Erica's Killer Ab Workout

My body constantly reminds me that I'm not in as good of shape as I think I am.  While shadowboxing at Loyola Park, my right side kept bothering me.  It didn't start doing that until after I arrived at the gym.  I decided not to spar.

The guys -- Alan, Professor, David, Connor, Sanal, Leon -- sparred.  Connor was hit three times in his right side with hooks by Professor.  Alan told him, "You'd think that after three times, you would cover up!"

Sanal was pawing David most of the time when they sparred.  I wanted to tell him not to do that, but Alan and Leon were talking to him.  David had told Sanal beforehand that he was worried about Sanal throwing wild punches.  "If you go fast, I'll have to go fast, too," David said.

Leon took on Alan.  I watched carefully because Leon is a big, tall guy, and Alan is in his middle sixties.  "I don't want to have to call the hospital,"  I thought to myself.  It appeared that Leon wasn't hitting Alan as hard as he could have.  After two rounds, they were done because Leon was spent.

Erica called everyone into the ring who wanted to do an ab workout.  I scrambled in behind everyone else because I'm tired of people thinking I'm three months pregnant (yep, I've been asked a few times "when is the baby due?").  It was a hard workout of leg raises, ab punches, butterfly kicks, etc.  I've been working out five days a week for the past three weeks.  But it was clear that I need to do more work.

But now it's the holidays, and I've been nipping eggnog every day (not caring about my diabetes for the moment).  I'm still sticking to having meat only once a day, and upping the veggie and fruit content.  But there's not much I can do about getting older and slower other than deal with it and work with it accordingly.

Back To Sparring

As I walked up to the field house -- yes, I walked despite the fact that it is three degrees outside -- I noticed the lights in the gym were on.  "Alan beat me here," I thought.  When I got inside the gym, Jilberto was there with two guys, one of whom looked vaguely familiar.  It was Martin, who hadn't been in the gym since Steve was the coach.  The other fellow was Martin's, 18 year old son, Richard.  Richard was interested in signing up, but Martin wanted to come back as well.  "I'd like to get Graubien back in here.  He used to work with me when I came in here before," Martin said.  I remember Graubien as well.  It's been at least seven or eight years since I've seen him.  Martin and Richard hung around for awhile to watch the sparring.  Richard promised to come back on Monday.

Martin was concerned about whether or not his son would be allowed to take up boxing.  Richard has diabetes.  "So do I," I told his father.  I explained that I'm careful to monitor myself when I'm in the gym, and I keep glucose tablets nearby.  If I don't feel up to sparring, or doing a full on workout, I don't.  I think Richard will be fine.

Edward came in with his mother, Liliana.  In this photo, he's making a bracelet.  He gave one that he promised to me today, and it's nice.  "Are you making one for your mom?" I asked.  "No, this is for Alicia," he told me.

Another new person, Rick, showed up today.  Rick would have been in class the first day, but Rick suffered an injury that kept him out for awhile.  Rick wanted to know what level the class was at, and I assured him that it was a mix of beginners and people with experience.  In addition to Rick, Nate, a guy that Alan has worked with, came in.  Alan was talking to Nate about sparring, but Nate said, "Nah, man.  I've got to look pretty!"  "Man, please. . .what's this about pretty," Alan grinned.  "Come on, Alan.  If the man has to stand in front of people, he doesn't want to be all bruised and banged up," I chuckled.  Nate looked at me and said,  "Exactly!  Thank you!"

Ben's right eye is still red.  But as you can see in the photo above, Ben (in the gray shirt) sparred with Keith. Their session got cut short, however.  I saw Ben bent over, and Keith talking to him.  At first I thought Ben had taken a bad hit.  Turns out that Ben has asthma.  Colonel let Ben use his inhaler.

Alan's still getting use to having to stand on the apron while people are sparring.  Here, he watches Ben sparring with Leo.  "How is your leg?  Are you going to work today?" Alan asked me.  "I think I can go one round," I told him.

Brenda, seen here on "Roger" the red bag, and I sparred very, very lightly for two rounds.  It was my first time sparring in the new ring.  My left leg held up very well; indeed, I was walking better on it while making my way to to the gym.  Neither Brenda or I were wearing headgear.  I put in my mouthpiece just in case.  My objective was to let Brenda throw a lot of punches and move around a lot.  I was covering up my mid-section like a turtle at one point, and Brenda asked me what that was.  "That's in anticipation of any punches that may aim at my chest or stomach," I explained.  Afterwards, Brenda commented, "Boxing is really a workout."

