry. My stepfather died in a plane crash.”
Now the ghost train stops just a few times each year
As I shovel clean the driveway after a Nor’easter.
Instead of leaving reminders, it transports me
Back to the snow of those Wyoming mornings
And all of the people who helped me through it.


Poem About Light

You can try to strangle light:
use your hands and think
you’ve found the throat of it,
but you haven’t.
You could use a rope or garrote
or a telephone cord,
but the light, amorphous, implacable,
will make a fool of you in the end.

You could make it your mission
to shut it out forever,
to crouch in the dark,
the blinds pulled tight—

still, in the morning,
a gleaming little ray will betray you, poking
its optimistic finger
through a corner of the blind,
and then more light,
clever, nervy, impossible,
spilling out from the crevices
warming the shade.

This is the stubborn sun,
choosing to rise,
like it did yesterday,
like it will tomorrow.
You have nothing to do with it.
The sun makes its own history;
light has its way.

— Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno


1 — The curious can find all of those posts here: June 30; September 1, 2, 11, 12, 13, 16, 24; and October 5, 2001. [Back . . .]

Posted in General, Historical Record, This is who we are | 5 Comments

Blunt Lancet Interview

Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you no doubt have heard about Blunt Lancet’s new album that’s set to drop soon. Thanks to some connections, I got an advance copy of the CD, which I’ve had on heavy rotation. The band’s A&R team is really pushing the group, even helping make a VH1 “Behind the Music” episode.

But I don’t think they’re too happy about a leaked Rolling Stone interview with “Lancer,” the band’s faithful roadie. Here’s the full, previously unpublished article with details of an (as yet) unknown tell-all book about the band.

Kenny Powers from 'Eastbound and Down'

Rolling Stone: Lancer, you’ve written a book called Logbook: My Life on the Road with Blunt Lancet

Lancer: You know, it was originally supposed to be called F**k the D-Police: It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold our Blood Sugars Back.

RS: Really?! So how did it end up as —

L: Logbook? Yeah, I wasn’t too happy about that. I mean the band hates logbooks. But the lawyers made us do it, you know? Both Chuck D and Ice Cube threatened to sue. And if there’s one thing I wanna steer clear of, it’s that whole East Coast / West Coast bullsh*t.

RS: In your book, you reveal that the band had different names in the past, too. I think most die-hard fans know about the performances (and bootlegs) by “Dull Poker,” but what were some of the other names?

L: Yeah, there were about a dozen names the band used or considered. Most of them never came to anything, but we did produce a couple 45s under a couple of the names. [Conspiratorially] That’s something for you vinyl junkies out there to be on the lookout for.

RS: And what were some of those names?

L: Oh, right. Well, they tried “The Fab-104s” and “The BGs.”

That last one actually was the thing that got the band together, you know. We were all sitting around in Raw Sugar‘s basement when the BeeGees came on the “Hi Fi,” and we’re all thinking “We gotta check our blood sugar.” So Testkit, who was feeling a little hypo at the time pulls out a guitar and just starts riffin’ on “Stayin’ Alive.” And I’m thinking, “Hey, I think we really might have something here.”

RS: You tell in the book about the band’s troubled relationship with British heavy metal band Motörhead.

L: Tossers!

RS: Care to explain?

L: See, we were initially named “Blünt Lancet,” ’cause, ya know, it sounded really f**cking cool when Syringe would try to say it with his Aussie’s faux German accent. Anyway, we scrapped the umlaut because when we put the “U” with the dots on the drum kit — well, it just looked a bit too happy for the hardcore mood we were trying to set. That didn’t stop motherfü**ing Motörhead from using it. And “Ace of Spades?” PLEASE! We played those losers “A1Cs of Spades” one day, and they just totally ran with it. . . . “And don’t forget the poker. . . . Ace of Spades!”

RS: “Ace?”

L: Yeah, the “1″ is silent. What else do you wanna know, man?

RS: They’re not the only musicians you’ve feuded with in the past, though. Brian Eno, for example.

L: If you want to call that atmospheric stuff “music.” [pause] I see that you do.

It’s like this. The group is always up for switching it up. I mean we started punk/disco. Went country for a bit. Threw some R&B into a few albums. But all that “made for soundtrack music” that he wanted us to do was just dull as sh*t. I mean he’s a great producer, but I think he took the band’s name a little too seriously.

RS: Not to keep going on a sour note, but Motörhead wasn’t the only group that you “inspired.”

L: That’s right. Def Leppard pretty much stole “Pour Some Sugar on Me” from our B-side “I’m Low And I Need Some Juice.” That was something our (two-armed) drummer, Pancreas, said when we were on tour with them, and she wrote down the melody in the 15 minutes it took to rebound. That’s partly why it’s so ridiculous. People are always stealing our stuff.

RS: From time to time the results of working with other artists must be a little more positive. Any you want to share?

