September will mark 25 years for me with type 1 diabetes, but I still haven't learned that an afternoon of lazy 200+ mg/dl's that won't budge, even after multiple boluses (and one really solid rage bolus where I actually grunted "You. Frigging. Diabetes." as my fingers mashed the buttons), after repeated tests that showed climbing numbers ... wouldn't you think I'd inspect that infusion set? Maybe just give it a peek? See how things are doing there, on the back of my hip, where that 6 mm cannula is resting (hopefully) comfortably?
Oh, you mean I shouldn't have waited until I smelled that distinct scent? The one that smells like a cross between bandaids and the dentist's office? And then, when I dabbed at the gauze patch around my site and felt the dampness, I still didn't really hone in on it because I was so high that everything was on like a 20 minute delay?
Yes, I should have responded to the alarms on my Dexcom but I was so spaceshot, I didn't. Instead, I regrettably spent over three hours at about 300 mg/dl (the Dex was off, saying I was 400 mg/dl plus when I was actually 304 mg/dl). With, of course, the corresponding morning low this morning:
And then the slight bounce after over-treating the low by about two sips of juice. I understand the "glucocoaster," but this is frigging ridiculous.
Today is a new day. Today is a new day. Today is a new day. (I need to have that tattooed on my hand.)