Bernd das Brot . . . .

When Pete and I used to take ballroom dance lessons, our half-German instructor told us about a puppet called Bernd das Brot.  Pete and I stumbled across his “Musikvideo" on YouTube and it stuck with us.  Our American Muppets have nothing on Bernd!

Anyway, his name translates to Bernd the Breadloaf, but I’ve always thought of him as Burnt Bread.  So why am I thinking of him today?  Well, unlike Mr. Breadloaf (who isn’t really burnt), I have moved well beyond lightly toasted and fallen full on into the flames.

The worst part of my current bout with burnout is that I have an endo appointment on Monday.  I did get my labs done, so there is one point in my favor.  However, the fact that I haven’t worn a sensor all week is going to leave a pretty big info gap in my pump download.  Every day I promise myself I’ll insert a new sensor tomorrow.  And every tomorrow I put it off yet another day.  I’m also randomly grazing and bolusing instead of counting carbs and eating actual meals.  My Fitbit is laughing at me because I’m barely getting any steps in.  And the leftover Halloween candy considers me its new best friend based how often I visit.

So I’m dreading Monday’s appointment even more than usual.  My endo is great and I’ll be completely honest with him about what is going on.  But I can’t help but be very embarrassed to admit how little I care about my diabetes these days.

Just call me Burnt das Karen.

How to Lose my Mind . . .

Fasting blood sugar - fine.  Bolus for and consume coffee.

Pre-breakfast blood sugar - fine.  Pre-bolus for breakfast smoothie.  Make and drink breakfast smoothie.  Blood sugar remains stable.

Two and a half hours after drinking breakfast smoothie - CGM high alarm.  Test to confirm, and yes, I am high.  I figure it’s the smoothie, even though it seems odd that the spike didn’t start sooner.  Whatever.  Take the 1 unit suggested correction and head the the grocery store.  The grocery store is a drag, but I’m secretly happy to go because grocery shopping always brings my blood sugar down.

Come home from grocery shopping, put everything away, dust the entire house.  Still high.  Hmmm, that’s odd.  Correct again and set a higher temp basal for good measure.

CGM high alarm repeat is set to 1 hour, meaning that it will alarm once an hour as long as I remain high.  All afternoon it continues to blare hour upon hour upon hour, despite continuing to up my basal bit by bit.  At 4:00 I finally admit that the 200+ blood sugar I’ve been stuck with all day can’t be due to the smoothie I drank at 8:30.  Decide to change my site, and am happy to see that it’s also time to open a new bottle of insulin.  Yay for eliminating two variable at once!

Insert new site, but it feels “weird” going in.  Not sure exactly what I mean by that, but my gut tells me something isn’t quite right.  Already frustrated enough that I haven’t been able to make my blood sugar budge all day, so immediately pull the new site and replace it again.  Then take a 20 minute walk, confident that I’ve now got this under control.

Two hours later blood sugar is STILL the same and that confidence I felt is replaced by complete exasperation.  Curse the fact that I keep forgetting to check for ketones, and give in to the temptation to rage bolus.  When even that doesn’t help, decide it’s time to do a third site change.  Pull the practically new site and it looks fine, but a few small drops of blood dribble out of my body.  Insert new site yet again and call husband and cry.

Finally make it into the 190s.  Pretty sure it’s a bad idea but decide to eat dinner anyway.  Eat a half portion and test again to see that I’m in the 120s.  Yay!!  Eat the other half of my dinner!

Watch a little TV with Pete.  We chat a bit and then he says “Do you think you're low?  You kind of sound like you're low?”.  I’m sure I’m not low but agree to test before getting up to wash the dishes.  41.  WTF.  (Also, what is this "sound low" symptom Pete can spot??)  Must be falling fast because CGM shows me in the 80s, but soon after the rapid down arrows appear.  Eat but still feel like I’m going to die.  Curl up in a ball on the couch while Pete is stuck doing the dishes.  At this moment, I feel like I absolutely can not live one more day with diabetes.