L: Well there was this one time we were all hanging out in the back of the bus with Carly Simon, and we were checking our BGs again, and Pumps was like “You’re all veins.” Carly was beside herself with joy. I don’t want to be too egotistical, but really that song is all about us. I got a writing credit on it, you know.

RS: Pumps?

L: F*******k! Backup singer — Sh*t! I swore I wasn’t going to say anything about that Fleetwood Mac-like period of the band. They were great times, but the drama. Both Pumps and Bumps were fighting over supplies and got busted by the D Police all the f**king time, man.

RS: Bumps?

L: Next question!

[We suspect that either "Pumps" or "Bumps" might be K2, the former lead singer of the on-again-off-again Insulin Whores Riot Grrrrl punk trio. — RS]

RS: When —

L: I don’t think I mentioned in the book that we got kicked out of East Germany. . . . We were playing some underground venues, but we overstayed our “diplomat” visas by a few hours. So they showed us to the border. We had to watch the wall come down from a bar in Frankfurt. It’s a shame. 24 hours later, and we might have been playing “Rage Bolus” from atop the wall.

We got kicked out of Tuscaloosa, too.

RS: So what’s next for the band?

L: Well, I’m just the roadie.

RS: Now you’re being modest.

L: Or maybe a bit coy. I don’t want to jinx anything. [Pause] We’re trying to get a bunch of bands together for SugaPalooza. The Insulin Whores, SugaSheen, George Simmons, . . . maybe even the alt/contemporary-classical group Langerhans Quartet. They’re hard to get. And weird, man.

RS: Motörhead?

L: Funny. Are we done here?

Posted in Diabetes, Historical Record, Life Lessons, Worthy Feeds | 7 Comments

Australia, The Home Movie

I finally uploaded the video that I made from our trip to Australia. Lisa and I hope you enjoy it. (Be sure to set the playback resolution to at least 480p.)

Posted in Australia, Historical Record, I am Rembrandt, NaBloPoMo, NaBloPoMo 2010, Travel, Video | 3 Comments

Voicemail

This is the first part of a triptych of diabetes posts. It references the time just before my diagnosis. The second part covers the most recent year of my post-diagnosis life. The final piece recounts some developments from last month and gives a view of the future.

This may be the most important voicemail I’ll ever receive:

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But this one is a good one to remember, too…

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… especially since that first message was her calling me on September 7th, 1999, the day before I was diagnosed with diabetes. Thanks, sweetheart, for all the help staying well these last eleven years.

Posted in Diabetes, Historical Record | 5 Comments

Aussie Photos

We’ve been back for a while, and I’m occasionally reminded that I haven’t posted all of the photographs from our trip. Here they are! Ironically, I got sidetracked by the process of selecting and printing photographs, some of them you can see here. Almost all of those photos are in a Flickr collection.

Short on time? View the abridged set of 130+ photographs.

As an overview, here’s a day-by-day view of our trip:

Day -4: Packing for the trip Day -3: Packed for the trip Day 0: Leaving Boston ... in a limo
Day 1: Over the Pacific Day 2: Hyde Park, Sydney Day 3: Taronga Zoo
Day 4: Sydney Aquarium Day 5: Darwin Sunset Day 6: Wangi Falls, Litchfield NP
Day 7: Swimming below Florence Falls, Litchfield NP Day 8: Mimi Spirit, Kakadu NP Day 9: Yellow Water Bilabong, Kakadu NP
Day 10: Katherine Gorge, Nitmiluk NP Day 11: Daly Waters Pub Day 12: Devils Marbles, NT
Day 13: Ghost gum tree and sandstone, Watarrka NP Day 14: Kings Canyon, Watarrka NP Day 15: Uluṟu (Ayers Rock)
Day 16: Valley of the Winds, Uluṟu-Kata Tjuṯa NP Day 17: Sunrise in Uluṟu-Kata Tjuṯa NP Day 18: Lisa with an olive python, Alice Springs Reptile Centre
Day 19: Thorny devil, Alice Springs Desert Park Day 20: Frolicking in the surf of Trinity Beach, Queensland Day 21: Mossman Gorge, Daintree NP
Day 22: Flynn Reef, Great Barrier Reef Day 23: Trinity Beach Day 24: Australina Butterfly Sanctuary, Kuranda
Day 25: Crocodile, Cairns Tropical Zoo Day 26: Sydney Harbour Bridge Day 27: Watson's Bay, Sydney
Day 28: View of our plane as we leave Australia Day after: A month's worth of mail

The Narrative:

Some other experiences:

You can also read about our trip.

Posted in Australia, Historical Record, I am Rembrandt, Photography, Travel | Leave a comment

Some Patriots’ Day Thoughts on Militias and Tyrants

Sometimes, things happen that almost immediately crystallize an aspect of one’s life, splitting it into a time before the event and after. Your parent takes a job in a sparsely populated Western state and moves the whole family. A plane crashes with a family member on board. You drive a U-Haul truck from Oregon to Massachusetts without a job to start post-college life with your new spouse. You buy a home. You take a trip to India.

