A View of Catalina Through the Lens

Some pictures from my last Catalina trip, a three-day jaunt to brush up on my navigation skills and get some time on the water.

Sunrise over the water our last day out. Something I have wanted to see for a long time.

The first day out, after anchoring in Two Harbors, we hiked to the other side of the island to watch the sunset. This is the view looking back at Cat Harbor from the edge of the island.

The sunset over the island.

The only picture of myself from the whole trip, after a full day of sailing, a quick dip in the ocean to rinse off, and a mile hike.

One of the many buffalo on the island. I caught this one on our evening hike.

On our way into Avalon. One of the guys on board had never been, so we decided to make our day trip into an evening trip, complete with a stop at the local pizza joint and a few games of pool. There's nothing like spending the night playing pool and listening to the stories of a 75 year old salty-dog while he tries to pick up on the waitresses (rather successfully). Frank is a great instructor and a great guy. I hope to be that active and adventurous when I reach that age.

The great Frank Dixon, head of West Coast Sailing and indeed one of the best sailing instructors in the US (and he has the awards to prove it).

Inside the Mind of a Diabetic

If you have ever had the unusual pleasure of having a meal with a diabetic you might have noticed that moment when they look off to the left, appearing deep in thoughts somehow not entirely related to the current conversation. If you have ever wondered what it was running around in their head, here is a small glimpse into the things they have to think about on an almost constant basis.

A little background, last weekend I went on a sailing trip to Catalina with 4 fellow sailors. It is an entirely new situation for me as far as dealing with diabetes goes. Most of my adventures since acquiring this "medical challenge," as my mom puts it, have been very active, hiking the grand canyon, running triathlons, surfing for hours on end. This one would involve sitting or standing for hours on end which can be a total disaster with diabetes. I, also, would be stuck on a boat if anything went south.

Friday morning I wake up high, 241 at 5:30. Correct with 1 unit for every 50 points above 100. 240-100=140/50=Push 2.8 units. I'd been battling bronchitis for 5 days, the extra bacteria will send my sugars higher than usual. I haven't worked out in 5 days so my body will not be as sensitive to insulin until I get in two to three good workouts. Driving in the morning will also send my blood sugars higher than if I drove in the afternoon.

All of this means I will need more insulin. My basal rate, the amount of insulin constantly dripping into my system from my pump to closely mimic what your pancreas does naturally and so much more accurately, needs to be raised. I would have gone 120% of normal for just the sickness, probably another 15-20 % for the car ride, so I decided on a 145%. If I go too high my blood sugar will crash, so I am always afraid of going too high with a higher basal rate, but being high on a trip doesn't sound too good either.

I got to my parents house in Seal Beach, dropped the kids, had a few moments to get a bite and clear my head. I hit Jack in the Box for a soda and went across the street to Starbucks for a breakfast sandwhich (caffeine blasphemy, I know, to bring soda to Starbucks, but I just can't get into the whole coffee thing.)

Check my blood sugars, 271.

My correction was an hour and a half ago so its halfway done with its job, which should have put me at 160. So 271-160=171 more to correct for. 171/50=3.2 but I don't want to overdo it so I pump in 2 more units to correct and 1.5 for the breakfast sandwich, skip the Symlin because it can make me nauseated and no one needs that kind of help when their about to get on a boat.

Get on the boat and take off at 10. Check sugars again. Now I'm 361. That's pretty crappy. Correct again. (361-100)/50 gives me 5.2 units. Sitting on this boat motionless is going to add to the crappyness so I up my temporary basal to 155%. Try to sail.

I spent most of the morning trying to get my sugars down. Eventually I upped my basal again and corrected a lot. I managed to bring it down to the 200's by lunch, but it didn't get much better than that. We anchored that afternoon and, after a quick swim in the surprisingly warm water, we hiked across the island (only about a mile) to watch the sunset over the pacific side of the island.

That walk couldn't have been more welcome. A chance to stretch my legs and get my body a little more sensitive to the insulin. On that walk I got into the good zone, actually I kind of overshot it, but was brought quickly back in thanks to the PowerGels I always have in my pocket while sailing.

