I understand you might be a little burned out on my posts about Diabetes Art Day. I’ve blogged, twittered, facebooked, tudiabetesed, diabetes dailyed, and dLifed it into the ground. I get that, so if you’re done reading about it, I hope you’ll come back tomorrow to see what new topic du jour I have on tap. I really feel like we need a little closure though, so I want to share some final thoughts about it.

I never imagined so much participation, and am so grateful to everyone who joined the effort. You are the reason Diabetes Art Day was so magnificent. I wanted it to be a community event of sorts, and it truly was because so many of you posted art. I can and do post art, and will be doing more of that this month since I’m participating in NaBloPoMo and the September theme is art, but had it just been me posting art for Diabetes Art Day, it wouldn’t have made for much of an Art Day. With so much participation, certainly more than I imagined, finding all the participants has been a project. I’ve tried to track down all the blogs and websites that participated, but if your link and/or artwork isn’t posted on the Art page, and you would like it to be, I encourage you to leave a comment or email me.

Speaking of finding all the participants, anyone who did participate is eligible to win the No-Sugar Added Poetry book. I’m making a list of the participants, from which I’ll draw the names of the five winners. Before I do that though, I want to feel confident that anyone who made art, wants to be included in the raffle, and doesn’t have their artwork or website listed on the Art page has notified me. I’ll give it a couple more days to see if other artwork surfaces, and then I’ll do the drawing.

For those who didn’t participate for whatever reason, maybe you didn’t have a good opportunity to make something, or maybe you don’t consider yourself artistic so figured you’d enjoy it from the sidelines. I hope you were able to participate as an observer. I know several bloggers who posted art mentioned that their page hits were off the charts last Wednesday, so I can only assume that there were a lot of viewers. If you’d still like to add some art because you have extra time this week, or because you’re feeling extra inspired by others’ art, I encourage you to do so. I don’t want anyone who wishes they had participated to feel like they can’t. I picked September 1st because I thought it would be more effective to have it all on a single day, but Diabetes Art Day is more about the experience of making art to express something about diabetes, so in the end, I’d rather you make art any day than not make it at all.

I think it’s fair to say that there were a lot of emotions generated from both viewing and making the art. If you haven’t had an opportunity to reflect on your experience with Diabetes Art Day, whether as a viewer or an artist, I hope you will. If you want to post about it, I know I’d be interested to read it, but mostly, I think it’s a good thing to do for yourself, whether it’s posted, whether it’s something you write and keep to yourself, or whether you just sit and think about it. Not everyone will feel the need to do so, but I think there’s value in doing so.

Looking ahead, I am now the happy owner of www.diabetesartday.com. It’s not anything to look at now, but next year, I hope Diabetes Art Day will be bigger and better, with even more participation. I don’t have any specific plans for the website, but I want the art to have its own home, and I’d like to find a better way to post it so the experience of browsing through it is less overwhelming and more enjoyable. I also want to transfer the art on the Diabetes Art Day 2010 page to the website. It’s a project on my to-do list that I’m hoping to get together in early 2011.

Thank you from the very bottom of my heart to everyone who helped make Diabetes Art Day spectacular. The range of art, the materials used, the ages of the artists, the relationships to diabetes – it was all represented. I thought it very much reflected our Diabetes Online Community in that each piece was so different, much like each of us, but all had something in common, the connection to diabetes. Looking at the collection of art says so much about diabetes, us and our community. I’m proud of us, and I hope you are too. Thank you.

Collages Waiting to Happen

Occasionally, I ask for donations of diabetes supply trash, such as test strip bottles, information inserts, supply boxes, and the like. As long as it’s not a sharp, hasn’t been inserted under the skin, or doesn’t have DNA on it, I love to get my hands on it because it’s the kind of stuff that’s just begging to become recycled into art. I save all of my own stuff, but I can only generate so much. If I was the only one using it, that would be one thing, but when I need a lot of it for workshops and groups, relying on my own insulin habit, as much of a junkie as I am, doesn’t quite cut it.

