When home no longer feels like...home

That title threw you off a bit, huh? It's a feeling I've been having lately and I'll get to it shortly. But it gives me a chance to write about how this North Hollywood-born and raised guy came to live in Camarillo. For whatever reason, that's something I have not written about. It's a long post, so get comfy. See if you can get one of your furry critters to snuggle with you.

At one time, the city of Camarillo was best known for its state hospital where those with mental problems were housed. According to Wikipedia, it was rumored that when the Eagles wrote their song Hotel California back in the '70s, it was a reference to the hospital at Camarillo.

As most of my friends know, at one time I had my own comic strip, El Cheapo Comics. There were occasions where my characters ended up at Camarillo State Hospital for one reason or another. If you have ever read any of my comics, you'd say that their creator should have ended up there instead. He did in a sense, but he'll get into that later.

Mom's sister and her family lived in Thousand Oaks, which is just over the hill from Camarillo. That was about as far as we ever went back in the day. Till one day my folks decided that we were going to visit the mission at Santa Barbara. Whenever we went to visit Aunt Shirley and Uncle Jim, we got off the Ventura Freeway at the Moorpark Road exit. As we rode down the off-ramp to the signal at the bottom, I used to look at the freeway curving off to the right past Moorpark Road. I always wondered where it went. Well, the day we went to the Santa Barbara Mission, I got to find out because we passed the Moorpark Road exit for the first time in my life. New things to see were coming our way!

In those days, U.S. 101 was a four-lane road with a few exits—nothing like it is today. I can still remember going down the Conejo Grade and passing between two huge rows of eucalyptus trees just past Camarillo High School. Then we went over Lewis Road and through the center of town. Pretty soon, we ran out of Camarillo and drove past miles of farmland before getting to Oxnard. At the time, Oxnard wasn't quite the big city it is now, so there wasn't much to see along the highway. Once we got into Ventura, we could look to the west and see the ocean. And from there to Santa Barbara, it was all ocean.

We enjoyed our trip to the mission and headed home later on. On the way home, we stopped in Carpinteria for dinner. By the time we got back to North Hollywood, it was dark and pretty much time for us to go to bed. For a young kid like me, what an adventure! And I found out that there's actually life beyond Moorpark Road!

Over the years, we took a few trips toward Oxnard, Ventura, and Santa Barbara. Once we went to visit the Port Hueneme lighthouse on the U.S. Navy base at Port Hueneme. (Uncle Jim was an ex-Marine, so he was able to get us onto the base.) Another time we got to visit Wagon Wheel Fun Park, a little carnival in Oxnard that had a Ferris wheel, a small roller coaster, and a train ride around the grounds.

It would be several years before I actually landed in Camarillo for the first time and began the long relationship that I've had with the city.

In the mid-'70s, our church youth group spent spring break at San Marcos Baptist Camp, located near Lake Cachuma in Santa Barbara County. San Marcos was essentially an underdeveloped property, so our reason for going was to help with various projects to improve the facilities and get the camp ready for the upcoming summer season. For some reason, I didn't attend the first year (my tenth grade year), but I know they paired up with one of the local churches that our youth group associated with; Panorama Baptist, I believe.

For spring break 1976, I was able to go to San Marcos. We found out that we'd be sharing the camp that week with the youth from Pleasant Valley Baptist Church in Camarillo. Say...WHAT?!?! WHO?!?! [slaps forehead] I don't know how they chose which churches would participate, but for 1976 it was First Baptist Church of North Hollywood and Pleasant Valley Baptist Church from Camarillo.

The Sunday afternoon we left for camp, we loaded up the bus and headed north on U.S. 101, passing the Moorpark Road exit (which didn't matter anymore because Aunt Shirley and Uncle Jim had moved to Lake Havasu City AZ a couple of years earlier).

Ironically, Camarillo is about the halfway point between North Hollywood and Santa Barbara. As we pulled into Pleasant Valley Baptist Church's parking lot, our youth director suggested that we'd better not make any Camarillo jokes (with reference to the hospital and its patients, no doubt).

We caravanned to San Marcos from Camarillo and arrived before the sun went down. After getting our stuff to our cabins—which were actually screened-in treehouses on the side of a hill—we met in the dining room for dinner and some get-to-know-you type games so we could get to know these strangers from Camarillo. For the most part, everyone seemed to click. Well, we'd better have clicked since we'd be working together till Saturday.

At one point, I got into a conversation about cars with one guy in particular—one Bill Hackett. (Bill's younger brother Garth was also at camp that week.) Bill and I hit it off and became friends fairly quickly. Our mutual interest in cars and the ease of joking around was a big part of that.

