It’s Temporary . . . . .

I’m not a fan of winter.  I’d almost say I hate winter, but when I think of moving out of New England to somewhere warm year round I get the feeling I’d miss the changing seasons.  And as vile as snow is, I really love a white Christmas.  I guess it would be nice if it could snow on Christmas Eve, all melt away by Boxing Day and spring could arrive on New Year’s Day.  I could live with that kind of winter.

I love snowmen too.  Unfortunately, you need snow to make a snowman . . . .

I have a feeling this winter will be long and rough.  At least for me.  Why?  Because it’s only October and I’ve already been sick twice.  That’s right, once in September and once over this past weekend.  At first I thought it was allergies (both times) but I’m more inclined to think I was hit with colds.  Especially on Monday when I couldn’t get my blood sugar out of the 200s, even thought I hadn’t eaten.  Bolus after bolus did nothing, and I pulled a perfectly good site thinking it might be crimped or something.  (It wasn’t.)

It’s times like these, when my body is fighting germs and my blood sugars are out of whack, that I rely on a Temporary Basal to get me through.  I upped my basal rate a little at a time until I found the rate that finally helped my blood sugar settle down.  This time it was 150%, which I needed to keep in place for 24 hours.  Next time it might be 125% or 140% or 170%.  I’ve found the key for me is to just keep tinkering around until I find the temp basal that works for that day.

Today I’m feeling much better and my blood sugars and basal rate are both back to normal.  (Not that the word “normal” ever really applies when dealing with blood sugar . . . )  But it’s really nice to know I can turn to a temporary basal when I need it.  Speaking of temporary, it’s also nice to know that word also applies to winter weather.

My Worst 5K . . . .

Sunday I ran my absolute worst 5K ever.  And diabetes was (mostly) to blame.



I will admit that we’d slacked a bit on training over the past few weeks.  We tried to train on our cruise, but it just didn’t work.  And then I got sick when we got back, and then life got busy.  It sounds like a pile of excuses, and maybe it is.  But the bottom line is that we knew we wouldn’t set any PRs during this race and we were okay with that - we just planned to go and have fun.  Unfortunately, I really didn’t have any fun at all.

I think the problem all started the day before.  We spent most of Saturday redecorating the living room.  We hauled away our old couch (in pieces, because otherwise it wasn’t going anywhere) and carted off other old furniture and carried in new furniture and rearranged and reconfigured and basically were busy all day.  I found myself fighting low after low after low, and it was no surprise when I woke up Sunday morning to a lower blood sugar than I liked.  I drank my coffee but skipped my coffee bolus, made sure I had plenty of gels in my running pack, and grabbed an apple sauce to eat before the race.

Once we got to the race site I ate the apple sauce, still with no bolus.  Ten minutes before the race I checked my sugar again, and I was still lower than I liked.  Figuring out what to eat was a little tricky though.  I’m used to running with a bit of insulin on board from breakfast, but Sunday I hadn’t bolused a thing.  So I wasn’t quite sure how much to eat to hit that fine line between being high enough to run without crashing, but not so high as to feel a sluggish, syrup-in-my-veins crud.  I decided a Clif Blok should do the trick.

Things started out fine.  At about a mile in my CGM hit my high threshold (set at 165) and showed two arrows up.  Usually that’s pretty perfect, because it’s about the time the exercise is starting to kick in and level the spike out.  Usually, but not on Sunday.  We hadn’t even gone another half mile before I started getting that fuzzy feeling.  I slowed to a walk and tested and was only at 90.  So I ate a couple more Clif Bloks.  At the two mile mark I wasn’t feeling any better, so when we spotted a little fence I could lean on and test again, we stopped.  I was even lower.  Pete handed me a gel and as I sucked it down we noticed the safety van that follows the runners.  It pulled up behind us to collect the cones marking the run route. 

“Are we the very last runners?”, I asked Pete. 
“Yes.”
“Wait, there’s nobody behind us?’
“No.  Don’t worry about it, baby.  It doesn’t matter  Take another minute to rest.”

But to me, it sure did matter.  We were going to come in dead last and I still felt low and I was really frustrated that diabetes was making me a loser.  And that is precisely when the tears started.  I began walking that last mile and I cried.  Sprinkled along the route were people cheering us on - telling us we were doing a great job and that we were almost done.  The more they cheered, the harder I cried.  The harder I cried, the more embarrassed I felt.  Which in turn make me cry even more, which then made me absolutely humiliated.  I knew it was the low making me overly emotional but there was nothing I could do to stop it.  I was mortified and I wished more than anything that I was back home.