Also, I kind of dig having a variety of different brands because that means a wider variety of trash. If I’m working with a group of non-diabetics, like I will be at the American Art therapy Association conference in November at the workshop I’ll be facilitating, I think having a variety of trash better represents all of us. If I’m working with a group of diabetic clients, people seem to like to use the trash that comes from the supplies they use at home because it makes the art feel more personal, even if it’s not technically trash they generated from their own diabetes management. If you use a Medtronic pump, the trash from the sets and cartridges you use is more familiar than the trash from the Animas products. So, that’s why I solicit all of you for your diabetes trash, if and when you’re able to send it to me.

When I ask for trash, I usually also ask for diabetes magazines too because they’re more difficult to accumulate than something like cooking, gardening, car or other types of magazines available at your typical newsstand. I save what I get in the mail, if I see a diebetes magazine on sale, I’ll pick up a copy and save it once I’ve read it, and I’ll pick up the free diabetes magazines at the Walgreen pharmacy or other places that offer free magazines, but they don’t add up as quickly as I’d like, and honestly, making a collage about diabetes without diabetes magazines isn’t quite the same.

Pretty recently, I put out a call for trash and magazines (umm, not trashy magazines). I’m actually at a point where if you have either you feel inclined to save and send to me, I’ll take them, whenever, and as always, however much you’re able to give (more information about what and where to send it is here if you’re interested). About a month or so after I put out that most recent request for donations, I was delighted to receive a box from our very own, Ms. Rachel Baumgartel of Rachel’s Tales and Rachel’s Diabetes Tales at Diabetes Daily. Rachel very generously sent me a box filled with diabetes magazines, and I’m so very grateful that I wanted to give her a proper shout-out and heartfelt thanks. Collages aplenty will be assembled, and artful healing will transpire as a result of your kind donation, so dearest Rachel, thank you so much for the magazines!

Long time, no blog! Last week I returned from a rather eventful trip to Orlando, FL where I attended the ADA Scientific Sessions, the Roche Social Media Summit, and the Children with Diabetes Friends for Life Conference. It was a whirlwind trip during which I met some fabulous people, and caught up with many people who, dare I say it, are feeling like longtime friends now. I have so much to tell you about all of it that I’ve been a little baffled about how or where to start, but the most logical starting point is no further than arm’s length.

This pink cast, which as Karen suggested, is begging to be bedazzled, is making everything you can imagine, including typing, slow and tedious. As much as I want to unload a torrent of anecdotes and information that has been taking up vital cranial real estate, it looks like the posts might be slower to emerge than I would like. However, in an effort to put a positive spin on the blog break I’ve been taking, which it seems was much needed, slow posts will actually be a vast improvement over no posts at all.

Not So Gripping...

If you’ve already heard the story about my hand, then feel free to move ahead to the next blog in your Google Reader queue, but for those who haven’t heard how I injured my hand, the short version is that I tripped and fell. Amongst anyone who has spent enough time with me, it is a well-established fact that I am notoriously clumsy. Last weekend, we went to our friends’ to help their youngest spittle out 3 birthday candles. Upon seeing my cast and learning that it was the end result of tripping and falling, the birthday boy’s dad chuckled, and said something to the effect of, “That’s not too surprising.” So my two left feet are why I’m now fending for myself with one left hand. P.S. I’m right-handed.

The long version of the story is more than just another-day-in-the-life-of-Lee-Ann clumsiness though. While at the ADA conference, I stumbled upon the booth of the Center for Hope of the Sierras, an eating disorder treatment facility in Nevada with a program designed just for people with diabetes. It is, to my knowledge anyway, one of only two such in-patient programs in the country, which is a sad state of affairs for all the people in need of specialized treatment. I had sent the Center for Hope a resume some time back, but as is the case with many art therapist positions, they would have only been able to use me for a few short hours a week at best, and who can realistically justify moving cross-country for a job that doesn’t amount to one day a week, as cool as that job might be? I have been in occasional contact with Rachel Harriman, the Professional Relations Coordinator of the facility though, and since she travels quite a bit, we had made non-specific plans to meet up if at some point her travels coincided with my whereabouts.

