Instructions Not Included

It's ended up turning in to one of those days, it really, really has. We've got a show in the theatre tonight, which means working late. However, half our staff are away, which means we're understaffed. On a normal evening when we have the public in the building, we have three members off staff on. Tonight, we had two - myself and Andrew. 

So, I'm busy doing box office (shocking), and we're about five minutes off opening the house. I'm feeling a bit wibbly, and I'm pretty sure a hypo is headed my way, but unfortunately, box office is busy, and my meter is in the other room. OK, I think, I can wait a couple of minutes to check. 

Then the fire alarm goes off. Oh yes, you heard me right. ANOTHER fire alarm with me in the building. Thrills! So, good, responsible little steward that I am, I make sure everyone is out of the building. It's not going to be fire, I know that - it's going to be the haze machine combined with the fans in the theatre kicking up dust. For some reason, that sometimes sets off the alarm, as has been previously observed by the times our Stage Manager, Rob, has set the alarm off with his sander. But we get everyone out, and I'm running up and down the stairs (we have quite a few), to check all the levels. Everybody out, everything is safe, everybody in. 

Wait a few minutes, serve lots more drinks. OK, I feel REALLY low now. I drink some juice off the bar, but I'm shaking on the insides, I'm sweating, and I can feel waves of heat rushing up and down me. Lovely. A couple of minutes later, I see a window of opportunity, and I run off and grab my meter, and try to check. 

Shunk, goes the lancet. 

No blood. Try another finger.

Shunk goes the lancet.

No blood this time either. Grrr!

Flick my arm to try and get some blood to my fingers.

Medical ID bracelet flies off my wrist, and is now a bunch of beads cluttering the floor between the box office and halfway through the main office. Well, that's just peachy, isn't it? I start picking them up, and try again to test.

Shunk goes the lancet.

4,3,2,1, numberwang says......3.2mmol/l (57.6mg/dl) AFTER juice?! Aw man. I'm seriously sweaty and swaying by now. I go back over to the bar.

So being as I'm supposed to stay downstairs as Duty Manager, whilst Andrew goes upstairs (ironically, mostly in case of a fire-related emergency, ha ha ha(!) ), I decide to possibly over treat this, so that he knows I'm not going to drop whilst I'm working alone downstairs, and can't get to anyone. 

Pour another glass of apple juice and down it. Then pour another glass (they're very small). I pause to look at it. There's mould floating in it. Well, isn't that just LOVELY? And isn't it good we hadn't had anyone buy any? I couldn't have noticed this before I'd drunk two glasses of it though, could I?

I drink a bit of orange juice instead, and grab a bar of chocolate off the bar as well, thinking that my bar tab is rocketing up by this point. Everyone goes up, and I sit down at my desk.

I post a cry for help on Twitter, Facebook, and Diabetes Support, saying I was on my own, and could anyone who had my mobile number check on me in ten minutes or so?

And bless their hearts, did people come through for me? Sam, Siobhan and Tom all texted me within a matter of minutes, asking if I was ok, did I have stuff to treat with, etc.

I was climbing slowly. 4.9, 5.2, all the way up to 6.8mmol/l (122mg/dl). Still felt like utter rubbish though, and my WORD was I hungry by now?

Interval comes, and we do a roaring trade on the bar. But I want to go home. Show has just finished, and now I'm at 10.7mmol/l (192.6 mg/dl), and I'm still having to think much harder than normal to type this correctly. 

Is it home and bed time yet? How was your day?

It's a strange thing, work. In general, we spend the majority of our week there. I know I do. I was reading this post over at Olivejooice about work, and it got me thinking. I've worked a whole bunch of jobs since I was old enough to be legally employed. I've been a waitress, a dishwasher, worked in retail with clothes, jewellery, newspapers, toys, electronics, chocolate, and food. I've worked in a library, I've stuffed envelopes. I've worked for the Health Protection Agency. I've been a secretary for an estate agent. I've been an actress. I've been a professional viking, and a professional fake archaeologist. Oh, and then the job that I do now. I'm also sure I've missed a few off there, but I'm not going to go through old CV's to make sure I've got them all! I think it's clear though, that I've had a lot of jobs. I don't like being unemployed. I haven't constantly had a job, even when I was doing my degree. But it's not far off the mark to say that for most of my employable life, I've been working. So to say that I spend the majority of my time at work is probably true.

I find it strange when people talk about their 'colleagues' or 'work friends'. To me, work is so much my life that most of my friends are my 'work friends'. And I love them. I don't know how I would have coped this past year if I'd worked somewhere else. Particularly if I'd still been working for my previous employer. I'm not going to name names publicly, but I could see my getting written up for 'not being able to work to standard'. I don't have much pleasant to say about that company. 

But I feel safe where I work. Not only do my best friends work there, but pretty much everyone there understands that sometimes I need to do things a bit differently. Which I appreciate so much. For the most part, if they don't understand something, they ask. They know there are Glucotabs in my bag. That sometimes a really bad hypo can leave me sluggish, and if I'm trying really hard to chug a Diet Coke, it's most likely for the caffeine to try and wake my brain up.