We were almost to the three mile mark when I started to get angry at diabetes.  I wiped away my tears and ran the last few tenths of a mile.  I gave a half-hearted smile to those who cheered as we crossed the finish line, and then I asked Pete to take us home.  Our official race time was our slowest 5K ever, and a full 5 1/2 minutes slower than the one we ran in September.  As it turned out, one person finished after us, about 7 minutes later, but that didn’t really matter to me.  And I can’t help but wonder what his story was.  Did he have an injury?  Was he sick?  Did a chronic condition mess with him?  And did he feel completely discouraged and frustrated too?

Toast . . . .

I believe Diabetes Burnout is a real thing, and I’ve had it many times.  But right now I’m not there.  It’s definitely not smooth sailing, but I’m not burnt out.  I guess maybe I’m lightly toasted.

When I’m burnt, I don’t count my carbs.  I bolus random amounts where the Guess in my SWAG is more Wild Ass than Scientific.  Pre-bolus is replaced with bolus while eating.  Testing happens about twice a day, if I’m lucky, only so I can calibrate my CGM.  None of that is happening now.  I’m counting and testing and pre-bolusing.  I’m not burnt.

So what tells me I’m toasted?  Well, when my CGM rings a high or low alarm, I immediately yell “Fuck you, just fuck right the fuck off”.  (But if my mom is reading this, I mean that I say “Oh gee, gosh darn fiddle dee dee”.  Sorry Mom.)  During the day, I don’t bother treating a low until I really feel the low symptoms - pretending that I’m not hypo-unaware.  And during the night, I might dip into the 40s before I feel motivated enough to leave my bed and eat something.  Yes, I’m testing, but I’m starting to forgo a finger-stick here and there in favor of bolusing off my sensor if I know it’s been spot-on.  Yup, not burnt, but definitely getting pretty toasty.

I’m hoping by acknowledging that I’m firmly between the red coils of the toaster, I can pop myself out before I’m fully burnt.  Maybe I need to take a “Diabetes Day Off”, kind of like a Wallow Day but with less wallow and depression (since I’m not quite there yet) and more just giving myself a break for a day.  Will that turn the heat down and keep me from getting too crispy?  Any other ideas to halt the toasting?

Guest Post: Denouncing the Charlatans . . .

Today I'm delighted to share another guest post from Rick Phillips, who was kind enough to write about Spring Rains here last month.  Take it away, Rick!

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First, thank you to Karen for giving me another chance to do a guest blog. I was once told any time a lady says you can come visit again you have done alright. As a matter of fact thinking back on my 57 years that only happened once and I married her (though she did turn me down for a first date 3 times before she called and asked me). Ha go figure.

Today I stumbled on another supposed ‘cure’ for diabetes. This one a 28 day cure. These things always make me think of the awful situation my mother faced years ago right after her diagnosis with type 1 diabetes in 1962. In those days mom and dad were alone and struggling with how to go forward. Now mom knew about diabetes, her sister (my aunt) was diagnosed at age 7 and she lived 3 years (she did not die of diabetic complications), but still as a thoughtful person mom felt alone with big decisions to make.

My mother’s (Marjorie Hale Phillips) senior picture before her 1954 HS graduation, she was 17 and Valedictorian of her class when this picture was taken. (Mom skipped 3rd grade)

Of course we now live in a world of social media, something my mom never had, but she would have used if it were available. I think mom would have found virtual supporters and helpers, just as easily as she found supporters in her in regular day to day activities (there were many). The difference being that today, mom would have found both more knowledge and well to be generous more stupidity about diabetes.

Some folks think these miracle diabetic cures are the invention of the internet age. I know better. When my mother was first diagnosed in 1962 she was confronted with a choice. When diagnosed she saw a doctor who gave her a very precise diet, including a multitude of herbs and vitamins. She was told to stop insulin immediately and pick up this diet and in time (perhaps 6 months) her Type 1 diabetes would be ‘cured’. She rejected that idea in favor of insulin.

What I admire so much about my mom was that she always looked forward, never back. Once (15 years later) I asked mom about that diet. She said it was so tempting to stop insulin and do that rigid, unattainable diet. I asked her why she didn’t stop insulin. She said it didn’t make sense; the science just did not support it. Today of course mom would search the internet for this crazy diet, she would find supporters and detractors of that approach and a dozen more. I think she would come to the same conclusion however. I think she would still choose insulin over lunacy.

A site like Karen’s is a beacon for giving good information and we need to celebrate that. But we also need to be just as loud in denouncing the charlatans. Yes I want a special diet to cure my diabetes. I want Okra water to cure it; I want cinnamon to cure it. But the science just does not support it. As for me I will choose insulin and that is the best advice I can give a type 1 diabetic today. Well that is until we get a Cinnabon (eat 2 Cinnabons with extra icing a day) cure. When I get that specific diet cure I may follow along. (no don’t worry, not really)

*** Lawrence ‘rick’ Phillips Ed.D.  is a 40 year type 1 diabetic who blogs about diabetes, life and films at TUDiabetes.org.  You can also find him on twitter @LawrPhil.  He is a notorious misspeller of words, and sometimes he tells humorous stories.  He has been married for 37 years Sheryl and has two sons and three grandchildren which he will tell you about ad nauseam if you let him.  You can contact him at rphil2@yahoo.com. ***

WTW: Me and Dr. Oz . . .