Fast forward to Saturday. Camp was over; we'd built an amphitheater, a firepit, and a bridge over the creek. We filled in potholes on the road into camp. But best of all, we made some new friends. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers, and vowed to stay in touch. Just a couple of weeks after camp, one of the guys in our group and I decided to go to Camarillo. John and I got on a Greyhound bus in North Hollywood and got on our way.

The Greyhound bus "station" in Camarillo was pretty much a small shack with a service window in an alley about a block from the church, but we didn't know how the town was laid out. We had a couple of addresses but didn't know where the streets were. John and I stopped at a gas station to look at their map and found one street that would lead us to one address we had. Unfortunately, we ended up walking clear over to the west side of town to that street, only to follow it as it backtracked toward the east side of town. The address we had belonged to the Worthy family. Since learning that the only member of that family who would know us was with the church youth group at Disneyland that night, we sat on a church sign next door to the Worthys' house to figure out what to do next.

By now it was past 10pm. While we sat, a car approached us and stopped. This late-model Chevy Nova had a funky black and white paint job and a cool set of multi-colored disco lights mounted on top. A guy in a tan uniform with a shiny badge stepped out and wanted to talk to John and me. He asked for our home phone numbers to call our folks. We explained that we had just met the Worthys' daughter, Terri, at camp and had come to visit, but they weren't expecting us. The officer suggested that we'd better go ahead and let Mr Worthy know that we were there so we'd get off the street. At the time, I was 16 and John was 15. Imagine the trouble we could cause...

We didn't want to disturb the Worthy family, but it was either that or be in trouble with the police. I think Mr Worthy was a bit skeptical at first, but much to our surprise, once we explained who we were, how we came to know Terri and why we were there, the Worthys not only opened their home to us, but said that we could spend the night in their trailer out in back. John and I happily took them up on it. We even got breakfast the next morning.

The next day, John and I connected with Bill and hung out with him. My connection to Camarillo had gotten off to a rough start, but things were going to be OK. We met Bill's folks and the rest of his brothers, and Greyhound got us safely back to North Hollywood. Over the next few years, the crew had grown to a few of us with Rod and Mike. We made a number of trips to Camarillo on Greyhound so we could all spend time with Bill. Or he would come to North Hollywood and visit us.

As it happens, things change over the years. Rod, Mike, and John found other things to do and other people to hang out with. So it was just Bill and me and we had a blast.

Over the next half-dozen or so years, I had a couple of relationships with girls. The most recent one ended in marriage with a bonus of moving to Camarillo due to the fact that I'd taken a job in Oxnard almost a year earlier and was tired of commuting all the way from North Hollywood. Bill served as my best man. His folks lived around the corner from us till they moved to Henderson NV a few years later. Bill stayed around until he decided to move to San Diego in 1991.

Lori and I stayed in Camarillo, eventually having our daughter born in our local hospital, not the state hospital mentioned earlier. We bought our house in 1998 for a good price that's almost tripled in value in the 20 years we've lived there. In the picture below, you can see our pet rock (mentioned in a previous post) in the lower left corner of the photo.

Home sweet home (the house, not the car)

I've actually lived in Camarillo longer than I lived in North Hollywood. And, strangely, I still don't know my way around 100% as I feel I should by now. I knew where most of the streets were in North Hollywood before I ever drove a car. My interest in maps helped out there. But even after looking at maps of Camarillo, I still get lost sometimes. North Hollywood is laid out in a grid; Camarillo is laid out in confusion and often requires a set of what we call "indirections" to get anywhere.

At this writing, it's been almost 32 years since moving to Camarillo, and 42 years being associated with it. For whatever reason, as of late during my trips around town to run errands, get something to eat, etc., I've felt almost like I don't fit in anymore. It's sort of a "lost" feeling, like I don't belong here. Of course, that can't be true. I haven't done anything wrong (yet). No one has a contract out on me (yet). I know where to go to get pretty much whatever I need. But Bill's folks (and brother Garth) have gone to the great beyond. Bill lives somewhere else. His remaining two brothers have their own lives and live elsewhere. We have friends whom we've known since Diana was little and we run into each other occasionally. It's hard to describe. It could be a mix of things going on my life. Perhaps I'll come up with an answer. When I do, I'm sure I'll write about it.

Diabetes, not "die-abetes"

Remember in my last post I mentioned that I was going to write something about living with diabetes? Well, tough luck. I've written something about that, and it came at you faster than my blood sugar rises after eating french fries. And it's a long read, too. That'll help you get to sleep tonight.

I'll start by describing diabetes. It's not about me not eating sugar and *POOF* I'll be fine. That's about as far from the truth as San Diego is from Saturn—maybe farther. Why did I pick on poor old San Diego? Because the word "Die" is in it and that isn't going to happen to me because of my affliction to be discussed here! Why? Because I won't allow it! My intention is to manage my diabetes like it's never been managed before!