I hate feeling useless. I've been having (for me) some real highs as of late. I don't do double figures normally. But they make me feel anxious, jumpy, drained. I can't concentrate well. I get aggressive. When I'm low, I can be just as drained. I still can't concentrate. I can get weepy and scared. None of these things are particularly conducive to being productive in a worth environment. Of course, I'm always trying to control these numbers, and get rid of the highs and the lows, but sometimes that's just not possible. If you're reading, you probably know how it is (if you don't - it is difficult).

I like my workplace. But as much as I do, I'm not going to work there forever. Eventually, I will want a new challenge. What do I do then? I have several friends online who have told me about being 'let go' because of their diabetes, or who just haven't been able to find work in the first place. Some won't tell a potential employer. It's certainly something to think about.

I know in the UK I'm covered by the Disability Discrimination Act. This is interesting, because I don't like to think that I have a disability. Not that I have any problems with the concept of disability, but more because a) diabetes seems a strange thing to consider a disability, and b)I didn't think that it would ever happen to me. I guess no-one ever does. I've been told that, when applying for a job, if I say that I have a disability, in some instances I'm entitled to an automatic interview. I'm not sure how to feel about that. Do I look at it with the view of 'I don't want any favours, or pity. I just want to be judged on my merit alone.' or do I look at it as a foot in the door? I still don't know, as it's not something I've been thinking about for a long time. 

I'd like to say that diabetes doesn't change my ability to work to 100% all the time. But I'm forced to admit that it's just not true. I find myself thinking back to when I was completing my undergrad degree (BA Hons Performing Arts, if you're not aware), and the sorts of hours I used to work, and the kind of things that were required of me, in order to get a good mark. I'll give you an example from my second year. I was rehearsing a community theatre show for my own degree. I was also working as Deputy Stage Manager and Lighting Designer and Operator for a third year performance of Jesus Christ, Superstar at the same time. That was what we did. You were pretty much expected to do both performance and technical roles for third year performances. It wasn't necessarily written in the course syllabus, but it was part of the way things were. It was how you got better opportunities. It was how you learned. How you got ready for your own third year shows. So the production 'week', which was really three days, went something like this:

Wednesday day I had my own rehearsals all day. I probably got some food before going to see a performance of Sarah Kane's Blasted, which was in the main house theatre. After that show went down, begin the turn-around for Superstar. By the time the set is in, which is a LOT of heavy lifting, it was probably gone midnight. Then most of the production crew goes home, and myself and the Stage Manager begin rigging the lights. If you've never worked with stage lighting, these lights are heavy. Hanging them over a gantry, which has a low ceiling and about an eighteen foot drop, is hot, rather sweaty (sorry for the lovely mental image) work. We didn't finish this, but got told we had to leave because the theatre manager wanted to lock up, at about two thirty or three in the morning. I walk home, and after showering, get to bed at about four. Up at six, to be in by seven thirty. I think some food might have been eaten. More rigging, and trying to start focussing the lights. Go to my own rehearsals at ten. Break at one, but have to carry on focussing and trying to plot the lights onto the board. Back to my own rehearsals at two. Well, let's just say that I'm running on adrenaline and sugar, with no real break till gone past midnight again. Back again in the morning before nine. Show nights and my own rehearsals, until Saturday night, when we take it all down, and life goes on.

Could I do that now? No. I don't know if I could safely manage one day of that. At the time, it was all something I could just power through. It was all part of the game, and was 'hardening me up' to actually go into the profession. And in my ideal world, I would probably still be chasing acting work. But it's hard to get, and I seriously wonder if I'd be able to get a decent contract now, if I decided to passionately pursue it again. I'm not sure I would. I don't think employment law is quite the same in the arts, since they can turn me down for a job simply because they don't like the shade of my hair.

But does that mean I give up on the things I want to do? No it does not. Maybe I don't have good enough control to chase acting work again. Or maybe I've just gone past that point. Maybe I'll come back to it again. I just don't know. That's what's exciting about life really. I have my dreams, my goals, and my aims. I know what my ideal would be by the time I'm forty. I'm not going to let diabetes stop me doing any of the things I want to do. But it might be that I have to re-evaluate things a little. 

The only person on this planet that can give me the ultimate 'no' is me. I'm not saying no.

Oh, and in case you're wondering about the turtle, it was a present off our Education Assistant, Rosie, who left us today. She also brought in brownies. She carb counted out the recipe for me. Like I say - my work friends aren't 'work friends'. They're just my friends.

Pride's a funny thing. No, honestly. It's something that it's important to have in moderation, but, being one of the Seven Deadly Sins, is something you've got to be very careful with. And with me in particular, it's something that I have a bit of a strange relationship with.

I don't have buckets of self confidence, if I'm honest. Now, it's possible that quite a few people would be surprised by that. I'm a performer at heart. I'll quite happily get up and sing, dance, act in front of people - it's what I'm trained to do, after all. It's what I know. But that's me performing. It's not actually me. So being that I'm not an innately confident person, you might not think I'd have a problem with pride. But of course I do. Everyone does, when you get down to it.