Alicia beats on the bag in this photo.  She reminds me of my Aunt Mary, who's about the same height and build.  Alicia has really been working hard to get the punches down.

Since my leg is definitely improving now, maybe it will be a good time to do exercises at home again.  I was thinking about starting out with kettlebells or maybe Marlen Esparza's boxing DVD, but with modifications to the exercises of course.  I don't need to be re-injured.

Boxing and Blood Sugar

I always joke to people that I was in reasonably good health until I reached the age of forty.  After I passed that magic birthday, it seemed that every time I went to the doctor, it was because a) something had gone wrong and/or b) I was being diagnosed with something.

A visit to the doctor in early 2007 revealed that I was pre-diabetic.  He had me come back in a few weeks to run tests again.  I was alarmed, but for some reason, I believed the condition would pass me by.  After the next set of tests were done, the doctor gave me the bad news.  To say I was unhappy was an understatement.  Having diabetes meant a whole lot of changes had to be made, and the impact was immediate where boxing was concerned - I wouldn't be able to fight in sanctioned matches.  My amateur boxing license became null and void.

The first major problem I faced was changing my diet.  I don't cook well, and when I do, I stick with the simplest meals that even I can't mess up.  I don't like being bothered with all the effort that goes into cooking, so I either did take-out or delivery or I brought a lot of TV dinners.  Soon I learned that sweet rolls, ice cream, and candy weren't the only foods I had to worry about.  Sugar is in a lot of foods we eat.  I had to learn how to read food labels in order to limit the amount of carbohydrates I ate on a daily basis. 

I had to check my blood sugar.  I'm not afraid of needles, but sticking my fingers a few times each day got old very fast.  Currently, I don't do it.  I keep seeing ads for blood glucose monitors that claim, "Ours is virtually painless!  People can test on their arms instead."  Don't believe that.  Getting stuck with a needle is getting stuck with a needle.  Watching watch I eat is easier.  Not by much, but it's easier.

Metformin tablets were prescribed, two a day.  That's not fun, either, especially if one already has to take medicine for other reasons. 

However, I'd rather not be have to take insulin.  Some people with type 2 diabetes find that taking pills is not enough to control it.  I don't want to be one of those people if I can help it.

Participating in any sport while dealing with a health condition is a challenge.  I don't heal up easily from cuts and bruises anymore, and boxing creates many of those.  I have to really practice the art of hitting and not being hit, slipping and bobbing and weaving to avoid injuries.  Boxing is exercise, which is something I need to do anyway, and exercise helps me to lose weight, which is something all diabetics need to do. 



I'm getting good at recognizing when my blood sugar is low.  But sometimes a drop in energy sneaks up on me.  I try to remember to keep glucose tablets in my locker at the gym, and in my purse when I'm out elsewhere. 

I had to spring for a medical ID bracelet.  I had read horror stories about other diabetics who had medical emergencies out in public and people not knowing what to do.  The bracelet was always in the way.  I didn't like the way it felt on my wrist.  Finally, I lost it on the way to the gym one day.  The next time, I brought a medical ID necklace. 

Every day, I have to worry about complications that may develop.  My maternal grandmother had a leg amputated, and right before she passed on, she lost some toes, too.  My dad's kidneys were failing at the time of his death.  I have a buddy who's been sitting at home receiving disability checks for a few years now because their diabetes bothers them more than mine does at the moment. 

Having diabetes is yet another fight I've participated in, and I'm doing the best I can to avoid being counted out. 

No Sparring and Odd Eating

Valdez and Andre, who had come in the gym the week before to check it out, returned on Monday.  They had signed up and they were ready to go.  The gym door didn't open until later, because Alan was late.  He talked to Caroline over the phone to convince her to open the door for those of us who were already there.

Earlier in the day, Alan had called me to at church to say he would be late.  I was in the Pastor's office when the phone rang.  Pastor answered, then handed the receiver to me, saying, "It's for you."  When I got on the line, Alan said, "Was that the pastor?  I'm surprised he didn't witness to me!"  I got a good laugh out of that.  After we ended the call, I told Pastor Roger what Alan said.  "I was nice to him.  That's being a witness," Pastor smiled. 