Some other events are just as important but only in retrospect. These are subtle things, a turning of the tide. A high school student teaches you a bit of French in fourth grade and inspires a life-long interest in la belle langue and the nation of France. You go to camp a couple years later where you bicycle a couple hundred miles around Iowa and realize that cycling is the activity that you really love. You appropriate the family camera on a trip to Yellowstone and pick up the habit. You ride the 80 bus from Watertown to Cambridge and start to give up most of your conservative political views as you see that the working people (of which you are one) need more opportunity than they’re getting. The tragic, brutal death of a young gay man in your home state makes you rethink some of the other bullshit ideas you had.

Another thing that slowly changed me was the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building fifteen years ago yesterday.

I should note that I was in my second year at Grinnell in the spring of 1995. I loved Grinnell, but I felt like I lived in a cave. Very little news made it my way. That is, I consumed very little of it. I remember the Republican revolution of 1994 — I may have been one of the few students there who didn’t really mind it. I seem to recall there was (still) a war in the Balkans. And the farm bill was rewritten. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to know what was going in the world; I just wasn’t very connected to the media at the time.

McVeigh and Nichol’s act of terrorism really struck close to home — figuratively, of course. At the time, I still considered myself a Wyomingite. Like many people in Wyoming I felt that the federal government was a more-or-less foreign, colonial power. DC is almost 2000 miles from the Equality State, but unelected officials there ultimately control how most of the land in the mountains and plains can be used. With only three electoral votes, our Congressional delegation might have had disproportionate power relative to our population, but we felt marginalized on the national stage. It seemed like a lot of the issues that mattered to us didn’t matter to the rest of the country, and vice versa. People on the coasts and in the cities wanted to take away the guns we (truly believed) we relied on for our protection. We might not have had “Live Free or Die” on our license plates — we had a broncobuster — but we felt like we actually lived what New Hampshire was trying to claim.

I knew a guy — a sort of family friend/hanger-on — who taught me about the militia mindset. He spent a lot of time at the gun shop. (I should say one of the gun shops, for there were several.) And he would tell us what he heard and (thus) believed. He was a real life Dale Gribble. The government had designs on our guns and our liberty. For reasons I didn’t understand, the Clinton Justice Department was training a secret NATO army using black helicopters to impose the “one world government” under the auspices of the UN. The Federal Reserve was part of an ancient secret society that finally surfaced at the Bretton Woods summit in the 40s; they too were part of this enormous plot, and at the appointed time this unelected body would devalue the US dollar for their nefarious ends. Ruby Ridge and Waco and Vince Foster’s suicide were visible corroboration of the dozens of other insidious events for anyone who would just bother to connect the dots. He buried guns and ammunition in PVC pipe in the backyard so that once ATF agents came to take his “sacrificial” firearms away, he would be ready to carry on the fight. He stocked extra food and claimed to have survival skills. And he “knew people” who claimed to have shot down a helicopter that was scaring their cattle on BLM land. But the “real” militia action was always over the border in Montana, where the crazy people live.

(If it weren’t for the talk about aliens, it was almost conceivable as an alternate reality. After graduating college I watched “X-Files.” And I felt like I had heard all of the stories already. The guy I knew was a wannabe Western version Fox Mulder, uncovering the evil machinations of the Cigarette Smoking Man. After my first year working in tech support where I frequently helped people working in the defense industry on government contracts, it became crystal clear to me that the very idea of a “massive government conspiracy” crumbles because it’s just not possible to hold it all together secretly. Even people working on secret things need help completing their part of the secret.)

So when a couple of “lone wolves” put an actual plan into effect, I was stunned. I knew that some people believed the government wanted to make them slaves to its bureaucratic will. I knew that there were a lot of well-armed, slightly off-balance people out there. And I knew that there was a lot of angry — or, at the very least, agitated — rhetoric. (“Talking treason” the guy I knew liked to say.) But I didn’t think anyone would actually do this sort of thing. If I were old enough to remember the Weathermen, it wouldn’t have been so surprising.

After the bombing — which thankfully didn’t actually touch my life directly — just about anything associated with the militia point of view rapidly lost whatever bit of Revolutionary-era-throwback legitimacy I had carved out for it in my mind. These are modern times; there’s no need to “water the tree of liberty with the blood of tyrants,” because we are so far away from tyranny. Government wasn’t the problem; it was the bulwark against domestic terrorists. Gun legislation might not always be consistent; but it seems like a necessity. There should be no such thing as a “well-regulated militia” except as run by the states.

Above all, the tremendous amount of lost life, the needless deaths, and the premeditated brutality of the Oklahoma City bombing shows us the danger of unchecked bullshit. I don’t claim to know what was in McVeigh’s mind, though I hear he was upset about Waco and Ruby Ridge (which were unfortunate and needless in their own way). But the idea that these events herald despotism makes no more sense than the gun shop hearsay that the family friend shared with us.

