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Posts from the ‘Diabetes Products’ Category

Device Frustration.

Am I a crumb because I want to rip my devices off sometimes and throw them into a great, blue hole?  Like this one?  My skin is so irritated by the adhesives and intrusions of my insulin pump and my CGM that the desire to heave them into this abyss is intense.

the Great Blue Hole – I look at pictures of this thing all the time

I hate the bulk of them.  The amount of room that my devices take up on my body and the trauma they have a tendency to leave on my skin.  I simultaneously absolutely love the convenience of them.  The fact that I can take teeny, precise doses of insulin without using a magnifying glass on a syringe or when the alarm goes off in the middle of the night, alerting me to a 70 mg/dL that was sliding towards LOW … this is the stuff that makes wearing diabetes devices worth it for me.

The pros outweigh the cons by a long shot, but the cons are a thorn in my side these days.  Or, more accurately, a wicked itch on my skin.

I took my insulin pump off one morning because the site was so sore, and so red, and the mark it left on my body was like a little diabetes bullet wound.  I have a high threshold for irritation and itch, but this site was terrible and after pulling it out, I didn’t have anything even close to resembling the desire to put a new one back in.  I went on injections for 12 hours before realizing that being on the road wasn’t doing my blood sugars any favors (I was having trouble bringing myself back under 200 mg/dL – rage bolus, anyone?), so once my Levemir injection timed out, I reluctantly put a new pump site in.  Admittedly, blood sugar control for me these days is better on the pump.

It’s not just my pump sites that are irritating these days.  This morning, I noticed that my CGM site had become red, itchy, and irritated OUTSIDE OF THE TAPE.  What the actual fuck?  Usually, I have a skin response underneath where the sensor actually is, or where any of the tapes connect.  But this round, I have a proximity rash thanks probably to continuously compromised skin (linking to it here because it’s too gross to put on the blog).  So now I’m getting a frigging rash in the places where the sensor isn’t even touching?!  I’m in a hard place of feeling safer with access to CGM data but access to CGM data produces a fierce itch.

I need a breather.  But taking one leaves me exposed.  HEAVE this shit into the great blue hole!  That’s what I’m doing mentally, chucking all these things that make my skin hurt and itch into the watery hole and watching them sink to the bottom.

… but then diving in to rescue them.  Because I hate injections and I hate going to bed without seeing my CGM trend arrow.

Pump Peelz Giveaway Winners!

Time for the Pump Peelz Giveaway winners!  The original contest rules are from earlier this week are here, and the entries came in through blog post comments and Twitter. Some were poignant, some were silly, and all were written by people touched by diabetes.


Ahem … here we go.

All were so awesome
Random number thing picked three.
These are the winners:

It’s midnight again
Sugar monsters sucking life
Double-stuffs for win!

- Susan C.

Diagnosed last year
The only thing he can’t do
Is make insulin

- Maria Conroy


Winners!  I’ll be connecting you with Scott from Pump Peelz to receive your prizes, and for those who didn’t win, you can still use the “SixUntilMe” discount code at Pump Peelz for 15% off your order. Thanks for playing, and thank you so much to the team at Pump Peelz!!!

Balancing Diabetes: Siblings.

Back in March of 2014, my first book was published by Spry Publishing and it features a number of different voices from the diabetes community.  Today, I’m sharing an excerpt from Balancing Diabetes titled “Siblings,” which describes what diabetes looks like from the perspective of my brother and sister, and also from some siblings of people in the DOC.  Thanks to Spry and the diabetes community as a whole for supporting this book!

*   *   *

I don’t have a clear recollection of life immediately after diagnosis, but I know back in 1986, food choices ruled the roosts of diabetes households.  Once the vials of insulin moved into our refrigerator’s butter compartment, gone were the Twinkies and Ring Dings and Yodels (and other snack foods comprised of a half gram of actual nutrients and then a whole pile of crap).  Our eating patterns changed as a family and Diet Pepsi and food scales replaced the snack cupboard of days gone by.  My mother hid the ice cream sandwiches in the hollowed-out box of broccoli in the freezer.  She had packages of E.L. Fudge cookies hidden between the sweaters stacked in her closet.  She was a food-hoarding squirrel, with delicious treats in every obscure corner.