Before Alan arrived, I couldn't make my mind up whether or not I would spar or not.  I've been a little stiff lately, and sore in the usual spots.  But it wasn't enough to rule out sparring all together.  After the coach got there, I decided to spar, but alas, there was no one available to spar.  Sarah decided not to step in the ring, and mostly everyone else was brand new or not enough of a somewhat even match for me.  Most coaches usually make an attempt to match up people for sparring as they would match people up for regular bouts.  Once in awhile, some exceptions are made.  But if there are too many difference between sparring partners in weight, height, experience or age, it's usually better to be safe than sorry.

I have another new friend on Facebook; his name is Phil, and he was one of the two guys who had a Master's bout during the Golden Gloves finals this past Saturday.  He sent me an email detailing how the Golden Gloves came to include the Masters' Division in this year's competition.  It got me to thinking about how I might be able to compete in that division during next year's competition.  My only stumbling block would be getting approval from my doctor to participate.  I should go to the doctor armed with a copy of the book The Diabetic Athlete.  I hear that's a good book that makes an arguement that people should not stop competing in sports just because they've been diagnosed with diabetes. 

Stephanie, one of the volunteers at church who helps in the food pantry, told me that I look like I had lost some weight.  "I'm trying to," I told her.  I've been eating a lot lately, but not going to restaurants much.  I've been limiting myself to having one meal out a day (usually lunch), and eating the other two meals and any snacks at home.  Recently, I went through another period of time when I just don't feel like eating much at all.  It usually lasts for several days.  I couldn't tell you what brings it on.  I'll eat very little for breakfast, skip lunch, nibble on something late in the afternoon, then eat very little or nothing for dinner. 

When that quasi-fast ends, I either go back to eating normally -- which for me is eating about four small meals a day to keep the blood sugar regulated -- or I'm eating all the time, which is what has been happening recently.  Luckily, unlike other places I've worked in the past, food is not on constant display at church.  I can go in the food pantry sometimes or in the refrigerator to get a little snack.  I'm surprised a lot more people don't get carried out on stretchers from most offices because of the overload of leftover bagels and sweet rolls in conference rooms, cakes being brought in to celebrate employees' birthdays, and overflowing candy dishes in every cubicle. 

The Floater's Already There

The rain and the damp, cool weather must have put most people off last night.  Only Jamil, Donald, and myself were in the gym, outside of Alan. Alan and I sparred.  Once again, my left eye took a shot.

A look in the mirror confirmed that my eye was red, but no other damage was visible.  I worry about that eye because it has a floater in it.  I don't know exactly how long it's been there, but I do know it started sometime after I was laid off from the agency two years ago.  I just woke up one morning and noticed a little dark wisp traveling across my pupil.  It's probably a little blood that seeped out from the vessels in my eye.  Who knows how it got there?  I don't remember taking extremely bad hits to my eye or head (other than what normally happens when I spar).  It's been time to see an eye doctor, but I need to find an inexpensive one that is knowledgeable about diabetes.  My father had cataracts, and at the time of his death, there was a tumor behind one of his eyes.  He refused to let doctors do anything about it.  I'd rather be more proactive about my sight.

A letter that I had forgotten I'd written to The Ring magazine was printed in their latest issue.  The issue has Manny Pacquiao on the cover (who by the way, won a political election in the Philippines recently).  A columinist wrote an article not long ago complaining about ring card girls, and I agreed with him.  Now if only "The Bible of Boxing" would cover more of the female boxing scene, I'd be very happy.

Downed By High Blood

I went to a low-income/free clinic on Monday to find out if I'm entering menopause.  Currently, I have no health insurance, and I can't afford to see my regular doctor for checkups and prescriptions.  It was discovered that my blood pressure was sky high.  "You need to see the internist," the helpful nurse told me.  Silently, I grumbled at my late dad.  I inherited both high blood pressure and diabetes from him.  The doctor I saw wrote prescriptions for high blood pressure and diabetes pills. He told me of some pharmacies where I could get prescription meds at low prices.