Looking at American history, we see that our form of government is more durable than we let on. We have never had periods of despotism. The Republic has never fallen, although it did crack apart from within during the Civil War because of or own inconsistent ideas of “liberty.” Neither fascism nor communism — the two greatest external ideological threats to democracy — took hold. (The methods of prophylaxis — Palmer raids, strike-busting, Pinkertons, McCarthyism, widespread FBI surveillance — may even have been worse than what the forces of stability were trying to prevent.) We have survived wars and contested elections and depressions. The historical power behind the idea of America is the strongest argument against militia activity.

In fact, militias have only gotten us into trouble since they peeled us off from the British Empire. (And depending on your point of view, maybe even then too.) Shay’s Rebellion helped destroy the first post-Revolutionary confederation. Armed white civilians moving into the interior of the continent committed ethnic cleansing and spread race-based tyranny. John Brown’s raids and the Missouri troubles hastened the Civil War, while the South Carolina militia’s siege on Ft. Sumter actually started it. The Ku Klux Klan began as anti-Reconstruction civilian militia. The Gilded Age’s corporate militias killed working men and their families. The counterculture’s left-wing terrorist/nihilist militias in the 1960s and 70s helped usher in the current generation’s culture wars.

So it bothers me very much to see a contemporary resurgence in the kind of sentiment and speech that I heard in my late adolescence, the kind of words and ideas that led McVeigh and Nichols to kill 168 people fifteen years ago. I didn’t say anything about the notions I heard before Oklahoma City because I thought it was diverting, idle chatter — a jester’s story, if you will. Now that I’m starting to hear the same BS, I must say that it’s time to stop . . . before our nation’s adolescent obsession with civilian militias gets people killed again.

Posted in Historical Record, History, Life Lessons, This is who we are, USA, Western Adventure | 2 Comments

Afternoon (basal) delight

This post is inspired by Anna in Montréal, who is adjusting her basal rates.


A Side-effect of Exercise

I have a bike. This shouldn’t be a big surprise, as I’ve written about my border-to-border and Quabbin Reservoir rides recently.

I love riding my bike, and during the warm months with lots of sunshine I rode it almost everyday. I like the sensation of rolling along, with the wind whistling in my ears and the scenery blurring by. I don’t even mind the hills anymore, even though the wind stops whistling as I crawl along.

All of that riding has been great at lowering my blood glucose reading. In fact, it’s worked a little too well. Insulin — the enzyme that helps transport glucose into your cells for energy — becomes much more effective when you exercise. And when your muscle cells slide past each other, they basically act as pumps and can work (almost) without insulin. (But not completely without.)

When I ride, I carry a waterbottle full of sports drink — Gatorade if you care to know — but I was still having hypoglycemia more often than I’d like. If you don’t have diabetes, this is commonly referred to as “cracking,” “bonking,” or “hitting the wall.” Your muscles have spent their glycogen (a form of glucose usually found inside of muscles), and your body can’t convert enough fatty acids into energy. You feel tired and find it hard to keep going.

If you have diabetes, hypoglycemia has all of these same attributes. Of course, for us it also means that our brains don’t get enough glucose either. So we’re not just tired, we can also pass out. And stopping for a little while doesn’t fix the problem. We have to replace it right away. So I try really hard not to have hypoglycemia. And as someone trying to take off a few pounds — which is going quite well, thank you very much — I want my body to turn fat into fatty acids and leave my blood glucose more or less alone. And I don’t like to drink a lot when I run, which I’m doing now that it’s dark in the evening. But, as I said on Halloween, hypos scare me.


Time to Fix the Basals

So I pulled out my copy of Smart Pumping. “Oh look! I should probably fix my basal rates as a first step.” Well, it was time to do that anyway.

For those of us with insulin pumps, basal insulin is the continuous trickle of background insulin that keeps our blood glucose in the happy/normal range of 80-150 mg/dL, counteracting the steady release of blood glucose from the liver. Why the liver does this, I don’t know. I read in my book that basal insulin should be about 40-50% of your average total daily dose (basal + food/correction boluses). Mine was about 55-60%. A sign of problems. Fixing these rates requires skipping meals and testing every couple hours. Skipping meals is hard. And if one reading is too much different than the one before, you have stop, make adjustments, and start another day.

But I wanted exercise to be easier (and last longer). And (more importantly) I was coming up on my 10-year anniversary with diabetes and had told myself that I wasn’t going to go five or ten more years just “getting by.” I was starting to be quite unhappy about all of my hypos and high readings. And I had a supportive, active new endocrinologist who wanted to help me improve my readings and my ability to predict them.

After figuring out my morning basal rates — which involved about four or five skipped breakfasts — I began my afternoon tests in late September. When I started, I was getting 22.0 units per day. (A unit is 1/100 of a mL. A vial of insulin has 1000 units.)