Our paths never quite crossed though until I discovered she was in Orlando wo-manning the Center’s booth in the ADA conference exhibit hall. This was an especially great surprise after fielding the blatant disinterest of countless pharmaceutical and bio-tech reps that either didn’t know or didn’t care that I could read their disappointment in learning I wasn’t a physician like I can read a nutrition label. However, the Center for Hope reps were happy to chat with me about how the program is going a year and change into its inception, and how interest in the program has been slowly but steadily increasing.

Rachel suggested we meet up for dinner or lunch, so on the last full day of the conference, I stopped by to see if she wanted to grab a bite to eat. Having spent too much time in the frigid convention center, we decided we’d get out of the caverous convention center for a bit, which meant relief for my frost-covered extremities. We made the trek to the other end of the facility towards the parking lot, and stepped into the much welcomed heat.

Now, decades of diabetes has resulted in what I’ve understood to be a common eye issue for veterans of type 1. My eyes are slow to adjust to drastic changes in lighting conditions. When I transition from a bright environment to a dark one, it’s initially so dark that I can’t distinguish objects and my depth perception is shot. For instance, while some people are fine arriving at a movie during the previews, as long as they don’t miss the start of the feature presentation, Jason and I try to arrive in advance of the lights being dimmed because otherwise, I can’t see anything. I stumble on steps or down ramps or over seats or over people, and if I’m carrying popcorn or a drink from the concession stand, there’s a good likelihood that I’ll spill on something or someone. When you’ve been extorted for $10 of popcorn and diet soda, it’s aggravating to see half of it falling between seat cushions onto the icky floor.

Darn Curbs

Conversely, when we leave the theater and step into the daylight, which is how it unfolds more often than not because matinees are our movie time bracket of choice – less money, fewer people – I am blinded by the daylight. As if through a special effects filter, everything glows bright white, so I can’t distinguish things, my depth perception is shot, and again, I am more likely to stumble and trip. It is what it is and it’s been like this for coming on 15 years or so.

In both scenarios, light to dark, or dark to light, give me a couple of minutes and my eyes adjust, but it’s those first few minutes that converge with my clumsiness to make me an accident waiting to happen. Just as the solution to the dark theater is arriving prior to the lights dimming, the easy solution to stepping outside into daylight is a pair of sunglasses. It’s simple and effective… as long as I have them on my person and wear them when it counts.

The movie theater is an easy example, but anytime I go from a dim setting to a bright one, the same principle applies, be it the mall, a restaurant, or in the case of the day in question, a convention center. Once out from under the overhang at the parking lot entrance, the sunlight radiated. I started to reach in my bag for my sunglasses, but remembered they were buried under a bunch of stuff in my tote bag that made them less than easily accessible. It seemed that by the time I fished them out, we’d probably be at her car, so I took my hand out of my bag, deciding the short walk to the car wasn’t worth the time it would take to find my sunglasses.

Moments later, I walked right into a curb that I didn’t see because the sun was blinding me. I fell forward, my knees landed in the soft grass, completely unscathed, and my hand automatically went out to keep my face from meeting the sidewalk. Falling like that is embarrassing, falling like that with someone you’ve essentially just met is that much more embarrassing. The moment I recovered from being momentarily stunned, and it registered that I was sprawled on the ground after tripping on a curb I likely would have noticed had I been wearing sunglasses, I jumped up, dusted myself off, slipped my beloved bracelet, now broken, in my pocket, and assured her I was OK. We kept walking and chatting as I surreptitiously inspected my hand. Some minor scrapes, so nothing overly concerning upon visual inspection, but man, oh, man, it hurt something fierce.

Me, Cherise & Kelly R.

Since it didn’t appear to be too badly injured, and since I could still mostly move it, I decided I just needed to rub some dirt on it and walk it off, so to speak. We had a lovely lunch, discussing various aspects of the program, how it came to be, how they’d like to see it develop, and some potential collaborative ideas which I’ll happily share if they come to fruition in the future. Then we headed back to the convention center and bid farewell so she could get her colleague and supervisor to the airport in time for their flight back to Nevada.