Quite often for me, when  I think I'm too proud for a thing, it's probably more accurate to say that I'm being stubborn about a thing. I was too proud to admit that I was having health problems before my D-Day. I didn't want to appear weak, or like I couldn't handle a thing. And that is one of my major flaws. I don't like to appear vulnerable in the eyes of others. I rely very much on feeling like I'm in control, and it really gets to me when I'm not. 

Which is tough nuts really, where diabetes is concerned. When I was in hospital, I did not like to find myself pee-ing in the cardboard trays and cups. It was embarrassing. I didn't (and still don't) like admitting not understanding a thing. Which is how I got into rather a confusion over whether insulin pens were single use only. I didn't like showing I was scared. Again, I still don't.  But like I say, it's tough nuts. Diabetes doesn't give two hoots about my pride. It doesn't care if I don't want to pee in the cup. It doesn't care if I'm embarrassed that I'm shaking like crazy, and I just can't stop, or want people to stop staring at me.

I went to see Whistle Down the Wind in Sheffield the weekend before last. Now much to my joy, I discovered it was starring Jonathan Ansell (ex-lead singer of G4, and all round classical delight for those of you not in the know), who I've been a fan of since I was at the start of my second year of university. I was thrilled. I was even more thrilled when I discovered he was doing a meet and greet after the performance. So determined was I to get to the front of the queue that I accidentally walked straight past him in the corridor at great speed. I'd already had one hypo before the performance, when I decided to check my sugars before the curtain went up. But I was stood waiting patiently with my programme in hand, when I felt myself shaking. Before I could do anything about it, it was my turn. And I can't remember exactly what I said to him, but I know it was complete garbage. I knew I was plummeting down the numbers too quickly. I wanted to get a picture with him, but I said to everyone (including myself) that I wasn't going to be 'that person'. But in my heart of hearts, I knew I wasn't feeling right, but just wanted to blame it on not wanting to be 'lame'.

I stepped to the side, with my autographed programme. I ate down the glucotabs. I ate down the mini Mars bar. I struggled to hold my water bottle with my shaky hands. I didn't get my picture, and felt pathetic. Not just for wanting my picture taken with him. But for the fact I was leaning on the confectionery case unable to hold the water bottle steady. No, I wasn't having this. It didn't happen to me. 

But it did. And it does. And it will.

Regardless of whether I want it to or not, there will still be times that my pride has to take a sidestep. There will be times where I have to say 'No, I need to stop'. There will be times when the second or third hypo of the day has drained me, and I can't face walking any further. There will come times where I'll have to say 'I'm scared', or 'I don't understand'.

But that doesn't mean that I have to like it. I just need to learn to accept it with some more humility than right now. 

And I'm trying

So, I was planning today to write about how the marvellous and wonderful TV show Scrubs (one of my all time favourites) talks about diabetes. This was inspired by a conversation about show on Diabetes Support about the same thing. However, this was going to require me watching a couple of specific episodes - oh, what a dreadful trial - and unfortunately for some of this evening, I had other plans.


Now, it's a slightly strange thing that, because I work in theatre, on occasion, I and the lovely people I work with, get invites to various things. The strangest of these had to be when we got asked to go to a branch of Frankie & Benny's for a free three course meal. We thought at the very least there would be some sort of questionnaire for us to fill out, but we came in, ate and left without them asking us for a single thing. It was very cool. Slightly more understandable is that sometimes we get to go to press nights for shows at other theatres, or get free tickets from time to time. But the other week we got asked to go to a launch of a local restaurant's autumn menu. There was promise of champagne and canapes, as well as a wine and cocktail tasting.


Well one thing was for sure. There was a lot of available alcohol. 

Proof in point would be the picture to your right, straight from my phone's camera. (I'm still in love with the new-to-me phone with a camera!) I will stress, however, that not all of that was drunk by me. And that not all the glasses made it on to that shot! I left the office a bit high, coming in at about 9mmol/l (162 mg/dl, I believe), since I'd given in to temptation, and had a small piece of the cake that had been floating about (not literally, obviously) earlier in the afternoon. I figured that since I'd probably be having at least one drink, I was surely better to be on the slightly higher side. And yes, there were canapes. I managed to get my hands on a rather nice smoked chicken....thing. But just the one. Yes, there were also oysters, but I'm sorry, there is NO way I'm going there, not matter how sophisticated it's meant to be. But there was freely available champagne (and not the cheap stuff, either), as well as seemingly endless shot-glasses full of samples of two of their cocktails. Both were very nice. Now, I'm generally not much of a drinker, but that was a lot of fun. Especially because we were the most casually dressed by a good way, yet we were drinking champagne and the mayor was knocking about. But as I pointed out, if you go to something like that dressed down, people might think that because you're not actually trying, you're the most note-worthy people in the room. Totally not true, but fun to think, at least!

Got home to find that my high numbers all day were now down in the threes. Annoying. But tomorrow's another day.