Four weeks, seven tests and seven adjustments later, I think I’ve figured it out. I have just one more afternoon test to go — I hope — but I think my new rates are correct. For the curious people with diabetes out there, here’s a bit of the data.


Numbers and stuff

On 26 September, my basal rates were

00:00 - 07:00 = 0.9 u/hr
07:00 - 09:00 = 1.0
09:00 - 20:00 = 0.9
20:00 - 00:00 = 1.0
(22 units per day)

The first or second test:

6 October 2009
Last basal: 4.0u at 7:42 (active insulin at 12:30 is 0.4u)
11:39 - 143
12:54 - 79
Stopped

8 October 2009 - Attempt #2 or 3
Last basal: 4.3u at 7:22
11:20 - 155
12:56 - 97
Stopped

I was checking more often than required in those early tests, because I could actually feel my blood sugar moving. I kid you not, and I had suspicious that I was going a scary place.

By 12 October, I had changed my rates to

00:00 - 0.9 u/hr
07:00 - 1.0
09:00 - 0.7
15:00 - 0.8
20:00 - 1.0

13 October 2009 - Attempt #4
11:38 - 133
13:00 - 93
14:00 - 78
Stopped

19 October 2009 - Attempt #5
11:27 - 216
12:54 - 188
14:45 - 138
15:47 - 111
Stopped

After this, I was feeling close to being there, and before my last test had already knocked off a lot of insulin.

00:00 - 0.9 u/hr
07:00 - 1.0
09:00 - 0.7
11:00 - 0.5
15:00 - 0.6

27 October 2009 - Attempt #7
Previous bolus - 07:51
10:44 - 256
11:53 - 234 (Active insulin 1.1u)
13:36 - 226
16:01 - 180
18:01 - 153

I know that last test started out with high readings, but I just wanted to get the damned thing done, and I knew that having higher readings would give me a good cushion for seven hours of testing.

Currently, here’s where I am:

00:00 - 0.9 u/hr
07:00 - 1.0
08:00 - 0.8
09:00 - 0.7
11:00 - 0.5
20:00 - 1.0
(18 units per day)

These basal tests are all about gradual refinements. If your BG readings change by more than 30 mg/dL up or down over any two hour period, adjust +/- 0.1 unit/hour starting 2-3 hours before the dip/bump. The Pumping Insulin authors also recommend redoing all of your basal tests (overnight, morning, afternoon, and evening) whenever you change exercise patterns, your weight changes 5-10%, or you suspect they’re wrong because of fasting highs or lows.

Posted in Cycling, Data-betes, Diabetes, From the Yellow Notepad, Historical Record, Life Lessons, NaBloPoMo, NaBloPoMo 2009 | Leave a comment

Diabetes Application – A Sample Report

A couple weeks ago, I presented a teaser of my diabetes application. I’ve been working on it a lot lately, creating GUIs to enter most of the data on my insulin pump and blood glucose meter. But mostly I’ve been creating charts and reports. (Putting data in is much less interesting than analyzing it, in an effort to improve my “control.”)

Here’s one of the reports. It has a bit of everything, including the kitchen sink. The one I’m taking with me to my endocrinologist tomorrow is much more focused. Visualizing all of the data associated with diabetes is kind of tricky, so I’m working on that. More features to come. . . .

(Please, don’t judge me based on my readings. :^) Right now I’m using food to cover my insulin, which is the opposite of how it should work — it seems I never really got switched from the NPH mindset. Getting past that is one of the main reasons why I’m doing in this project.)

I’m committed to releasing everything under some kind of open source license. Everything, that is, except the data and anything that would involve a diagnosis or recommend a particular kind of treatment. I don’t want to be on the hook for FDA approval and all that involves.

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Enough for now

So there it is. From the “normal” post-Clinton days to the depths of national tragedy to the clearest signs of our nation’s emerging post-9/11 faultlines all in the span of just four weeks. I didn’t leave much out — just a few redundant bits. I started writing a lot more (and more regularly) afterward but about a more diverse and quotidian set of details. (You can read all of the journal entries in one place.)

Yesterday, five years afterward, I couldn’t help but feel extremely let down by my so-called leaders who have failed to find Osama bin Laden, failed to eliminate the Taliban or stabilize Afghanistan, divided Americans more than any other time since Vietnam via a new war, and squandered all of the goodwill that we garnered through our losses. Unfortunately, most of my fears about retrenchments on civil liberties have come to pass. Fortunately, al-Qaeda and others haven’t attacked us since — leading John Muellers to wonder about the myth of the omnipresent enemy. Which is not to say that our government was able to keep us safe from snipers, anthrax attacks, or floods.

Now I look forward to a time when the government doesn’t use our very personal experiences with the Sept. 11 attacks as a cudgel to get its political jollies.