I went about my conference agenda, and then met up with Kelly Rawlings of Diabetes Living Magazine and Karmel Allison of A Sweet Life to head over to the site of the Roche Summit for dinner with the early arrivals. My hand didn’t hurt any less, and was starting to swell and turn colors, but I stubbornly clung to my rub-some-dirt-on-it-and-walk-it-off intervention of choice, knowing that the alternative, a visit to an Orlando emergency room to pay a co-pay that I didn’t want to shell out on top of an already pricey trip, to be x-rayed and prescribed some kind of orthotic, be it a brace or a cast or a sling, sounded far worse than the pain I was experiencing.

I talked to Jason, who started to get a little cranky when he heard my flimsy reasoning for not seeking medical treatment, and I consulted with my DOC buddies who generously shared their opinions. After Kelly Kunik insisted I get it checked out, after Cherise graciously offered to go with me, after Sarah graciously offered to join us, and after Jason went from cranky to angry because I was “being stubborn and stupid”, I reluctantly accepted my fate, and relented. Kelly Kunik tracked down the address and phone number of the nearest ER, and I said my goodbyes with Karmel and Kelly Rawlings, before Cherise, Sarah and I set out on a most memorable adventure.

I know this story is as powerfully gripping as my current weak right-handed grip, but to hear the conclusion, which does include some impromptu video, you’ll have to stay tuned. Not sure if I’ll put it all together in time to post tomorrow, but if not, check back early next week…

On Sunday, Jason and I had a heart to heart. Mostly he listened, mostly I talked, or rambled as the case may be, and I got a little teary eyed too. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed, like I’m trying to go in a hundred different directions, but since that’s not possible, I’m really just running in circles, although even that doesn’t quite describe it because at least if I were doing that, I would be going in some direction. Too many irons in the fire. Too many pots on the stove. You get the idea.

I do think part of my problem is related to my father’s death, but I don’t think I’m far enough away from it to really have enough perspective to grasp how it’s impacted me. Yesterday, I got papers in the mail from the lawyer, something about an inventory of assets since the estate was probated. I don’t know exactly because I glanced at it, and set it down with the distinct thought that I don’t want to be bothered with any of it anymore. I’m tired, all the work I’ve put into managing his estate has ultimately been thankless, and since he wasn’t particularly interested in me during his life, there’s not even a sense that he would have been appreciative of how I’ve stuck my neck way out for him through all of this…

Needless to say, I have some strong, unresolved feelings that I need more time to process. It’s this waiting and not knowing how to go about it that gets to me.

That’s probably the only truly bad thing that’s seeped into my spring, and although I can’t say I really knew what to expect as the initial turmoil of his death passed, it’s not a surprise that I’m feeling as I do about it now. Luckily, the rest of the chaos in my life hasn’t been morbid, and some of it has actually been good, although it’s what’s had me feeling like I’ve been running around like a chicken with its head cut off, although with a better outcome I hope.

Diabetes Robot

As April came to a close, I was the guest facilitator at our local hospital’s support group for teens with type 1. I brought my big plastic container filled with art supplies along with several boxes of diabetes trash, courtesy of many of you (thanks!!), and the kids went into a frenzy of creative goodness. Many of them collaborated to create a big diabetes robot, some of them did their own thing, but overall, it was a great success.

The CDE who runs the group relayed to the diabetes education department how well the group had gone, and as a result, I was invited to speak at a workshop for school nurses about eating disorders. A local clinician who is both a dietitian and a social worker was the headliner, followed by a CDE from the hospital who spoke about diabulimia. That nurse invited me to give the patient perspective, so I talked about my experience, recovery, and what I do now.

In addition to sharing how well the teen group had gone with the colleagues in her department, the nurse who runs that group also told another CDE who works at a local pediatric hospital about the art therapy group I did. That CDE invited me to participate in a summer camp program she’s starting for lower-income urban kids with type 1. As many of us know, diabetes camp can come with a high price tag, and although all of the camps with which I’m familiar do their best to offer financial aid and scholarships, that doesn’t mean all the families with kids who would benefit from such opportunities know to apply, or are in a position to buy things their kids would need for camp, or are even able to transport their kids to camp.