I viewed this as a clever approach that removed a lot of temptation (and also presented some very furtive treasure hunts with tasty rewards), and one that helped to keep me safe and healthy.  But for my brother and sister, both with perfectly capable pancreases, the lifestyle change wasn’t necessary.  Didn’t they get to have snacks, still?  (My brother confirmed that he, too, was searching for the “good snacks” after my diagnosis.  “I had to look in the freezer for cookies and above the broom closet for the special sugary cereals,” he said.)

What I failed to realize then is that my diabetes didn’t have to be my siblings’ diabetes.  There was so much about their lives as the siblings of a child with diabetes that I couldn’t even wrap my head around.  I didn’t know what it was like to have your sister come home from the hospital, now playing host to something no one could see, and garner so much attention (for better or for worse).  I’ve talked to some siblings of kids with diabetes and heard about the guilt.  “I felt bad for wishing I was sick, too, because I was jealous of the attention.”  Or the worry.  “Was I going to get diabetes, too?”  Or the anger.  “I am sick of her diabetes being the sole focus of our family.”  Or, just plain fear.  “Will diabetes hurt my sibling?”

My brother, Darrell, was thirteen when I was diagnosed with diabetes, and old enough to remember some of the details that I can’t recall.  “I remember Dr. L [our pediatrician] coming out of his office, the one with the patterned wallpaper that had giraffes and monkeys on it, and he was holding a little plastic cup with what was your urine sample.  We had both gone for check-ups on the same day.  He told Mom that he wanted to do some additional testing for you, so Mom dropped me off at soccer practice and proceeded to take you somewhere for tests.

“I remember being picked up from soccer practice and leaning through the open passenger side window. You were in the back, dressed in a little white knit pom-pom hat and looking rather dour. You looked very small to me.  I believe it was there that Mom told me what the verdict was, before I even got into the car. Seeing what type of memory it has indelibly put on my mind, whether it’s truly accurate or embellished by the passing of time, I knew it was something major. I knew it was a ‘difficult time,’ and it burned right in.”

My little sister, Courtney, was only five when I was diagnosed, so as far as she is concerned, I’ve always had diabetes.  “I was so little when I found out that you were diagnosed with diabetes.  All I remember is Mom and Dad telling me that you were sick.  I didn’t know what diabetes was until I was a little bit older, and could understand better.  At that time, they told me that you had to test your blood sugar and then get a shot.  I thought it was an allergy shot,” she said, remembering her own experiences as a kid with severe allergies.  “But Mom said it different, that you were injecting a special medicine called ‘insulin.’”

Laura Watson was in fifth grade when her sister, Jacquie, was diagnosed.  I was in the fifth grade; Jacquie was in the seventh. It was fall. My mom was encouraging Jacquie to eat as much as possible because of recent and dramatic weight loss. I remember standing in the pharmacy section of the local grocery store with my mom to pick up ketone strips. Shortly thereafter, Jacquie was just kind of gone and I got updates through my parents. A lot of what I remember about those updates involved oranges and syringes and reassurances that Jacquie was going to be okay.  That year in school I had all the same teachers Jacquie had two years before. It was their reaction to the news of the diagnosis that made me realize what a big deal it was.”

My brother did realize that diabetes was something “big,” but at the same time, it wasn’t a topic of much discussion.  “We have only talked about things that impacted you negatively, like when there was a setback or an issue. I don’t believe we’ve ever had a long, positive conversation, where you got a new pump or you had a good checkup.”

Like Darrell, Laura’s memories of growing up alongside a sibling with diabetes weren’t rooted in deep discussions and serious chats about disease management and its influence. “I don’t remember it being an intrusive force, but I don’t think I filed it under ’no big deal’ either. Rather, it always seemed to be something that Jacquie had under control, even if it meant a lot of work to keep it under control. I suppose I always assumed that my big sister knew what she was doing no matter what she was doing. Whether it was a decision to perm her hair, tight roll her jeans, or give herself an injection where and when, I applied the ‘big sister’ rule.”

“I surely remember Jacquie having lows and highs and in some cases being exhausted the next day from a middle-of-the-night low,” added Laura, recalling these moments.   ”If there were cereal bowls and/or almost-empty Coke cans around when I got up in the morning, I could usually guess that Jacquie would be sleeping in.”