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Journal Entry: October 5, 2001

Life is starting to get back to “normal,” although there is still a lot of tension and unease. I have been sleeping better, but my dreams are still unsettled. The weather has been beautiful and the leaves are turning, so it is possible to forget about all of this at least for a little while. Last Sunday, when Lisa and I were hiking Little Monadnock in New Hampshire, it was wonderful — it was only afterward that I realized I hadn’t been thinking about the terror.

We still talk about it a lot at work. Mostly we wonder about what the immediate future will bring, how we will respond militarily, whether our foreign policy will change for the better. [On the political discussion forum] everyone rallies around the flag but disagrees over typical issues: whether we should understand the terrorists, whether we should hit back in a local or broadbased strike, whether we were partially to blame, whether retaliation causes us to cede the moral high ground. In short, the right and left argue about whether US cultural imperialism or a culture of cruelty caused the provocative actions which we now find ourselves trying to answer. The peace folks say we should turn the other cheek; the vengeful don’t seem to care about innocents abroad. . . .

Today after work we noticed a large to-do at the funeral home just across the street from our apartment. The crowd numbered more than we had ever seen there, and included mostly Asians, some of whom were dressed in foreign military uniforms. We couldn’t think of who it might be until I remembered reading Nguyen Van Thieu’s obituary in Monday’s Times. It is rather bizarre to think that a deposed despot — he was the last president of South Viet Nam and took power in a coup — lived one town over in Brookline and was eulogized next door to us. It is, upon reflection, a rather interesting link between the present and this nation’s last open-ended war.

Tomorrow we are off to Canada!

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Journal Entry: September 24, 2001

My dreams have been disturbed recently. Vivid Thomas Moran landscapes, troubling cross-country drives, the return of dead relatives, bad men and me unable to stop them. I have been so confused about the events of the last fourteen days. No, confused isn’t the right word. Rather, I’d say concerned, saddened, too. I just can’t comprehend the scope of this tragedy.

I am also struggling over the causes and the proper response. I find it unfathomable that anyone could wish thousands of civilians dead. As Lisa says, this is surely the sign of evil as we recognize it in a secular world: to have lost the moral compass that can lead one to devalue human life to nothing. For some time now I have had great unease using absolute terms like evil, but I really believe that these are completely unjustifiable acts. . . .

As if this weren’t bad enough, [the loss of liberties and a fundamental change in our national optimism], most of this has been directed against a particular type of person. Indians, Sikhs, Arabs . . . all are being regarded equally with suspicion. My good friend Mona, an Indian Muslim, has not been singled out, but her sister and brother in Wyoming have been quite badly abused verbally. Hostility abounds everywhere, though. Mona’s mosque [in Seattle] has been repeatedly vandalized. Her aunt’s mosque in Canada was burned to the ground. . . .

The difficulties faced by Mona’s sister and others in Wyoming was the subject of an October 18, 2001, Times article.

A NATION CHALLENGED: THE MUSLIMS; Tough but Hopeful Weeks For the Muslims of Laramie

By TIMOTHY EGAN
Published: October 18, 2001

In the first week after the September attacks, when Saha Waheed had become perhaps the most visible Muslim in the cowboy state of Wyoming, she was walking at dusk when two men rushed up behind her and said that anyone who wore a scarf on her head should die, she said.

A few days later, a truck jumped a lane and nearly ran her down in a crosswalk, Ms. Waheed said. And this week, the post office refused to deliver a box of cookies she wanted to mail to a friend. When she was asked for identification, she said, she produced a Wyoming driver’s license, her university ID and two credit cards, but the post office still wouldn’t take the package.

”The weird thing is, I’m about as Wyoming as you can get,” said Ms. Waheed, the only student at the University of Wyoming to wear the traditional head scarf, a hijaab. ”I moved here when I was 1 1/2 years old.”

Another Muslim woman, Barbara Ghaddar, was forced to flee the Laramie Wal-Mart with her two daughters when someone approached them and shrieked, ”Oh, my God — the terrorists are here,” she said. Mrs. Ghaddar is from Iowa, born and reared in the Midwest.

It has been a rough five weeks for the seven Muslim families who live in Laramie, which sits like a mirage on the wind-raked tabletop of the nation’s least-populated state. Some of the families, who stand out because of their skin color or clothes, said they were afraid to go outside for days on end. . . .

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Journal Entry: September 16, 2001

What a strange and bellicose past few days. There is still more news on television than anything else, but the footage is increasingly introspective, focusing on the fallout in emotional and political terms. This, I fear, is the most that we will be likely to expect over the next several days; the search for survivors continues, but none have been found. It seems unlikely that any will, though I certainly wish this were not the case.

We are all still somewhat nervous that another wave of attacks will come. Suspicions are high, and authorities are taking precautions; closing down piers and airports, cancelling flights, towing vehicles, and being exceptionaly vigilant with other safety measures. Few panicky events, though, are showing up during the day. So, while the “all clear” has not been given, we are being urged to return to our normal lives. Normalcy will not completely return for some time and will be different than before.