This new camp will be for 4 days in August, including a Saturday family day. The CDE is still trying to nail down a location, so this is in the very early stages of planning. She said my position will be a volunteer position, as the funding is bare bones, but it’s her hope that should it be successful this summer, that she’d be able to attain enough funding next year to pay me. Right now, the tentative plan is to have 3-4 art therapy groups per day, with one 1-day project, another more involved 2-day project, and then have the art on display for family day. Needless to say, I’m super excited to be a part of this. For several years, I’ve wanted to do something like this, but wasn’t really sure how to bring my vision to fruition. Of course, as with anything, I’d love to get a fat paycheck, or any paycheck for that matter, to go with it, but since I love what I do and I’m able to volunteer my services, committing to the project was only a matter of checking my schedule to make sure I was available. And I am, so I’m in!

In addition to that, Children’s Mental health Awareness Day was a couple of weeks ago. In honor of that, the Delaware Valley Art Therapy Association joined the Please Touch Museum in Philadelphia, a museum for children, to provide a day of art-making that was titled, “My Feelings Are a Work of Art”. I’m now on the board of DVATA as the newsletter chairperson (another project that’s had me quite busy), so I volunteered to help with that. The museum liked it so much that they’ve asked us to come back next year and do it again.

Of course, if you weren’t actually there, then you’ve likely already read other posts about the big D meet-up in NYC that was a little over a week ago. In honor of Cara’s yearly trek to see more musicals in the course of a few days than I’ve seen in my life, many diabetics in NYC and the surrounding areas gathered at a bakery-restaurant on the Upper West Side, just a block or so from Central Park. If the whole menu wasn’t organic, most of it was, so it was very environmentally-friendly, chemical-free food, which is good because I’ve been trying really hard to steer my diet more in that direction – although I was sad there was no diet soda. I have to say the bakery counter was filled with some beautiful treats, and had it not been for the long line as we were departing, I would have at least gotten some cookies. Also, as a side note, I had to chuckle because the original plan had been to meet at a little restaurant that specialized in pizza and mac & cheese, and I was totally prepared to arrive with a full cartridge of insulin, but Allison, our trusty organizer, discovered that restaurant had closed, so organic, sustainable plan B was quite the 180 degree turn!

The other biggish thing that’s happening is that I’ve decided to apply to a doctorate program. I have a lot of work to do to get my application together, so that’s taken precedence over blogging. Next week, I’m taking the Miller Analogy Test, which is a standardized exam that I need for my application. Honestly, I think my chances of getting accepted are a little skimpy. My qualifications are kind of marginal, but research to show that art therapy could be valuable for helping people with diabetes needs to be done, in my humble opinion, and although I might not have the best pedigree, I’d bet there aren’t too many people who are as motivated and invested as I am in doing that research. I debated sharing this here because I loathe the day when I might have to report that I wasn’t accepted, but I’ve posted about it on Facebook, so I figured I’d share it here too. Whatever ends up happening, you will be some of the first to know.

Finally, I’ve already blurted this all over the place, but my proposal to do a workshop at the American Art Therapy Conference in Sacramento this November was accepted. Before I go, I’ll be packing up the diabetes trash to ship to the conference site so the workshop participants can get their hands dirty in the discards of diabetes management for the purpose of creating something magnificent. I still have a good many leftovers from all that was sent to me in the fall, but if anyone has an inclination to send more, I do love offering the variety. Plus, I think it means a lot to tell people about the DOC and how the artistic creations made in my workshops are made possible by you.

So that’s the long and short of what’s been happening, or at least the highlights. It’s had me busy, it’s had blogging on the back burner, it’s had reading other blogs on the other back burner, and it’s had Twitter falling clear off the stove. Living life is about making priorities though, and with so much going on, there just hasn’t been time to sit and write a proper post. I think I’d be lost without my little home base here to vent the bad, share the good, and ponder the in-between. Just because I’m not writing as often doesn’t mean I’m not here. It just means I’m knee-deep in other projects that I hope will ultimately benefit the diabetes community, and you can be sure, as soon as I get time, I’ll always come here to share it with you.