There are many hard things about life with diabetes, and this is one that people outside of the diabetes bubble probably just don’t understand.  I’d stick a million needles a day in my body - that pain only lasts for a moment.  But the emotional pain of trying every single thing you can think of to get your blood sugar back into range and nothing works?  Knowing that people think diabetes is no big deal because you just need to take your insulin and not eat sugar and that’s it?  On days like this one, these are the parts of diabetes that will truly make me lose my flippin’ mind.

A Kernel of Truth

I really think that the things that are most upsetting have a small kernel of truth to them.  So while I’m sure my opinion will be wildly unpopular and set me up for a blizzard of hatred, I have to say I think Miss Manners was a teeny bit right.

Blood is kind of gross.  It’s not normal to puncture my finger and bleed in public.  Does that mean I’ll stop doing it?  No, it doesn’t.  Unfortunately it is what I need to do to take care of myself.  But does that mean it isn’t valid for people to feel uncomfortable at the sight of blood?  Nope.

Don't get me wrong, I certainly won’t go to the restroom to check my blood sugar.  But I can be more “surreptitious” or discreet with my blood, especial while dining or in close confines.  Not because I think it means I should be ashamed of my chronic illness.  But because I think it’s right to be considerate of those around me, just as I would hope they’d be considerate of me.

I’m not angry at Miss Manners.  I’m angry at diabetes for desensitizing me to my own public bloodletting.

Glimpses of 5 a.m.

It’s funny, when you’re in it, how abnormal things actually feel normal.  It didn’t seem odd for even a minute that I got up at 5 a.m. and made my way downstairs, barefoot, even though our thermostat is set at 54 degrees overnight.  I stood by the snack cabinet and ate one rice crispy treat left over from the batch Pete made for a football game with the guys, followed by two of the chocolate cookies I baked for us.  As I sat down to pet K.C., who follows me everywhere regardless of time, it seemed completely normal to get up in the wee hours of the morning to eat sugary junk.

Then, out of habit or instinct, I took a look at my CGM graph.  I blinked a few time and squinted, but it definitely said “Below 40”.  Nothing made much sense, but I went back to the snack cabinet and ate four more cookies.  As I stood for a few minutes, my mind started to clear and fragments of memories now came into focus.  I remembered ignoring the big drops of sweat that had poured off of me when I ate my rice crispy treat and wondered how they didn’t strike me as odd.  I realized how hard it had been to get down the stairs, and suddenly recalled gripping the railing as I slowly made my way down and realized how out of the ordinary that is.  Then I remembered being low at dinner time, and being annoyed that my pump kept suspending me while I was eating so I turned off the Threshold Suspend option . . . . and apparently forgot to turn it back on once my blood sugar came up.  I also found my low alarms muted, although I don’t remember doing that at all.  My blood sugars have been completely borked by a bad cold that’s been plaguing me, and apparently has me so exhausted that I turned off my alarms in a sleepy germy (and probably low) haze that I don’t even recall.

I’m very thankful and lucky to have some of the latest tools to help manage diabetes.  But the fact remains, I’m still human with an imperfect brain that can interfere with the safety net of these tools in an imperfect way.  It’s still really a crapshoot of hoping my instinct will kick in when rationale doesn’t, sending me downstairs to eat whatever I can find.  Sometimes it just feels like it’s still all in the hands of fate.  So I made my way back to bed, woke up Pete to tell him I had a bad low but was okay, and tested to see a 42 flashing back at me.  I turned my CGM alarms and suspend function back on as I waited to come back to a safe range for sleep, and tried not to think too hard about what could have been.

Guy at the Bar . . . .

Dear Guy at the Bar,

I’m not sure if my friends noticed you eavesdropping on our conversation, but you were in my direct line of view from my seat at the dinner table.  I could tell you were listening in, but we were in a public restaurant so to me it wasn’t a big deal.  We had already chatted about personal stuff like a new boyfriend, visits to college, and plans for a new kitchen.  But as our talk turned to diabetes I did notice you were listening in.  You listened at we talked about glucagon.  You listened to us talk about DKA.  You listened as we discussed new CGMs and exercise.  You listened as we talked about our last support group meeting and you listened as we got down to the business of planning our next one.  I didn’t really  mind - for all I knew, you could have been interested because you had a diabetes connection too.