The political fallout from the attacks is likely to be substantial. GW’s approval rating is an absurdly high 90%, though he certainly doesn’t deserve it. At times like this, it is not patriotic [we are told] to question the commander-in-chief’s leadership — as Reps. Meehan and Neal have discovered — but I do not believe that he has done an appropriate job. That is to say, I would focus much more on the emotional toll of these acts, ensuring that the full compassion of government is extended toward the victims’ families.

Instead GW has been almost exclusively angry and unifying. Perhaps it is true that he’s a “uniter not a divider,” but he is talking strength, preparation, and fortitude. He’s also adopted a very moralistic tone that threatens to undermine the righteousness of our expected response. Though Congress says otherwise, GW has basically [assumed] open-ended authority “to do generations a favor by coming together and whipping terrorism, hunting down, binding it, and holding them accountable.” But justice is an ancillary goal. “It’s not just simply a matter of capturing people and holding them accountable,” says dept. secty of defense Wolfowitz, “but removing the sanctuaries, removing the support systems, ending states who sponsor terrorism.”

To this end the administration has been forcing nations to take sides. For many Middle East nations this must not be nearly so black and white as it is for GW, who yesterday said terrorists “have attacked America because we are freedom’s home and defender. . . . Our responsibility to history is already clear. To answer these attacks and rid the world of evil.”

I had hoped after first thinking about Tuesday’s attacks that the US might be able to see the imperative of global engagement as equals; recognizing that other nations have needs just as we do and that military strength should not enhance or mitigate another state’s position. But it appears that we are not willing to learn from the lessons of the past nor to sieze this opportunity to reshape the world into one that’s not “us versus them.”

Instead GW is taking up the “New World Order” of his father, who advocated that the US police the world according to our notions of “good and evil, right and wrong.” This current position will not ultimately be successful. Besides, who will we fight? Where will we draw lines?

Paul, my former barber, is ready to provide answers. Yesterday (in what I am sure will be my last visit to him) he spewed forth the most racist, anti-Arab, anti-Muslim invective that I have ever heard. I am deeply saddened and angered by this bigotry, but I fear that it is fairly widespread in the nation. It seems that all Arabs are suspects, and many favor profiling/”identifying” them for special investigation.

I am accutely worried — perhaps to paranoia — that our civil liberties are in for some rough times. . . . Personally, I don’t think that increased restrictions on what can be carried aloft are real restrictions of liberties. But proposed new rules on domestic surveillance, wire-tapping, and the like are quite toublesome. The ease of INS detentions of suspects is troublesome, too. James Woolsey says “there has been a sea change” on privacy and protection; I agree and predict it will be rougher for us all.

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Journal Entry: September 13, 2001

The situation is becoming somewhat clearer. The hijackers are now all known, and the investigation is progressing apace. At the same time, there is no sense of certainty in the general public. Who is responsible? Why was it done? How many perished? When will we know, if ever? What will the response be?

The population is outraged. Although polls suggest that 90% of the population approve of retaliation, there is very, very little outward expression of hostility. The President and his cohort are very hawkish. He appears poised for action, but the parameters are unclear. GW and Rumsfield appear to be planning for long-term, expansive action to wipe out terrorism. It sounds like we will be taking action against a nation.

I believe that I am among the 90% who want some action. I don’t know what should happen, but I don’t want ineffectual, remote-controlled retaliation. Of course, we should proceed correctly, legally, morally, and righteously. We should find out who is responsible and try to bring them to legal justice. But if they will not be given over, we — the US, NATO, and UN — should go in to take them by force.

I do not share the President’s belief, thogh, that we can “wipe out” terrorism from the world. Terrorists . . . are soldiers in an ideological war. As long as they have supporters with a like mind, they are not simply criminals. Wiping out terrorism is effectively a war of conquest. Such imperialism is, of course, how we partially got ourselves involved in this mess.

Time will tell whether the doves will appear. For now the Congress is incredibly nonpartisan. Patriotism is almost universal: Support for our troops is high, young people are signing up for military service, and love of country is ubiquitous. The first divisions will probably reappear later, but now the nation seems unified.

The President is in a tough spot, though. He hasn’t yet visited New York. To my mind his appearance has been less sympathetic to the human loss and more focused on vengeance.

We talked for a bit at work about the implications of these events, but I am tired now so I will wait for tomorrow. On that note Gephardt just said [on Charlie Rose, probably] “we must find a new balance between freedom and safety.” If I were in Wyoming, I might be paranoid. . . .

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Journal Entry: September 12, 2001

Yesterday was shock and amazement. Today these feelings have been clarified and largely replaced with a mounting sadness. The staggering human toll is still unknown, but indications are starting to come out that indicate that it is in the tens of thousands who are feared dead. We have also begun to see the terrifying pictures and hear the awful stories of the carnage in Manhattan and the District.

