With just two weeks left to start getting serious about the Tour de Cure, I thought I'd post a little about how diabetes has effected my life in the past few years. In the fall of 2004 I had to have most of my pancreas taken out after a serious bout with gallstone pancreatitis. Within two years, I was diagnosed with diabetes-- there wasn't enough of my pancreas left to keep up with the insulin needs of my body. Initially, I only took long-acting basal insulin, but soon I was also taking bolus insulin with meals to cover the blood sugar spike associated with eating carbohydrates.
Time progressed, and eventually I ended up wearing an insulin pump 24/7. Rather than relying on a large dose of insulin that stays in my system for 24 hours, my pump gives me programmed doses of short-acting insulin continuously, and extra when I eat.
The pump has been great, but it is still a constant challenge to stay on top of it. Finding time to exercise (which has a great side-effect of leveling out blood sugar) has also been an uphill battle.
I'm a prime candidate to receive some sort of transplant or implant as cure because I don't have the underlying causes of diabetes; my body isn't killing my islet cells-- I just had to have them surgically removed. This is why I try to be active in fundraising for the American Diabetes Association.
Last year, Jakki and I first rode the Tour de Cure. This year, I think I'll be riding solo, as Jakki's pregnancy is preventing her from any serious time on a bike seat. My parents are planning on riding some of the distance with me, and some work friends who are serious cyclists will probably do a longer route. Our team site is here.
So please help me reach my fundraising goal of $150 by the Tour on May 19th by clicking the link at the top of this post. Thanks!
Yeah, it's been awhile. I'm sure everyone is tired of my apologizing for how infrequently I post to the blog; so I won't. Instead I'll just get to the point.
Currently I'm working at a client's site and I have been since the beginning of the year. I have a little desk, just like everyone else's little desk, except this one's MINE. I have been at this little desk approximately 153 days, according to Wolfram Alpha, not counting holidays or working from home, which haven't happened much. I was just walking back to my desk when I passed the obligatory copy machine. You know the one I mean. The large, leased, super-mega office model with 100 sheet collator and enough features to give Johannes Gensfleisch zur Laden zum Gutenberg an aneurysm. There was a guy using it...
To make paper copies.
Of other paper.
This seemingly normal thing struck me as totally odd for a moment. I gawked at him as I would have gawked at a NASA engineer lighting the Shuttle engines with a tinderbox. Suddenly, the concept of a photocopier seemed like such a prolepsis. You see, in the 153 eight hour (or longer) workdays I have spent at my little desk, I have not generated or sought fit to store a single piece of paper. Not one Post-It, nor index card (although I do carry those in my bag), nor TPS report. In fact the only paper products on or in my desk are napkins squirreled away from take-out lunches. How have I not printed out a single thing or stuffed someone else's agenda in a drawer?
I don't really think I'm a poster child for The Online Life. I mean-- I use Dropbox, I use OneNote, I use Google docs, I have more cloud-based accounts than "Carter had fart pills" (you're welcome Payne's). Blah-dee-fricken-blah. But I'm certainly not some hipster consultant with a beanbag chair in an incubator talking about SEO and new media on my MacBook Air with Retina Display. I'm really not that cool.
Still, the point remains, I was shocked by the quaintness of using a photoelectric device with complicated working parts to make pieces of paper that look more or less like other pieces of paper. It makes me wonder how long those copier leasing places will be around. Do they have an exit strategy? Or will they end up like Bill's Buggy Whip Emporium did when Hank Ford started rolling Model T's off his line at a rate of nine to ten thousand a day.
I guess I don't really have a profound point to make here, but I'm still stung by the shock of noticing a present-day anachronism. I wonder what other jolts my future holds. Or, better yet, what things my children will describe as "quaint" and "old timey".
That's all for now.