I called Pastor Roger before I went to the gym to ask if it was okay for me to take off tomorrow morning to fill the prescription.  I have to go up to Costco to get a deal.  He agreed, but later, I realized that I have another appointment on Tuesday at the closest Workforce (Unemployment) office.  "Damn.  If it's not one thing, it's another," I thought as I walked to the gym.  It's busy this week because I have to get the committee reports together for the church's annual business meeting this upcoming Sunday.  I don't want to take much time away from getting that done.  I'll just have to get the prescription filled later on Tuesday or later in the week.

I begged off sparring, even though, I had a pick of guys to spar with (Carlos, Jamil, Vic, Johnny).  I told Alan of my medical woes, and he told me, "My neck has been bothering me for days.  I keep waiting for the kink to work itself out, but it hasn't yet."  He said he wasn't taking anything for it.  "You should see somebody.  It might be a pulled muscle," I suggested.

I didn't do much of a workout.  Since my high blood pressure was out of control, I figured I'd better take it easy.  Most of my time was spent recording the sparring between Carlos, Jamil, Vic, Johnny, Alan, Kevin, and a new guy named St. Louis, on my digital camera.  St. Louis came in with a woman, whose name I didn't catch.  Alan thought she might be a good sparring partner for both Oksana and myself.  I attempted to upload the sparring to YouTube, but I kept getting error messages.  I'll have to figure out what the problem is.

Carlos admitted he's at 195 pounds.  "That number is supposed to be going down, not up," Alan said.  "It seems I just can't stop eating.  I do most of the cooking at home.  I'm tasting while I'm cooking, then turning around and eating after I've finished cooking," Carlos explained.  I'm at 175 pounds, having gained back ten pounds over the holidays, so I could sympathize with Carlos.  It's frustrating, because I seemed to be on a roll, and now I'm back to square one again.  The visit to the doctor just pointed out how far gone things have become.

"High blood pressure is not the only problem.  There's another issue looming as well," I told Alan as he dropped me off near my apartment.  "What's that?" he asked.  "I suspect I'm entering menopause," I told him, without going into the details of the symptoms I've noticed.  He told me about his wife's experiences with it, then smiled and said, "We all have our crosses to bear."  

Gym Showcase

Mary left a voice mail for me earlier in the afternoon. The person who was supposed the sing the National Anthem for the annual Gym Showcase couldn't make it in. She asked if I could perform the song. I called her back and assured her that I would.

Barry had two of the boys in the youth boxing program, Nate Jr. and Kenneth, do some exercise routines for their portion of the showcase. I hadn't seen Nate Jr. do his fancy jump rope techniques before; he was good. Kenneth is a new boxer, a long, lanky quiet kid. Like Nate Jr. he also demonstrated his technique on the punch mitts for the crowd.

"I'm glad you're here," Barry told me when we came back inside the gym after the performance. "Most people wouldn't want to train on a Friday night. It takes a special individual to come in here on a Friday." I like going to the gym. Besides, what else am I doing on Friday night? Ask most unattached middle-aged women -- unless she's a cougar chasing down young men in the clubs, the dating scene is pretty slow. If I had a boyfriend, he'd have to wait to see me after I came out of the gym, anyway. First things first.

Barry and the boys left after a light workout. Attendance among the adults was very light again this evening. Only Sadiq, Carla and Foster were there. "Why weren't many people here?" Sadiq asked after we were the last two in the gym. "It's nice outside, it's Friday night, there's the Gym Showcase going on, Steve's not here anymore," I answered. Robert took a little break from his work to look in on the gym, and he noted the small amount of people inside. I told him, "The numbers will pick up again when a new coach is hired."

Just as I suspected a couple of days ago, I have picked up weight again. Ten pounds of the 20 I lost have returned. Damn. . .I know it is because of what I've been eating, and the lack of doing extra exercise during the week. It's my fault. I was looking at the DLife web site and learned that actor Jerry Mathers ("Leave It To Beaver") was diagnosed with diabetes when he was 50. He controls it with diet and exercise. I keep thinking about the complications I could develop because I'm not as diligent in controlling my weight as I think I am. If Mathers could take weight off and get it together, than I can too. I have to do it.

Type 1 and Type 2

Steve is out this week, so Mike and I are opening and closing the gym. Mike brought his friend Eric in again, who revealed that he is a Type 1 diabetic. He's a strong, basically strapping guy who did service in the military. You'd never suspect he had a condition. Type 1 people have to take insulin. Since I'm Type 2, I'm on pills -- for the time being.