The rest of the days went just like the first, 300's in the morning, even with high basal rates and lots of correction, and afternoons that were good once I got on land. It was odd to see the immediate difference in my blood sugars on land and on sea. While on the boat my sugars were very obstinate, they dug in their heels and did not want to come down. Once on land they became perfect, that level line between 80 and 120.

As I start to plan my insulin regimen for my upcoming trip I start to wonder, was that a morning thing versus an afternoon thing (there are different hormones circulating around your body depending on the time of day that can make your body more resistant to insulin) or was it a land versus sea thing? Or maybe a little of both?

Looks like I will have to go back into the lab and do some experimenting, change some variables and then analyze the data. Maybe a morning sail and then an afternoon sail and then check the sugars? Will a run in the morning before I take off fix the problem? I can sit on the couch all day on Sunday watching football with perfect blood sugars as long as I've had a long run in the morning, this might be similar.

Maybe some sort of exercise on board? I thought about doing some squats while at the wheel last weekend but I didn't have the guts to start aerobicizing in front of everyone. I was already the weird one who had to draw blood on an hourly basis, and gladly swam half a mile to get to shore to buy a soda to get my caffeine fix . I didn't need to add to that impression by doing squats while on watch.

While I'm alone I would have no problem, but can you do squats safely while on a 25' boat as opposed to the 31' that we were on? Maybe some pushups wheile I anchor? Maybe some dancing wildly to loud music might do the trick.

Will my activity level change on a smaller boat, will it rock more, will I have to balance more? We had 5 people to manage the boat last weekend, sailing alone will certainly mean more work. Will the increased work load help with my blood sugars, and if so how much? Will stronger winds make a difference? We motored most of the way out and back so there was very little scurrying about the deck to adjust the sails. The stronger trade winds in the Keys will definitely change that.

While down below in the tight quarters I bumped into a corner and ripped out the sensor in my leg that measures my blood sugars every 5 minutes and then reports it to my pump. I yelled at Johnny for not holding on tighter to my leg (if boys can name their cars that just get them from Point A to Point B, I can certainly name the Continuous Glucose Monitor that has already added years to my life).

So next time I should probably move it to a safer spot, one that won't be as likely to hit a counter (not that I need to explain where exactly that might be) and probably bring an extra couple of sensors. I only brought one on this trip because I had no idea how I would shoot a 2-inch long, way-too-thick needle into my thigh on a rocking boat when I can hardly bring myself to do it while on land. In July, I can just go ashore, I suppose, and do it in a bathroom stall in some run-down Florida restaurant (note to self: bring lots of rubbing alcohol).

Things like this ran around my head during the whole weekend. My brain was wracked with math and strategies and analyzing every variable to make a sad attempt to keep my blood sugars stable, while the others simply enjoyed the sea and the sun and let their pancreas do all that hard work for them.

So next time you see your diabetic friend start to go to that place when they stop listening to you just for a brief moment, pause, just for a second, to give them a chance to zip through the math, and then go ahead and finish that story about that time when you were just 18 and could still stay out all night and not feel it in the morning. They'll appreciate the gesture.

Putting Flesh on the Bones of My Dreams

My life seems to be cluttered with half finished projects. A poster size map of the Inter Coastal Waterway, a book of architectural designs and master plan of a New Urbanism community, the twelve-string guitar I once knew how to play.

They were all so easy to drop, too. As soon as I have that picture in my mind of what it will look like when it was finished, I no longer felt the need to create it. It is finished in my mind and that is good enough for me.

Sometimes I wonder if this trip will become another of those projects. I think I have bitten off a little more than I can chew. Sure I have dreamed of going off to sea in a 25' Catalina, spending months on board, eating eggs and cantaloupe for breakfast for weeks on end, but can I really do it?

The dreams started my freshman year in college and have grown stronger and clearer just as my responsibilities and forays into adulthood have multiplied. But, lately, I've been wandering around in the thoughts that it was too soon, that I know too little, that I have far too many other things that need to get done.