As we hunkered down over our photocopied pages of topic ideas and discussion suggestions, you finally leaned in to ask us “Are you all teachers?”.  We all kind of snickered - I did so because I certainly don’t feel expertly qualified to teach anything to anybody, I’m just trying to fake make my way through this life as best I can.  After we told you we weren’t teachers you asked “Well, what kind of meeting are you having?”.  My friend to the right said “Ladies, do you mind if I share?’ and none of us did.  Hey, advocate when and where the opportunity arises, right?  Except that’s not exactly how it went down.

When my friend told you we were planning a T1 diabetes support group, you said “Oh, you are all nurses.”  We explained that no, we weren’t nurses, we were people with and parents of children with diabetes.  (In fact, our table of five included four people with diabetes and two parents of kids with diabetes.)  And then it happened.  You launched into a tirade of how the problem with our country is obesity.  I think we were somewhat taken aback and stunned into silence - I know I was.  We tried to explain some facts to you but it was clear you weren’t listening.  When my friend told you that she was exactly where she is supposed to be on the BMI you blatantly ignored her, even though it was you who had brought up BMI in the first place.  You said something about making your living in insurance - trying to keep people from having to pay too much or something like that.  In all honesty, I’m not really sure what you were blathering on about because by then I had pretty much tuned you out.  I think we all had, because it was clear you had no interest in anything we tried to tell you.  So we turned back to our notes and continued our meeting without giving you another glance.

It made me sad to realize something I know to be true, but luckily don’t run into all that often . . . . . .

sometimes people are just jerks.

Signed,

An offended girl who thinks next time you should mind your own business and leave others alone with theirs.

One of those lows

It was one of those lows

One of those lows where I feel it even before my sensor catches it. That doesn't happen very often these days.

One of those lows where I was really glad Pete told me to stay in bed while he got something to treat it. Because I knew if I went to the kitchen, I'd eat anything and everything I could get my hands on.

One of those lows that makes me feel paranoid. And saps my self esteem. And makes me sure that every single one of you reading this post hates me.

One of those lows that makes me squeeze my eyes shut, flop my head onto Pete’s shoulder, and cry..

It was one of those lows.  Oh how I really really hate those lows.

** Usually my lows aren’t a big deal, and even when they are "one of those lows" I often forget how crappy it felt once I’m back in range.  I wrote this post the other night, while waiting for one of those lows to come up, so I could capture exactly how it felt.

Thar She Blows . . .

Usually putting in my CGM sensor isn’t that big of a deal.  Okay, I’ll admit it did take me about a year before I didn’t need to stop and psyche myself up before insertion because the needles is like a freaking whale harpoon and apparently even after 30+ years of diabetes jabs I’m still a baby.  But by now, I’m over the harpoon fear and I don’t think anything of launching said harpoon directly into my . . . .  blubber seems to be the correct word to carry out my whale harpoon metaphor.  *sigh*

Last week I inserted a new CGM sensor right before leaving for Friends for Life.  It was no big deal, until I pulled out the needle.  Holy Thar She Blows . . . . blood squirted out like water from a blowhole!!  I debated pulling the sensor, but the bleeding stopped so I attached the transmitter, taped the whole thing down with Tegaderm as usual, and that was that.

But that wasn’t actually that.  Because somewhere along the way the bleeding started again.  I got out of the shower one morning and saw a lot of blood beneath the Tegaderm.  I debated pulling the sensor completely, but I didn’t pack a spare with me and Pete was nervous about me going sans CGM for the rest of our trip.  I was a bit nervous too, considering I’d been having some pretty low lows without symptoms.  Besides, the ugly bloody mess gave me the perfect excuse to opt out of a trip to the pool with Pete in the muggy unbearable Orlando heat . . . . . I was quite happy to nap in the air-conditioned room so my gruesome CGM didn’t scare any innocent children.

When we got home, the first thing I did was remove the icky sensor.  No, wait, the first thing I did was snuggle my little cat for about an eon . . . . . but next was the yanking of the sensor.  I was not prepared for a repeat Thar She Blows, but that’s what I got.  I have never had a gusher like this one.  I can usually tolerate the sight of my own blood, but this time I got a little dizzy as I watched the puddle form on the floor despite clapping my hand firmly over the spot where the sensor had been.  Pete had to come help me because it was quite a while before I could take pressure off . . . . eerrrr . . .  my blowhole(??).  And I’m still sporting the ugly bruise on my leg.