What's That Wednesday: Did you know I was on The Dr. Oz Show?

Well okay, I wasn’t REALLY on The Dr. Oz Show.  But right behind Dr. Oz?  That’s a picture of me that I tweeted as part of #showmeyourpump.  (Yes, that is my unmade bed in the background.  Had I known I'd be on national T.V. I would've taken a minute to make my stupid bed first . . . . )  It was included in a segment that featured Miss Idaho, Sierra Anne Sandison.  Ah, my 5 seconds of fame.  But seriously, anything that can help spread awareness and education is a great thing, so thanks Sierra!!

Crowd Sourcing: Packing Insulin

Pete and I are just back from a fantastic cruise to Bermuda.  Although there was lots of food (and maybe alcohol), there was also a lot of walking and stair climbing and we even worked in one 5K training run.  So my blood sugars were looking great . . . . right up until the last two days.  Then I found myself skyrocketing after everything I ate and taking quite a while to come down.  Once back in range I did manage to stay there, until the next time I ate even the smallest bite of food.

There is a lot that can throw off my blood sugar when I travel.  Lack of sleep due to late nights and a bed that isn’t my own.  More treats and food indulgences than I eat at home.  Stress.  (Yes, even on vacation I manage to stress.  Over possibilities of missing flights, sleeping through breakfast, leaving belongings behind in the hotel . . . . I can always find something to worry about).  But more often than not, I think my problem is my insulin.  I really think my little vials also suffer from travel stress.  I feel like they just lose their zing halfway through any trip.  I use Apidra, and I understand it’s more volatile than other insulin brands but I’m kind of tired of tossing out nearly full vials when I come home from a trip.

So can you help a girl out?   I’m looking for your suggestions on how you pack and store your insulin when you travel.  Because in my experience, the best place to crowd source is the DOC!  Got any tips for me?

Notes to Self . . . .

Note to Self:  Taking a few days off from a CGM sensor in order to insert a fresh one right before a trip is fine.

Note to Self:  On occasion, if blood sugars are in the “pre-run happy place”, it’s okay to leave the meter at home for a quick mile or two.

Note to Self:  A snack before a run is a good thing.

Note to Self:  Running with no meter and no sensor is NOT OKAY.  Even if it’s just 2.25 miles, and you had a snack because your pre-run blood sugar was only 86.  Do you hear me?  NOT OKAY.

Note to Self:  When running without a meter or CGM (but don’t ever do that!!) AND feeling low, for goodness sake, LISTEN TO YOUR HUSBAND!  Stop and eat the Level Life Gel he’s trying to give you.  Insisting you will be fine for the last 15 minutes of the run even though you feel like you’re made of Jell-o is NOT OKAY.

Note to Self:  Yes, you finished your run and it all worked out okay, but come on.  You know better.  Stop being so stubborn!  (Although I did agree to eat the gel before finishing the run.  Point in my favor??)

Do you ever make “Notes to Self”?  And do you actually listen??

Looking Back - Oven Mitts . . .

****  Today I’m revisiting a post from a few years ago, in which I realized just how calloused my poor little finger tips are.  And yes, I still do feel guilty for all those times I called my husband a wimp when he complained things were too hot touch!! ****

During the summer, we do a lot of cooking on the grill.  Okay, by “we” I mean Pete.  I don’t actually step near the grill.  Although I do prep the food so that makes it a “we” effort, right?  I usually wrap our vegetables in foil packets in an attempt to have Pete cook our entire dinner outside on the grill during those sweltering days of summer.  When we try to unwrap them, hot off the grill, Pete always complains about the foil burning his fingers.  I usually call him a wimp and unwrap them with my bare hands.

The other day, we went to Starbucks.  I grabbed a seat to check my blood sugar while Pete ordered our coffees.  As he brought them over, he said they were so hot they were burning him and went off to get us those thermal sleeve thingies.  Call me pig-headed, but I had to see how hot the paper coffee cup really was.  And it wasn’t hot at all.  Wimp!!


Cue the guilt-music.  Now re-read the paragraph above.  Especially the line about checking my blood sugar.  You see, I test between 8 and 12 times every day.  I’ve realized that the scar tissue I’ve developed on my poor over-pricked fingers are my permanent little oven-mitts.  And the perhaps my husband isn't such a wimp after all.  Sorry, Sweetpea!