Before, I had plenty of time to get it all done, over a year. Over a year to plan, to write, to learn. But now, now it is less than a year and I feel as though I am no closer today than I was five months ago when I started this crazy plot. If I keep on making so little progress, I would be beyond stupid to set foot on a boat and think had enough skill, enough knowledge to get it down the coast of the Keys alone. I was starting to feel like it would be another project scattered on the heap of failures I had accumulated over the years.

You see, I am a dreamer. I can live for months on end in a daydream, explore every inch of it, taste it, smell it, dance in the warm air it is filled with. And it sustains me. It sustains me when life pulls on me from every direction. It calms my spirit. It draws the tension from every muscle. It is my escape. So just how could I have been stupid enough to ask more of it? Why could I not leave it to be my respite?

Now, I have pulled it form my mind and settled it on firm ground. I have spoken of it and it has taken form. I have put a deadline on it. There are now real responsibilities tied to it. There are reservations to make, classes to take, funds to raise, a book to write. It is now out there. Out to be judged , out to be measured, out there to fail.

And that was the direction it had been heading. Destined for failure, for desertion. And, thus, the beginning of self doubt. It crept in slowly, undetected at first. I noticed July pass, and the thought that I had less than one year. August brought with it a total lack of headway on the book. Summer passed and with it all of my free time to get some sailing in.

September passed and those warm dog days of summer sailing, too. October, with my birthday excuse to get some time on the water, gone. November was creeping steadily by.

Soon New Year's would fly by with only half a year to go, and no progress would be made. And then sometime in late May, I would be making the decision to put it off for a year. Life would creep in and dissolve any last bit of momentum I had.

A few years would pass and I might see someone I hadn't in a few years and they would ask, "How'd that sailing adventure go? Was it just the greatest thing?" and I would have to explain away my failure, make it seem like I was just being resposible, I didn't want to take a risk like that, my kids needed me, I wanted to feel more prepared.

I had almost resigned to this new direction. Until I got the email from Frank. He was making a trip to Catalina late in the season to take advantage of some of the rougher weather. He was looking for fog and rain and wind. He wanted to explore the bays and coves of the backside of the island, anchoring out and enjoying the uninhabited views. He wanted to teach.

And for once everything lined up perfectly. He just happened to be going on my Thanksgiving break. My dad had just retired and was able to take the kids on a weekday. Shea and Eli had grown enough to enjoy a weekend at Nana and Moe's (not a bar, but their grandparents). Tony had some plans for the weekend and was due some time to just be a guy again, without a wife and kids to worry about. My birthday had just brought a bit of a bounty to pay for the trip.

It was a trip perfectly designed to teach me what I needed to know, how to anchor in small bays, how to use GPS blinded by fog, to navigate by chart, keep a log. Everything I need to know to enjoy a trip down the Florida Keys, navigating on my own, finding bays and anchoring for a light lunch and a sun-drenched swim.

It gives me a chance to work out the minor details I might not have figured out the first time around. Do cell phones work out there? Can I hook up a GPS to my phone so my family can track my position form the comfort of their home? Can I reasonably plan a phone call home at the same time each day? How fast is the internet connection a marina promises to supply?

It, also, gives me the perfect chance to try out some new protocols for how I am going to deal with Diabetes in a whole new environment. How exactly does my need for insulin change by sitting on a boat all day? How will I find a way to exercise on board? I don't think running 7 miles on a 25' boat will work out too well. And how does a wet, marine environment affect things like blood glucose test strips?

I am not used to self doubt and I don't like it. I am usually a pretty arrogant little creature. But I think that a plan that causes me to doubt myself just might bebig enough to challenge me. If I know from the start that I will accomplish it, it is not big enough, not even worth a try.

But if I doubt, it is probably right there on the edge of what I am capable of. And that self-doubt will be just strong enough to make sure that I am prepared, that I have covered every angle, learned all that I can, and have prepared my brain and my body so that I might have a chance of actually doing this thing, so that when I am 80 and finally learn that the big C will finish me off soon, I can sit back satisfied knowing that once, when I was but a wee girl, I did something at the very edge of possible and now I am convinced of what I am made of and it is certainly more than sugar and spice, and everything nice.