Things I’ve learned from this experience?  If a sensor gushes like a whale’s spout upon insertion, it’s probably best to take it out and try again.  And when you blog about it, you  might not want to pick an analogy that casts you in the part of the whale . . . . .

Bad Diabetes Day

Some days, diabetes slides quietly into the background and I can go about my day with The D running pretty much on auto-pilot.  Yesterday was not one of those days.  Yesterday went more like this:

• I woke up in range, but needed a correction after coffee even though I had bolused for the coffee.
• I bolused for two slices of toast for breakfast and gave my insulin it’s usual 20 minute head start.  Yet I spiked to 220 after eating and needed a correction.  (Twenty minutes is what works usually works for me, but remember, YBMV.  Your Bolus May Vary)
• Had I been smart, I would have ignored the correction recommendation for that 220 because I was off to the grocery store.   I would have remembered that grocery shopping often makes me go low and I would have planned accordingly.  Yesterday I was not smart.
• Forty minutes after returning from the grocery store my blood sugar was 39.
• Twenty minutes after my blood sugar was 39 I had a telephone interview for a web article about the DOC.  Although I had inhaled just about everything in sight before the phone rang, my mind wasn’t completely back on track for the interview.  I felt fuzzy and I’m quite certain I babbled like an idiot.
• A little over two hours later I was trying to bolus my way back down from a blood sugar of 268 and feeling like total crap.  Because apparently inhaling everything in sight before my call was a bad idea.  (Duh!!)
• I had put some yummy dinner fixings in the crock-pot so dinner would be a breeze.  However, it wasn’t all that breezy because hours later I found a cold crock-pot.  It seems you need to REMEMBER TO TURN THE THING ON if you actually want it to cook your dinner.  Also, I do realize this isn’t really a Bad Diabetes Day story as much as it is a Bad Cook story.  But I don’t have a cooking blog to whine on, so I’m whining  here..

Is there a silver lining to my Bad Diabetes Day?  I’m not sure there is . . . . except that today would have to go better.  Right??

Going Downhill . . . .

** Warning: If you are currently eating or very squeamish, you may want to skip this post. **


I thought it was bad when my d-supplies decided to conspire against me.  Little did I know, it was nothing compared to what my kitchen tools had in store.  Or specifically, one very sharp kitchen knife that was apparently quite upset with me.  It showed its displeasure by slicing clear through my nail and into my finger.


It didn’t hurt because the knife was so sharp, but it bled.  It bled a lot.  I briefly considered testing my blood sugar but realized I’d probably gush way too much blood all over my meter.  So I grabbed a wad of paper towels, held pressure on it, and began to panic.  Then I did what any grown, 43 year old woman would do.  I called my Mommy and Daddy.  (Okay, and tweeted too.)

My Dad used to be an EMT.  As soon as I described what had happened, he hopped in his car and headed over to take me to the Urgent Care Clinic.  Luckily, by the time he arrived, the bleeding had finally begun to slow.  I told him I probably didn’t need to go to the clinic after all.  And he said, “If it was anyone else I’d say no, but because you have diabetes I think you should go.”  Oh how I hated to hear that!  I hate when diabetes makes me “different”.  I hate when diabetes brings extra worry to non-diabetes occurrences.  I hate when diabetes permeates every tiny aspect of my life.

In the end, I talked Dad out of Urgent Care.  He agreed that there really wasn’t anything they would be able to do.  I promised to keep a close eye on the wound and to go to the doctor if I saw the tiniest sign of infection.  So Dad put on a special bandage and told me to call him if I bled through the gauze and he’d take me to the clinic.

A few hours later, my slashed up finger started hurting.  It still hurts - especially when I try to type.  But it is healing up just fine.  This time, diabetes didn’t barge in and make things worse, and for that I’m very thankful.

Has diabetes ever made an injury more complicated for you?  And does that annoy you as much as it annoys me??

2 in the morning.

