We're back in the swing of things at home: working, writing, laughing at the stupid cats, going to the gym, exploring our surroundings. Stress levels are lower, thanks to the wedding being behind us, and our routine is a bit more predictable.
BUT - before the wedding, everything was running amuck. My schedule was erratic, work was insane, and I was stressed to the point where I couldn't wrap my head around anything. For the six weeks or so before the wedding, I tweaked my basal rates and bolus ratios several times. On our honeymoon, I had to tweak again due to a completely relaxed schedule. And now that we're back, I need to re-tweak once more.
As a result of this readjustment to normal life, my blood sugars have been sort of scattered. An occasional morning high of 197 mg/dl (which never, ever happens - my overnights are the only thing I have nailed down), some tricky lows at work, and a sticky high after lunch one day. I'm in the process of working towards Dexcom insurance coverage, but in the meantime, I'm out of sensors and going on my meter results alone.
Last night, after we returned from the gym, I tested. 165 mg/dl post-workout. No problem - I reconnected, took a correction bolus, and then jumped in the shower. About five minutes into the shower, my head started to fog up as quickly as the mirror. My brain was only half-focused on the lather-rinse-repeat routine and instead was starting to wander down that "should I test?" road.
"Nah." I said to myself. "I was 165 like ten minutes ago. Insulin doesn't bullet in that fast."
I yelled out into the hallway.
"Chris? I feel kind of low. I just wanted to let you know. I'm getting out soon."
"Why don't you just get out now and test? Do you want me to bring you juice?" I could tell by his Doppler-voice that he was walking down the hallway towards me.
"No. I'm fine. I'll get out when I'm ready, okay?"
Internal Motivation Speaker yawned in my ear, still not adjusted to being back from vacation. "Kerri, why the highly bitchy response? He's right, you know. Just get out and test."
"I just tested." I muttered to myself.
Internal Motivational Speaker sighed. "Just test. God, you can be so freaking difficult."
"Fine." Miserable. What was with this headache, and why aren't my hands responding to my requests? I fumbled awkwardly with the towel as I wrapped it around myself, my skin bristling at my own touch. I grabbed my meter and dried my hands off. Shunk. 102 mg/dl.
"102. Maybe I'm sick or something. I feel like shit." I sat on the floor for a minute. Chris stood above me, concerned.
The sound of the air conditioning unit was becoming louder with each second. Abby came waddling up, urging her head underneath my hand so I would pet her. Minutes passed, but they felt like hours. What the heck was wrong with me? I felt miserable.
I unzipped my meter again. "I just feel so bad. I'm going to double check."
Shunk. 35 mg/dl.
"Ah ha! I knew it!" I yelled.
"I knew it, too."
"Okay, let's get some juice." I drained the bottle in eight quick gulps, leaned back against the side of the bed, and waited for my blood sugar to rise.
It's a strange battle in my body at times. I knew I was low. I felt low and should have trusted my instincts. But sometimes my instincts are unreliable, like when I feel low but am just hungry, or when I feel completely fine and am instead 345 mg/dl. Maybe I should have trusted a CGM. But CGMs are best for trending, not spot-checking. So I should trust my meter. But sometimes my meter gives me botched results that aren't the fault of hand lotion. Arghhhh ... who can I trust?
All of these new products being buzzed about. All of these bells and whistles and colored screens and fancy upgrades and ambitious developments. I am so thankful for the advances, but all of these companies need to remember that we use this technology to keep us alive. These bells or whistles aren't substitutes for old-fashioned accuracy.