Jordan did some pad work with Mike. Mike asked me if I wanted some work too, but I was too tired. "My diabetes is messing with me today," I said. I was sitting down more than I was working out last night. When I saw my doctor this past Monday, I informed him that I have been feeling fatigued a lot. It appears to be a symptom of the condition: being at a regular energy level one day, and feeling wiped out on others. I can't afford to be fatigued half the time. I have too many things to do.

Humidity

Water ran down my face as if someone had thrown a bucket of it on me last night. It was extremely humid in the gym. The windows being open and the fan being on didn't do much. Plus, there were a lot of people in the gym.

One of the new people, Nikki, was telling me that her sibings and her mom are diabetic. She has been trying a raw foods diet, and she told me she would bring some info in for me to look at on Friday. I don't like most veggies and fruits; I have to force myself to eat them. I am interested in the raw food diet, since I've heard a few things about it.

Turns out that one of Nikki's sisters went to school with Mort. Nikki said that her sister had a crush on Mort when they were small children, and was always talking about him. Small world. Mort gave Nikki his number and asked that her sister call him. He hadn't seen her since high school.

Steve will have a sociology article of his published in an online journal, which is very cool. It will look good on his resume as he searches for teaching positions.

Another guy named Jermaine, who usually goes to Barry's boxing class was in the gym last night. Steve introduced him to me. "She volunteers and is a great help around here," Steve told him. "Yeah, she works us ten times as hard when Steve is not here!" Tommy joked. "I have a beret and a whip," I laughed, imitating myself using an imaginary one to keep the boxers in line.

Fighting Despite Limits

I told Steve on Friday about an article I saw on the BBC web site: Joanne Larkin is threatening to go to the European Court of Human Rights to force boxing authorities to let her 15-year-old son box. Her son is diabetic, and he is prohibited from competing. I know how the kid feels. Steve asked my thoughts on diabetics in boxing. I can see how being diabetic would be a problem in professional boxing. However, in amateur boxing, headgear is present, and there are checks and balances to make sure competitors are safe. The mom of the teenager asked, "Why isn't it discrimination? Diabetics are allowed to enter into any other type of sport and competition. . .why not boxing?" Why, indeed.

I was diagnosed with high blood pressure back in 2003, but I wasn't stopped from competing. My hypertension has always been controlled with meds, and my doctor would write notes comfirming that. I also have a minor heart problem. One of the valves has a small hole in it. The only thing I have to remember about that is taking antibiotics before any kind of medical procedure is done, like having a dentist work on my teeth, for example. There are many days when I grumble, "I was healthy until I turned 45 years of age," but I thank God that I'm not as bad off as I could be. I know that doctors recommend every other exercise to diabetics except boxing, but I see no reason why I should stop participating in the workouts. As long as I can move, I'm fine.

I Didn't Think Of That

Both Mort and JJ announced that they found jobs -- Mort will be at a downtown currency exchange, and JJ has a job at Home Depot. The goal is for the both of them to move out of their parents' homes and get their own places. I was glad to hear about their new employment.

Steve asked me if there is anything he should know in case I get sick in the gym. It should have occurred to me to give him some guidelines when I first got the news that I have diabetes. Earlier yesterday, I brought some glucose tablets from Walgreens. They are for whenever my blood sugar drops low. I highly doubt that'll happen. Never heard of my dad or my two grandmothers having that problem. However, it does pay to be safe rather than sorry. I'll remember to carry them with me whenever I go to the gym.

I also told Steve that there was a possibility if I got cut open during a sparring match, it might take a long time for me to heal. I've always had a problem with slow healing cuts and wounds, long before diabetes hit me. I don't spar very often, so that shouldn't be a great problem.

Everybody seems to be hyped about the Mayweather-De LaHoya match this Saturday. Intially, Mike was going to order the fight and have people at his house, but he changed his mind. Mike is going to watch the fight with friends at a bar instead. "Eh, I don't want to go to a bar, because then you can't pay attention to the fight because of people around you yelling and asking stupid questions, " Steve said. If Barry or Gary don't get the pay-per-view, then Steve will get it. I'm looking forward to it. The Golden Boy and Pretty Boy Floyd have been talking much $100 trash for weeks. It'll be interesting to see how it plays out in the ring.