It’s Monday night.  I’m tired.  I wash up, put on my jammies, and climb into bed.  I sprawl out in the middle and flip on the TV so John Stewart and Stephen Colbert can make me chuckle before I drift off the sleep.  I check my blood sugar and I'm happy to see a 110.  Usually I go to bed somewhere in the 90s and stay flat all night, so I let the 110 ride.  K.C. is curled up in her bed, which is next to me, already sleeping away.

At midnight the phone rings.  It’s Pete, calling from his hotel in California.  He’s arrived safely and checked in.  He’s had dinner and is getting ready for bed himself.  I miss him so much already, even though I saw him just this morning.  We say goodnight, I turn off the TV, and I fall asleep.

Although I don’t realize it, I’m having “that dream” again.  The one I can’t really explain.  My mind is racing overtime.  I am counting and sorting and trying to fit something into place.  I manage once, but I have a few left and I just can’t do it.  I keep trying.  My mind keeps racing.  I am restless.  It’s not working.

I’m sort of awake now, lying flat on my back with K.C. sprawled across my chest sleeping.  I don’t know how one little ten pound cat can throw off so much body heat, but I am drenched in sweat.  I guess it doesn’t help that the weather has been mild.  But oh my gosh, it is hot in here.  I drift back and forth between sleep and a feeling that I will spontaneously combust at any moment.  I’m so hot and sweaty.  I finally wake up and decide to go to the bathroom, just so I can get out from under the covers . . . .and from under the cat.  It occurs to me that since I’m up, I might as well check my blood sugar.

38.  My blood sugar is 38.  Of course it is.  That’s why I was having “that dream”.  It’s my low dream.  Why didn’t I realize that sooner?  And that’s why I’m soaked in sweat.  It all makes perfect sense and I feel like an idiot for not thinking of it.  I almost didn’t even bother to test my blood, how stupid is that?

Aside from feeling like a total moron, I also feel the need to eat . . . . a lot.  I down a bunch Swedish Fish, but I really want something salty.  I climb into bed with a mostly empty bag of chips and finish them off.  I know I’ve eaten way too much.  Moron.  And now I’m so cold, I can’t stop shivering.   I wish K.C. would come snuggle on me again, but she’s back in her own bed happily sleeping.  Me?  Not so much.

I feel like hell when I get up Tuesday morning.  I’m upset that I didn’t realize I was low sooner.  I’m afraid to tell Pete what happened because I hate to make him worry.  I’m scared to sleep alone for the next two nights until his trip is done.  In fact, I barely sleep at all Tuesday and Wednesday night.  I intentionally eat larger than usual dinners and under-bolus.  I see more 200s in those two days than I’ve seen in months.  I’m not sure I care.

Even after 32 years, diabetes can still really scare me.

***This post was inspired by one Kerri wrote.  And, I suppose, by that f’ing blood sugar.

Weather Havoc . . . .

I have a bone to pick with the weather lately.  First the hurricane knocked out our power on Sunday morning.  We finally got it back last night.  And now, I’m under the weather.  I can’t fully enjoy having electricity because I’ve got a blaring head-ache, a very upset stomach, and blood sugars that won’t come down.  (Luckily, no ketones though - I’m keeping a close eye on that.)  At least I have the television to keep my mind off how cruddy I feel.

While I’m recuperating and enjoying some mindless T.V., I’ll leave you with a quick update about the Wego survey I blogged about earlier.

“You may remember that I’m currently participating in WEGO Health’s Reader Insight Program – helping me to improve my blog with direct feedback from you, providing you with instant social media tips, and finding the Health Activists among you for exclusive invitations to WEGO Health programs.

The program has been going on for about a week, and WEGO Health just sent me an update. Here’s a quick breakdown:

Visits to the Survey: 15
Completed Surveys: 7

The program will be going on until next week so if you haven’t taken a moment to take the survey and share your thoughts yet, I hope you will! Here’s the link to share feedback with me: http://www.wegohealth.com/quick_quiz?source=bittersweet&actigrader=2”

Wordless Wednesday

I REALLY wanted to smack her . . .

Friday Pete and I spent the night in Albany so we’d be ready bright and early for Saturday’s Taking Control Of Your Diabetes conference.  I’ll be writing more about the conference itself later in the week, but if you can’t wait that long, Val and Abby (the Person) have already posted about the day.  But first, I want to tell you about Friday night.

