High Blood Sugar Blues
While it left me be for the weekend, I had a very diabetes-bloggable evening.I came home from work and changed into my gym clothes. Checked my reservoir – 19u left and I was edging towards the fourth night with my infusion set. No problem. I’ll go to the gym, come home, eat dinner, and then swap out the set after my shower.
So the plan went according to … plan (I could have chosen a better word there but I’m going ahead with it as is) and my blood sugars cruised around 150 mg/dl during my workout, dropped to about 98 mg/dl before I ate, and hovering near 114 mg/dl before I pulled the site for my shower.
Ahhhh, free shower.
Hopped out, toweled off, and tested. 84 mg/dl. Looks like my workout is still touching on my blood sugars. No worries, because dinner is ready to roll and all I have to do is put in this new set …
F-ing sticky infusion inserter thingy. Damned sticky tape got stuck again, only this time the site barely plunged into my skin. I peel back the tape and yank the site from my thigh out of frustration. In response, my leg decides to pretend it’s been hit by shrapnel and a spurt of blood leaps from my leg onto my spring-yellow bathrobe.
Slap a bandaid on the “wound.” Make nice with Infusion Set No. 2, which also decides to become stuck against the side of the Quick-Serter. Maybe because I forgot to wipe the sticky residue off from the first set? Maybe because every infusion set I own is reluctant to join forces with my body?
A steady stream of curse words lets loose from my lips. Siah, who was cleaning herself on the chair next to me, stops mid-lick to shoot me a dirty look.
I ready the third infusion set and it slides in without reservation. Prime the pump, prime the cannula, and test. 184 mg/dl. I love how stress affects my blood sugars. I bolus the blood sugar down and head out to the kitchen.
After a dinner of chicken and peppers, I’m feeling very sleepy. Chris is watching tv on the couch so I lay down next to him and put my head on his leg. 45 minutes later, I wake up with a piercing headache, 13lb eyelids, and a cableknit sweater in my mouth.
Too exhausted to get all riled up about it, I take a correction bolus, brush my teeth to untangle the sweaters, and lay back down on the couch. Forget doing any reading. Forget catching up on any work. My body needs to recuperate.
Two hours later, before bed, I test again. 364 mg/dl. Fantastic.
I shuffle over to the fridge and unzip the red ladybug bag (courtesy of my free gift from Clinque many years ago) that holds my syringes and open Humalog bottles. With the orange cap between my teeth, I pull back 5 units into the syringe and inject it swiftly into my abdomen.
“I’m going to bed. I feel like garbage.”
Chris puts his arms around me and folds me into a hug. “Are you still high?”
“I took a big bolus with my pump to bring it down hours ago, but it’s still up there. So I just took a shot. Can you wake me up at 2:30 so I can see if this shit is working?”
2:30 am: The cats and I wake with a start at the sound of Chris’s cell phone jingling in alarm.
Grumbly blood sugar test. 98 mg/dl.
“Finally.” I blearily make my way into the bathroom to brush my teeth in efforts to rid my mouth of the final high blood sugar sweaters and then stumble back to bed.
This morning: 73 mg/dl.
Can I blame a busted site? Is my infusion set actually working or did the injection save the day? Is my site even working now? Will I ever be rich enough to yank out infusion sets without hearing cash registers chiming in my mind? Or less stubborn? Will any of these questions ever be answered? Will Batman and Robin escape The Machine before being turned into mashed potatoes?
Tune in next time. Same Bat-time. Same Bat-Blog.