A Different Perspective On It

I ended the work day upset this past Friday, thinking about how diabetes has cost me hope of ever having an amateur match. Initially, I didn't want to go to the gym that night, and I waivered back and forthwards with that thought. Finally, I pulled myself together and went at the last minute, because, after all, I need the workout. It was tough going for the first half-hour or so. My heart was not in it.

Near the end of the evening, Muhammad did a sparring drill with Steve. It wasn't long before Muhammad began to complain about being tired. Steve directed him to continue, but Muhammad kept leaning on the ropes, reclining in the corners, and not keeping his hands up. Muhammad told Steve at one point that he felt like he was going to die. I leaned over the ropes and said, "Look, Muhammad, I'm 45 years old with diabetes. If I can do this, so can you. You're a young man!" I spent the rest of the drill encouraging him to keep going, and others, like Tommy, joined in to keep him going, too.

As Steve drove me home later, I asked if he had any amateur fights. I knew he had mentioned it before, but I couldn't remember. He never had any, but he had a lot of street fights, and had trained a lot in different boxing gyms. "Some people say you can't be a coach if never had any fights, but that depends on the person," he said. Our talk made me feel better about continuing in boxing, albeit behind the scenes. Next month, I'll buy a book on coaching and study it in preparation for getting a coach's license.

Damn!

I almost backed out of going to the Sabre Room for JJ, Mort and Erin's fights last night. Earlier yesterday morning, a doctor I went to see for a second opinion confirmed the worst: I actually have diabetes. The A1c blood test made it very clear. According to USA Amateur Boxing rules, I can no longer be approved to box in competitons.

It was very hard watching Erin during her fight, knowing that I will never get a chance to do the same thing. I spar from time to time in the gym, but that's not the same thing. The upside is that I can apply to be licensed as an amateur boxing coach, and no medical restrictions play into that. I'm not going to choir rehearsal tonight, as I have reservations to see a cabaret show. It's just as well. . .I'm not in the mood for Glynn gloating over me not being able to compete. He always said he was praying to me to stop boxing. I guess he got his wish to an extent.

Mort appears to be experiencing the same thing JJ did when he won the Golden Gloves last year -- not getting fights because guys are afraid to fight him. His opponent actually showed up last night, but turned around and said he was too sick to fight. JJ won against his opponent, but he was throwing a lot of wild punches, and dropping his hands a lot.

Erin's uncle John, a former professional boxer, helped Steve out in the corner during her fight. Her opponent was a 17-year-old girl who regularly spars with the guys at the boxing club she attends in Harvey, IL. Erin didn't get hurt badly, but the other boxer just kept putting pressure on her. She also lost one of her contacts. Erin had an 8-count called on her three times. Steve was stepping into the ring to stop the fight after the third time, but the referee stopped it first.

Earlier, Steve pointed out that I made a mistake thinking Erin was the first woman out of Loyola Park to get a fight. I forgot about Lan, who had a fight at Hamlin; Sara, Mike's ex-wife, who had a match at Brooks; and teens Essence and Crystal, who had fights. "Trying to make Loyola Park look like it's against women fighting?" Steve laughed.

Squats and Schedules

I managed to do squats for the first time since I injured my right knee over two months ago. Oh, yeah, it did hurt somewhat, but not as bad as it did weeks ago. Maybe in another few weeks I can go back to jumping rope.

Steve had schedules for the Chicago Park District's City-Wide Boxing Tournament, as well as the schedule for the fieldhouse boxing shows. I added them to my datebook at work, and I need to put them in my personal planner as well. Of course, chances of me getting a match at those events is nil, but I can still help out.

Didn't know until last night that Muhammad had broken his leg a few years ago. He was riding around in a car in Saudi Arabia, and got into a bad accident. Broke his femur in two. "My insurance didn't work with the private hospitals there, so I had to stay at a US-run hospital. The service was terrible," he told me. I had heard stories about Americans who needed urgent medical care while overseas before; none of the stories were pretty. Thank God his situation turned out okay.

Just last week, someone at church asked how I could I still box with arthritis in both knees. Now I have to train with another medical condition: mild diabetes. My doctor told me about it this morning when I went in for my physical. I'm still trying to figure out what is "mild" about diabetes. My dad and both my grandmothers had it, and they suffered with it the most before they passed away. My maternal grandma lost one of her legs and some of her toes before it was all over. I was not happy about having to drop a chunk of change at the drug store for a blood glucose machine and several different types of medications.