After checking into our hotel, we headed out for dinner at a local (to Albany) restaurant recommended by the girl at the front desk.  (I suppose it would be more politically correct to say “woman at the front desk”, but seriously, she looked like she was 14!!  Way to make me feel old!)  The restaurant was terrific - delicious food, wonderful service, great atmosphere and the bar made a rocking Jolly Rancher Martini!  No, really, it tasted just like a Jolly Rancher!!

As we were eating our salads, the waiter brought a dessert with a candle in it to the next table, and the diners at the table broke out into a quiet round of happy birthday.  Pete and I sang along and clapped for the elderly man who was celebrating his birthday.  Then we stopped being noisy and went back to our own meals.  But as the “birthday party table” rose to leave, something caught my attention again.  One of the men had something in his hand - I couldn’t quite see what, but he extended them toward the Birthday Dude.  Instead of taking what was offered, Birthday Dude seemed to misunderstand and just shook Generous Guy’s hand and thanked him for coming to dinner.  When the man told Birthday Dude to take whatever was in his hand, Birthday Dude politely declined.

And then, one of the ladies at the table came up to Birthday Dude and Generous Guy and said (quite loudly and rudely) “He can’t have that!!”  Pete shot me a quick “stay calm and mind your own business” glance as he saw me cringe upon hearing those words.

We ate the rest of our dinner in peace and I had pretty much forgotten about the rude lady who made me cringe.  But then our bill came.  And I saw what Generous Guy had been offering to Birthday Dude.  Because our bill was presented along with these.


Upon seeing the chocolate dipped mint sticks, I knew Birthday Dude had most likely been scolded by his own personal Diabetes Policewoman.  And I really wanted to smack her!!  Birthday Dude was a grown man trying to spend a nice evening celebrating his day.  He politely turned down the candy sticks, whether he wanted them or not.  And D-Police Lady should have minded her own business instead of butting in with such a nasty and condescending tone in her voice.  It really made my blood boil.  And I certainly hope both Birthday Dude and D-Police Lady were in attendance at TCOYD the next day.  I hope Birthday Dude felt inspired and empowered by the lectures given.  And I hope D-Police Lady learned some Diabetes Etiquette!  Because Lady, # 1 on the Etiquette card was written for you!!

Ten things I hate about you, Diabetes . . . .

Ten things I hate about you, Diabetes - Thursday 5/12: Having a positive attitude is important . . . but let’s face it, diabetes isn’t all sunshine and roses (or glitter and unicorns, for that matter). So today let’s vent by listing ten things about diabetes that we hate. Make them funny, make them sarcastic, make them serious, make them anything you want them to be!!

I'm doing my list in reverse order, like David Letterman does.  Although really, diabetes is so darn cruddy, it’s hard to prioritize what I hate most and what I hate least.  The priorities can change on any given day - as can the things I hate!!  But hey, you have to start somewhere, right?

Top 10 Things I Hate About You, Diabetes

10 - I’m low when I need to drive and high when I want to eat
9 - all of the stuff I need to carry around in case of any d-emergency
8 - the stupid Diabetes Guilt
7 - the “my grandmother had diabetes and this terrible thing happened to her” stories
6 - what works wonderfully one day doesn’t even remotely work the next day
5 - exercise helps blood sugars, but knitting is not considered exercise
4 - did I mention the Diabetes Guilt??
3 - the D-Police
2 - I never get time off for good behavior

and the number one thing I hate about you, Diabetes . . .

1 - vegetables are easy on the blood sugar but ice cream is not

There is plenty to hate about diabetes . . . . .what makes it onto your list?


Don’t forget to add your post to the Ten things I hate about you, Diabetes-Thursday 5/12 Link List.  Please enter YOUR BLOG’S NAME in the field marked Your Name and the link to YOUR SPECIFIC POST in the field marked Your URL.

Germ Magnet

After making it through that terrible stomach virus three weeks ago I thought I was in the clear.  I was wrong.  Apparently I have become a germ magnet and each and every little germy bastard is intent on making my body its home.

