Boiling Blood Blues

Diabetes is Just a Word

Life sucks, it just sucks! My blood sugar has been unpredictable the last day with a count over 300 most of the time. Times like this are really hard and I want to give up;can’t the Lord take me now? It’s not just the physical aspect of feeling terrible, there’s psychological too. Jared and I plan to have a baby, but with blood sugars like these I’d be lucky to have one that’s not totally screwed up. I can’t do it, I can’t do it! How do type 1 moms do it without losing their minds?

I almost feel like it’s the irresponsible thing to have my own kids, although I want them so badly. Almost a week ago I had a scary low at 5 am in which Jared had to help me drink chocolate milk and stuff. Afterwards I shot up really high and felt terrible for a few days. The thought occurred to me, “I don’t want our kids to see me like this”. Of seeing their mother unable to say complete sentences and needing help. I want to be a strong mother who takes care of her kids really well, not the other way around.

So I don’t know, guys, I just feel really down this morning. Maybe it’s the boiling blood talking and I’ll feel better once I cool down. I need hope. My faith is waning thin and I need to know if God will really fix this and help me through. I need to go pray I think. Then after church today I will hopefully feel better. I love all you guys! Hold on for me, okay?



Cloud-Coeur d’alene, Summer 2015


I can’t think fast

Poems and Things

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up
My eyes are blurring over words.
They cannot read
or see them.
Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up
My head hurts badly from all this thinking.
I can’t stop thinking.
Make it stop.
stop, Stop, STOP RIGHT NOW!
I’m sick and tired of thinking through it.
To strain my brain to see the reason
of every action in the past
with regret I stutter, “I can’t think fast.”

Garments Golden


By: Rachel Wrathall


This life is made of threads of time,

with sticks and stones they intertwine.

It pulls you up and down, you see,

It pokes and prods, “Please set me free,”


The thread is coarse and rough, “and please,”

you say to the Tailor who sees,

“oh stop, desist, no more I say!”

We can’t see, but if we obey:


He’s making us garments golden,

soft comforting words embolden.

Whispering words sure come gently

“Trust in me” he says intently.


Faith in his plan will heal our hearts.

In the form of hope, fear departs.

Don’t be tempted to look behind,

What’s ahead is beyond a find.


The Tailor asks a lot, that’s true,

to weave and poke and prod us through

But if we have strength to molden

he’s making us garments golden