Let the lesson begin! Keep in mind that I'm speaking in very general terms. If you need more specific information, ask me in person, call me, text me, send me a message, or do some research of your own. I used to take messages via carrier pigeon, but after getting pooped on by a bird twice within an hour at the zoo, I decided to keep birds at bay.

Simply put, diabetes is a breakdown in the body's ability to process carbohydrates. Sugar is a carbohydrate, but pretty much anything we eat that isn't protein or fat is a type of carbohydrate. During the digestion process, carbohydrates do become glucose, which is a type of sugar. When food is digested, it is broken down into fats, sugars, proteins, and waste products. Some of those things are absorbed by the body and stored. Some of those things get into the bloodstream. Some of those things are tall enough to take the free ride through the intestines and are expelled you know where.

Diabetes is considered an autoimmune disease, one in which your immune system attacks your body. In the case of diabetes, the pancreas and insulin producing cells are killed off for reasons unknown.

There are two types of diabetes, identified with the clever monikers of "Type 1" and "Type 2." Type 1 was originally referred to as "juvenile diabetes" because it showed up primarily in children. Type 2 was originally known as "adult onset diabetes" because it usually wasn't seen in children, only adults. But that's changing. Children are being diagnosed with Type 2 in ever growing numbers, and Type 1 is hitting adults in scary numbers as well.

Type 1 is characterized by the body's inability to produce enough (or any) insulin. Type 1s need to take insulin with meals, at night before going to bed, or whenever their blood sugar level is too high. Watching their diet and getting plenty of exercise help Type 1s to manage blood sugar levels.

Type 2 is characterized by what is called "insulin resistance," meaning that the body produces enough insulin to do the job of processing carbohydrates, but for reasons yet unknown, the body's cells do not absorb the glucose that insulin brings to them in the bloodstream. Being that the cells are starved of the fuel they need, they literally cannibalize the body's fat and, eventually, the muscle for fuel. The result is a sometimes dramatic loss of weight. Managing food intake and getting plenty of exercise help to keep Type 2 under control. Occasionally, though, Type 2s do need to take insulin because their pancreas no longer makes it. (That's why I do.) So in a sense, I have Type 2, but managing and treating it like a Type 1.

Sometimes I think that when a Type 2 who already has the insulin resistance problem loses the function of their pancreas, and thus becomes insulin-dependent, should be labeled as a Type 3 or some other way. This is only my opinion, though, so take it with a grain of salt for the time being. Or a grain of sugar. [wink]

Since our bodies were kind enough to pitch their job of managing blood sugar onto us, we have to step up to the approach and hope that we don't get a gutter ball or else we could be in trouble. We have to learn how to deal with high or low blood sugar levels. Fortunately, since our bodies don't manage our blood sugar levels for us like they're supposed to, at least they're kind enough to let us know when we need to take some kind of action. Remember, this is a general guideline. Not everybody's body reacts exactly the same. I'll tell you about me.

When I get chills and a case of the shakes, I can tell that I'm too low. When my speech is slurred like someone who's had about 18 beers, and I'm clumsy and shaky, it means my blood sugar is likely very low—possibly dangerously low. The best way to deal with that is to get my glucometer (blood glucose meter), and test my blood sugar. A reading of 100 is perfect, but if I'm low, it won't be 100. If it's about 70 or thereabouts, I'm OK. If it's in the 60s, I'm a bit low. If it's somewhere between 40 and 60, I'm definitely low, but not dangerously low. If it's below 40, get me some juice, a non-diet soda, some honey, some chips—anything to get the level back up. If it's lower than 30, be prepared to call 911.

For low blood sugar, there's a procedure that I learned called 15/15. That means if I'm low, give me 15 gm of carbs, wait 15 minutes and check my blood sugar again. If it's still low, lather, rinse, repeat. Keep repeating till I reach a safe level, say, above 70 (80-100 would be better). Even a bit over 100 is OK. Chances are, I'll be conscious while someone is assisting me and I can help verbally. I've done it enough times and Diana's good at it. One time a couple of years ago, I took more insulin in anticipation of eating more than I ended up eating. My blood sugar went too low and some of my actions were a bit bizarre—not to mention that what I said made very little sense. Diana got scared and called her mom (who was at a Kings game) and said that Dad was acting weirder than usual. Mom suggested that Diana check my blood sugar. Sure enough, it was about 34, and Mom told her to give me some honey. That did the trick and I was back to as normal as I get in no time.