This time, it’s not a barfy germ.  It’s a throat-on-fire germ.

This germ also brought some body aches.  And just for fun, a very stuffy nose.  I suppose this could be Spring allergies . . . . but it feels like the work of some mean cold germs to me.

I’ve had enough of being sick.  I feel like I catch more than my fair share of the crud and I blame diabetes for that.  And to rub salt into the wounds, the stress of fending off those germs makes blood sugar management extra difficult.  My meter will back me up on that statement by showing that my readings ranged from 197 to 44 yesterday.

Got any tips for keeping the germs from attacking?  (ROAR)

Sicko . . .

Every Sunday we go to my parent’s house for dinner.  When we arrived last Sunday my dad was recovering from what he thought was food poisoning.  My mom thought it was a virus.  Mom was right, because she got hit with it on Monday.  And lucky me, I got it on Tuesday.

It came on fast.  I was fine all day, until it was time to pick Pete up at the train station.  I dragged myself out to get him, then came home and climbed right into bed while he went out for some supplies that would hopefully settle my stomach.  I was sick one more time before he got back.

Once home, Pete brought me a diet ginger ale and 22 carbs worth of saltines.  I played it smart and ate two crackers without bolusing to see what would happen.  I felt completely fine and hungry, so I bolused for the 22 carbs and finished my crackers.  And that is where things started to go wrong.



Twenty minutes later my stomach made it quite clear that the saltines were not welcome.  My blood sugar was starting to dip, so I tried regular ginger ale.  That was rejected.  I tried a popsicle.  Also rejected.  My blood sugar continued to fall so I forced down ginger ale sips and popsicle nibbles but they just wouldn’t stay.  We pulled out the glucagon in case it was needed, and (oh crap) it was expired.  And my blood sugar?  It was now 36.  And that’s when I started to panic.

I have never ever been in a situation when my blood sugar has been low when I’m sick.  So although I’m embarrassed to admit it, I’m going to be totally honest with you.  I’ve always kind of ignored the advice about having a sick-day plan - knowing all I'd ever needed to do was set a higher temp basal.  I’m here to tell you that not having a sick day plan is a very stupid thing to do - no matter how long you’ve been living with diabetes.  Being sick is stressful enough.  Being sick and scared and in an emergency situation is the worst!!

Luckily for me, things played out okay.  I was hoping to avoid a trip to the ER, and thankfully I did.  Common sense told me to suspend my pump.  Instinct told me to turn to Twitter and get some advice from the D-OC.  I was assured that suspending should work and reminded to keep a close eye on how long I suspended so I didn’t end up with ketones.  (Thanks @cerichards21 and @AbbyBayer)  I was advised that if necessary, I could always try the glucagon anyway - especially since it was only 2 months past the expiration date.  (Thanks @StaceyDivone, @jennaspetmonkey, @scottkjohnson and @sstrumello)  And I got tons of well wishes, support, encouragement to go to the ER if I needed to, and suggestions of foods that might be acceptable to my cranky stomach - which went a long way towards calming me down and soothing my fears.  (Thank you all!!!!!)  I also turned to Lorraine's blog to reread how she handled a similar situation with Caleb.  In the end, the glucagon wasn’t needed.  After two hours I was up to 115 and I took my pump out of suspend.  It took a full 20 hours before I could eat again, but during that time I was solidly in the 140 - 180 range.

It’s not often that after 31 years with diabetes I run into a situation I haven’t dealt with before.  But this story is proof that it can happen.  Ignoring advice about having a sick day plan just because I never needed one before was careless.  You can bet I am refilling my glucagon, making a cheat sheet about mini-dosing, adding concentrated juice and chocolate syrup to my stash of regular ginger ale, and making notes to talk to my endo about a sick day plan.  Next time, you can bet I’ll be prepared!!

Wordless Wednesday

I don’t care . . .

I don’t care that shoveling snow is great for my blood sugars.

I don’t care that balmy temperatures would make my insulin go bad.

I don’t care that wearing many layers gives me easy options if I chose to conceal my pump.

I don’t care that freezing temps are perfect for snuggling with K.C. and knitting with warm soft wool - which reduces stress and brings on happiness, which in turn makes blood sugars happy.

