The Day the Dexcom Died.
It's weird, because even though I spent almost 21 years without the assistance of a continuous glucose monitor, I'm hooked on the thing now. It's a second device, it's another site stuck to my body, and yet I'm happier with the extra hardware than I am without it.
Because, to be honest, testing as frequently as I had been in the past is a little trickier with that baby bird rolling all over the house. I'm back up to about nine times a day, but that's a far cry from the 15 times I was rocking out with during pregnancy. (And for me, as a type 1 diabetic with blood sugars that go berserk due to the influence of emotions, not just food, testing is a saving grace for me.)
So I feel much more prepared with the Dexcom filling in the gaps between actual finger pricks.
Which is why, when I saw this error message on Monday, I bugged out
a little bit a lot:
I was in the shower at the time, with BSparl in her little bouncy seat on the bathroom floor, and we were chatting about soap and bubbles and how Abby the Cat is far too fat to climb trees, when the Dexcom let out a little BEEEEEEEEEP from the bathroom counter.
"Whoa, settle down there," I said to the receiver.
BEEEP! (It was a shorter, sadder one this time. I was concerned, because I'd never heard that noise from the Dex before.)
"You okay?" I asked the inanimate object.
it was like that moment in Braveheart when William Wallace is being tortured at the very end, ripped open and crying out for "Freedom!!!!" The Dexcom let out that last, extended wail and then threw out the error message.
"Oh damnit, I think it's dead now," I said outloud.
"Mmmmm mmmmmm!" said BSparl, waving her little arms excitedly.
And when I examined the receiver and saw the big, fat exclamation point o' death, I knew the receiver was toast. So I sent a spastic email to my friends at Dexcom and they overnighted a new receiver. And as soon as FedEx arrived, I slapped on a new sensor and felt better.
It's strange how I have a hard time imaging my diabetes management without things like Humalog (I was diagnosed in the era of cow and pork NPH and Regular), insulin pumps, continuous glucose monitors, and meters that don't take 120 seconds to give you a result. This CGM is a far cry from the Clinitest tubes of my diagnosis.
"Back in action, kiddo." I said to BSparl, throwing the Dexcom egg into my purse as we prepared to go for a stroll.
"Yaaaaaaaaaa!!!!" She laughed, and threw her hands in the air, and burped loudly.
(You stay classy, BSparl.)