Then there's the ever-popular high blood sugar level. Here, you just might have the pleasure of giving me a shot of insulin. Isn't this getting fun? However, before breaking out the syringe, you can try giving me lots of water to drink. And I mean lots! This helps to flush the glucose out of my ailing body. I'll be spending plenty of time in the bathroom, so I hope you brought a book. After a few trips to the bathroom, another check of my blood sugar level will reveal whether the "make him pee all day" treatment has worked. (Use the same 15/15 method described above, except don't give me anything to eat.) If still too high, you know what's next: time for a shot! If I'm coherent and conscious, I can likely give myself the shot and spare you the entertainment. But if I'm drowsy and appear to be slipping into dreamland, then you get to do the honors. It really isn't hard. If you're interested, I'll give you a live demonstration. All it takes is for us to have a meal together. Just don't look if you have a fear of belly fat.

Diabetics need some tools to help manage their blood sugar level. All of us, whether or not we use insulin, need to have a good glucometer. They're available at most good drug stores, and are fairly inexpensive and reliable. When you're under a doctor's care, s/he'll write us a prescription for the test strips that we need to test our blood sugar. Unfortunately, these strips are only used one time and tossed. Someday they'll have a way of extracting a sample of our blood without the use of a strip. If we have to buy strips, they can be expensive. We also need to get lancets so we can prick our finger. If we use insulin, we need syringes to inject the insulin into our favorite stash of body fat. The belly works best. I've given myself an estimated 5000 shots since I started using insulin in 2006. If you're interested in my journey with this fabulous disease, read about that here. Fortunately, many insurance plans cover much of the costs for diabetic supplies. A small co-payment may apply, though. Check with your plan.

Earlier, I mentioned that diabetes is more than "just don't eat sugar and everything will be fine." It is true that our diets should be tailored to our unique condition and meet our dietary needs. But that doesn't mean that we can't indulge a bit once in awhile. Most of you have heard that things like donuts and cookies and cakes and pies and french fries and chips and so forth are off-limits to us. That's...true-ish. Of course we need to limit our carbohydrates. But we are allowed some. This is where we work with our health care provider—doctor, diabetes educator, dietician, et al. My own recommendation is that I eat two to three "carb choices" at each meal. A "carb choice" is 15 gm of carbs. That means I can have between 30 and 45 gm of carbs at each meal. It works for me.

One of the worst things you can do for a friend or relative is to be the Diabetes Police™. It is not your place to monitor or restrict what your diabetic loved one consumes. S/he should know better, of course, but standing guard over them...um, no. I recall the time when my mom and I went to Texas to meet some of her distant relatives and we had dinner with them in their home. During our pre-dinner conversation, I mentioned that I was diabetic and treating it successfully. Dinner was "goulash," which apparently is Texan for macaroni casserole. I recall that dinner was very good—and very loaded with carbs. When it was time for dessert, our hostess served homemade blueberry cobbler. I could not wait to try that! She served everyone at the table except guess who. She remembered that I was diabetic and decided that I shouldn't have something with so much sugar in it.

On a positive note, researchers are saying that a cure for Type 1 diabetes is likely within five years. Once they resolve what causes the body to reject and destroy our pancreas, perhaps they can figure out what causes the body to reject the insulin that our own body produces. I mentioned before that diabetes is an autoimmune disease, so possibly by unlocking the mysteries of diabetes, other autoimmune diseases can be cured.

Well, there you have it. A basic primer on diabetes for your information and pleasure. I am always open to discuss my condition with anyone because the more you know...

Writer's block

When you can't think of anything to write about despite having the itch to put something into words, then you resort to writing a post about the dreaded "writer's block" as sort of a placeholder until a really good idea comes along. For your unconvenience, this is that post. Be afraid. Be very afraid...

Believe it or not, I've been at this blog writing thing since Fall 2009. You'd think I'd be an expert by now. In all actuality, hardly. Many times I feel like I've only scratched the surface. To date, I've written fewer than 120 posts. That's only an average of roughly 10 posts per year. One a month. Totally unacceptable. Many people make New Year's resolutions; perhaps I should make one for the new decade: write more.

Had I been a complete couch potato and done absolutely nothing, lack of writing would make sense. But I've gotten out and test driven new cars (not looking to replace my beloved CR-V just yet. I'm fascinated with new automotive technology and like to stay informed and experience all of it.) That's enough to write a post.

I've had the pleasure of experiencing two new roller coasters this year with some friends at media events before the general public got to ride. There's a blog post or two.

Lastly in my excuse-making as to why I've been so lazy about writing...healthwise, I'm struggling a bit. Everyone from here to Wichita (except the greater Tulsa area because some cable channel blacked them out) knows that I'm living with Type 2 diabetes. Many people struggle with it, so I'm not alone. But everyone with diabetes has a unique situation. It is said that no two diabetics are the same despite fighting the same disease. I have written about my own battle a few times, but, given some of the "advice" I've gotten from armchair physicians, maybe it's time for a refresher, if for no other reason than to educate people.

So there you have it. Stay tuned for more.