I don’t care about any of that, because when it looks like this outside . . .

and it’s snowing and sleeting right now . . .  and another storm is predicted on the weekend?  I just don’t care how great winter can be for diabetes management.  Bring on the summer before I lose my freaking mind!

Road kill . . .

Hey, did you happen to get the license plate of the truck that ran over me??

But seriously, my high blood sugar mystery has been solved.  Friday night I slept like a log.  And I saw better post exercise numbers on Saturday.  But on Sunday, I actually did feel like a splattered mass of road kill!  I had a sore throat, a queasy stomach, aches, chills and general ickies.

And my numbers?  I’ve seen more readings in the 200s and 300s in the past five days than I’ve seen in the past five months! I tried to be proactive and cranked my basal up to 150% but even that wasn’t working.  No matter what I eat, my CGM immediately starts yelping and giving me double up arrows.  It’s enough to drive a girl insane!!  I went through an entire box of tissues yesterday and I have the bright red nose to prove it.  What? Did you say something?  I can’t hear you because my ears are so plugged up.

Luckily, I’m feeling quite a bit better today.  And although I’m still hitting the 200s more often than I’d like, I haven’t seen a 300 since Sunday. 

Diabetes is hard enough on it’s own.  When you add Real People Sick to the mix, it just turns you into road kill!!

The Other Big D

There are times when I become a little absent.  I’m sure it’s not blaringly obvious, but it’s true.  I’m not on Twitter all that much.  I become very lax at commenting on blogs.  I put off emails for another day.  My Facebook page begins to grow cobwebs.  And maybe, I blow NaBloPoMo as early as Day 8.  In a nutshell, I’m scarce.

Sometimes this happens because I’m busy with off-line things.  Sometimes I simply need a little computer break.  But more often than not, the reason is The Other Big D.  I’m feeling Depressed.

I’ve never been officially diagnosed with depression, but the signs are all there.  It comes intermittently, but it always hits in the fall when the days begin to get shorter.  I lose my focus and my energy.  I can’t seem to get myself dressed and functioning until late afternoon.  I spend hours on the computer, wasting time on silly games.  I feel very unhappy with my life, and I’m sure nothing can be done to fix it.  I feel fortunate that it’s never gotten so bad that I’ve contemplated hurting myself - but I have entertained fantasies of just *poof* disappearing.  And in those moments, I’m sure I wouldn’t be missed.

And then, I start to feel guilty.  I know I have a good life.  No, not a perfect life, but nobody has a perfect life.  But I have a very good life.  I have a husband who loves me - and I see the pain in his eyes when he asks “What can we do to help you?” and I say “Nothing.”.  I’ve got a nice home and a family who loves me.  I have friends - even when I feel like nobody would miss me, I know I have friends who would.  I have a lot going for me.  So I shouldn’t feel depressed, right?  I’ve got a lot of nerve to be moping around.  And being depressed becomes just one more way I have failed, which then makes me feel even more depressed.

Mixing depression with diabetes makes things harder too.  How do you work up the energy to cook healthy meals, count your carbs, exercise and check your blood sugar a dozen times a day when you can’t even work up the energy to brush your teeth?  Yesterday afternoon when Pete asked how my blood sugar has been, I simply replied “I don’t know”, because I hadn’t tested since 6 a.m.  And my sensor ran out but I didn’t bother to restart it.  And I had been randomly bolusing and grabbing junk food all afternoon.  That’s no way to take care of yourself.  It’s no way for a Health Advocate and Diabetes Blogger to set an example.  It’s another way to fail, which is again depressing.

Depression.  It’s a hard thing to write about.  It’s a hard thing to talk about.  It’s a hard thing to admit to.  At least, for me it is.  Often I try very hard to participate just enough in the D-OC so no one would ever guess how I'm really feeling.  Why is that?  Being depressed is nothing to feel ashamed of, and yet, I do.  But recent posts by Elizabeth and Rachel gave me the courage to write this.  Because I have a suspicion depression runs deeper in our community than we really know.  And I think it’s okay, and even good, to talk about it more.  Writing this post was scarier than I can ever convey.  But in a weird way, it also makes me feel like I may have turned the corner with this particular bout of depression.