Lisa was finally able to contact David S., our good friend who lives in Brooklyn and works at the American Stock Exchange. We aren’t certain where he works in the financial district, but upon hearing about the crash he went to get his father from the exchange. They were just leaving when the second tower collapsed, overwhelming them. They are both now in good health, but they spend the night in a New Jersey hospital. They both saw very troubling images and witnessed great horror, and Dave sounds like he is not coping well.

Jenn P. is now back in her Crystal City apartment after being evacuated to Maryland. When we visited her in late June, she told us how her building had been built to a particular standard in case the Pentagon, eight blocks away, was attacked. We never imagined that it would be necessary. She writes:

It’s “government as usual” here, and the [law] firm follows the gov’t's cues. People on the Metro were like drones — not talking, not reading the newspaper, just attempts to stay stable and not freak out as we crossed the Potomac and looked back at the Pentagon still burning. Police, FBI, ATF, etc. are everywhere, and for the first time ever, that makes me feel comfortable.

Needles to say, I’m petrified beyond all belief. Living eight blocks away from the Pentagon and 15 from National Airport is now quite scary. See, helicopters and planes flew over my building all of the time before, but now, everytime I hear these sounds I cringe and say a quick prayer in case it’s my last. I can’t imagine what people in war-torn countries must feel, because they experience this kind of fear every day while I’ve only felt this for 24 hours.

One of Lisa’s coworkers forwarded an e-mail from a friend, who relates his experiences yesterday in the Financial district.

Date: Wed, 12 Sep 200110:02:57
Subject: Fwd: The W.’s are OK

Hi, guys. Below is a note to me from one of my friends in NYC. I knew his office wasn’t in the WTC (but close!), but I was sure he was caught in the aftermath. I thought this real-life account was worth passing on.

I’ve also heard from a friend in DC who is serving as key info source for my group of friends down there. There are still a few people I know unaccounted for in the Pentagon.

A friend of C. [whose brother-in-law died] says she will take care of the B&B for her this weekend, but Maya and I are still going to go over.

I though I would send a blast email to everyone in lieu of answering every message we have gotten. It has been a very overwhelming day — not only the events but also the outpouring of concern from all of you. We are very grateful and comforted by knowing your thoughts are with us.

I was at work at the southern tip of Manhattan when we saw the first plane hit through the windows of our trading floor — we all thought it was an accident. Just as I was returning to my desk to work our whole building shook with the force of the second plane hitting the WTC 2 five blocks away. We were immediately evacuated. Everyone congregated in Battery Park right next to our building and it seemed like the fires were dying down a little. We all waited for about an hour as sporadic reports of more calamities made it on the radio (half later turned out to be wrong). But then I saw the first tower collapse and we were engulfed in a massive cloud of dust and debris. We started walking up the FDR — thousands of people, very orderly and no panic really. For about 30-45 minutes we were walking through what felt like a snowstorm. By the time we got clear of that around the Brooklyn Bridge, we watched the second tower collapse. Everyone was just stunned and kept walking… We hesitated as we approached the UN on the FDR because it seemed such an obvious target as well, but we were all reassured by F-16s patrolling above Manhattan that it probably was OK. Finally 3 hours later I got home to my beautiful family! It’s just eerie to think that the skyline will be forever changed.

I spent all afternoon and this morning tracking down colleagues and clients. We have several large clients who were domiciled in the WTC. The prognosis is not great, but I am heartened by several anecdotal stories of people being able to get out of the second tower from as high up as the 92nd floor…. Thankfully, all of my Goldman colleagues are accounted for.

Now for the aftermath — let’s hope that our political leaders keep their heads and don’t do anything foolish. The anger of the people here in NY and nationwide seems really intense….

Thank you again for your thoughts and prayers. That really helps us deal with this tragedy.

Determining who is responsible is proceeding quite rapidly. It is clear that our intelligence and law enforcement capacity is quite expansive, but I cannot help feeling that they have focused their efforts in a particular direction.

A car was found at Logan [Airport in Boston] containing Arabic flight training manuals. The intelligence community claims to have direct evidence of Osama bin Laden’s involvement. Twelve suspects — though perhaps they are not directly involved — have been named, and several have been detained. Because of their immigration status, the INS is detaining them without arresting anyone formally yet.

At the Westin Hotel in Boston’s Back Bay today, three people were detained for suspiciousness. [I watched on live TV] the Boston Police Department’s SWAT team enter the building along with the bomb squad. It was very surreal and quite scary to think that the events of yesterday might in some way be continuing indefinitely.

Many are saying, and I can’t help but agree, that yesterday was a watershed day in American history. Many have likened it to Pearl Harbor. To my mind, the Cold War period is decisively over, and America’s nationalist introspection is forcibly drawn outward. How we react — whether we truly engage the world or just attempt to direct it from abroad — is something we won’t know for some time.

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