I think there’s some kind of blogettiquette rule against apologizing for absences, but this is my blog so I can do what I want, and I feel compelled to do just that. I’m sorry, and I wish I had a good explanation for the spotty posts.

Starting January 11th, winter became a blur. My father’s funeral; reuniting with family, some I hadn’t seen in about two decades, some I hadn’t seen in five years, and some who fell somewhere in between; flying back and forth to Texas twice; driving back and forth to Texas once; emptying and selling my father’s house; selling his truck; enough trips to the county clerk and judge that eventually I stopped having to explain my insulin pump to the guards at the metal detector. There was also some snow shoveling to keep me occupied during my free time, and a fabulous birthday bash because I thought the universe owed me some happiness and fun.

The trips punctuated by mad laundry frenzies and half-assed attempts to feel settled before it was time to re-pack my suitcase and leave again are done. I’m home now. I’ve been home for a month. I’m still trying to tie up some loose ends regarding my father’s estate, and there have been some, uh, unexpected family issues that have left me a little, uh, paranoid and disoriented, but I’m back to work, and back to my usual routine… mostly.

I’ve always tried to blog from the heart about whatever was on my mind, but being honest and genuine about all things diabetes is not the same as being honest and genuine about everything that has usurped diabetes over the last few months. There are things I’d like to write about, and things I’ve written or started writing, and haven’t posted. I’ve deliberated about whether or not I should continue writing and posting as I’ve always tried to do, but instead of writing about the challenges of diabetes, I would write about my anger at my father for not just deserting me when he shot himself, but for deserting me in life. I’d write about how I came to a point in my early 30’s when I stopped trying to get him to be engaged in my life, how incredibly liberating that was, and how I must now reconcile that decision because it doesn’t feel so liberating anymore. Maybe I’d explain all the sordid details, from my unplanned, unwelcome conception, to how it burdens me that I feel like a painful reminder to others of how and why my father is gone.

It leaves me not knowing what to write, going days without even looking at my blog because I feel that self-generated pressure to come up with something. I feel out of touch with you, which I know is partially my own doing for trying to mitigate my exposure to what’s felt to me like a tsunami of baby talk, but is also on me because I’m here without really being here. I hate seeing the precipitous plummet of my site stats, and I hate knowing I’ve posted as often in each of these last months as I’ve posted during entire weeks in times past. I liked when I posted more regularly, I miss that element of my routine, I long to return to that because it reminds me of the time before I stared into my father’s casket, wanting to touch his hand, but knowing it would be cold and stiff, before the time when I picked out a verse to have engraved on his headstone. I want to be that person for you again because I feel like no one really wants to read my incessant blabbering about my father’s death anymore. I want to be that person for me because I liked that person more.

Much like I’ve seen other bloggers struggle with this issue of changing content as a reflection of a changing life, I’ve not known how to adjust my blog content to reflect all that’s transpired and all that drifts in and out of my mind day after day. With a few exceptions, I’ve not been focused on much that would be of interest to the DOC. There’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to unload all of it here as I’ve done with so many other problems, issues and concerns I’ve experienced over the last couple of years. Then there’s the part of me that feels like there’s too much personal family business that I shouldn’t share here, and if I tried to condense it into some abbreviated, censored version, not only would it feel disingenuous to me, but it would feel disingenuous to you.

I’m left trying to figure out what my blog is about. My intention when I created it was to have a blog about diabetes, with an emphasis on mental health and art therapy. Mostly that’s what it’s been, but now that I sit thinking about it, maybe it’s just a blog about me. If that’s the case though, where do I make my mark in the sand between what to write and what not to write? How do I simultaneously stay true to myself, true to you, true to my family, true to my career, and true to the blog into which I’ve poured more blood, sweat and tears than I ever imagined?