Darrell also had memories of my hypoglycemic aftermath, with only one, clear memory of watching me in the midst of a low.  “There were moments of fear, as I once was with you during a low and you told me that you saw car headlights coming out of your hands if you held them up to your face, like cars racing towards you on a dark highway. I had nothing to compare it to, so that was frightening.”

Funny thing is, I remember that symptom.  When I was a little kid, my hypo experiences were very heady and confusing.  I distinctly remember many lows where I’d see things, borderline hallucinations, and my fear of them was all-consuming.  One time, while our babysitter Kim was watching my brother, sister, and I, I remember sitting in the hallway with my back against the wall, screaming about those cars coming out of my hands.  I remember the headlights zooming towards me, and a panicky feeling that I would be hit by these cars.  It was irrational, but my brain was shifting the glucose reserves around, preserving the parts of my brain that were necessary for autonomic processes, such as breathing and the beating of my heart.  Rationale fell by the wayside as my body tried to make sense without glucose in my cells.

As bizarre as this feeling was to experience, I at least had an idea of when it was starting, and felt the relief when it began to end.  My brother and sister were left just to watch and wonder what the hell was going on.

“I think the strongest impact that diabetes has had on you is that you became very aware of your own mortality at a very, very early age. Here was something that had, and always will have, the potential of taking years from you, or your life itself if it’s not managed properly.  It’s an everyday cumulative tightrope,” said Darrell, when asked about how diabetes has affected our relationship.  ”Some people would take that and internalize it, where you took it and swung the momentum into a force of motivation.  Your siblings know how you think, being the closest thing to a ‘twin,’ and even though I know you are absolutely terrified at times, you’ll still face it head on.”

I also spoke with Jackie Singer, the twin sister of Mollie Singer, who lives with type 1 diabetes.  “When Mollie was diagnosed, it was as if I was diagnosed, and our whole family was diagnosed,” she said.  “We really did live, breathe, and eat as a family and that meant doing what Mollie could do when Mollie could do it. I never really worried about becoming diabetic, but there were many times when I wish I was, because then she wouldn’t have to go through what she had to go through by herself.

“Mollie and I were inseparable before she was diagnosed and we are the same way now, if not closer. When we were in school, we had all the same classes from kindergarten through college.  I was as knowledgeable as her about diabetes, so I was always by her side in case of an emergency. When we were little, we always shared a bedroom and there were so many nights I would stay awake to make sure she was okay.  It’s terrifying to think that one morning I would wake up and she wouldn’t.  I became her protector, always aware of changes in her breathing or sleeping, setting alarms to remind her to test her blood sugar at the appropriate time, grabbing juice and a snack for her when she couldn’t, and on two occasions before we were ten years old, setting up the glucagon kit and calling 911 while our Mom held Mollie in her arms after she experienced an episode with dangerously low blood sugar levels.” 

Diabetes is a disease that affects the whole family.  It’s not just the person who is receiving the injections or pump infusion sets or finger pricks who’s carrying the full weight of diabetes.  I don’t know if my brother and sister understood what diabetes meant when I was first diagnosed, and if any of us understood just how big the words “without a cure’ really were.   But I know that we learned about diabetes as a family, and dealt with it the same way.

There is that dance that occurs between my brother and sister and me, that weird discussion that never really takes place where siblings acknowledge that there is something serious in play, but no one wants to talk about it so plainly.  We didn’t sit around the breakfast table and run commentary on the state of my fasting blood sugars, but diabetes was always present and always somewhere on the table, literally and figuratively.  If it wasn’t my mother telling me to eat all of my breakfast because I already took insulin for it, it was her reminding me to grab my lunch bag.

There was one time—only once—that I felt angry.  Jealous of my healthy brother and sister and the fact that their days didn’t start and end with needles.  I was about fourteen years old and pouring out my angst into a fabric-bound journal, scribbling in it madly with a ball point pen.

They don’t have to worry.  I’m jealous of that.  But I’m worried.  I’m worried about what my body will be like in like two decades, after all that time with diabetes.”

I thought I was alone in that worry.   It wasn’t until I was deeply immersed in sharing my diabetes life with the Internet that I truly grasped how much my older brother watched and understood.

In May 2005, my first evidence of diabetic eye disease started to show in the form of cotton wool spots.  Noticed during my yearly dilated eye exam, the doctor saw a few spots of swelling of the surface layer of the retina, when a part of the eye isn’t provided with enough oxygen due to a damaged blood vessel.  On the photos of my retina, it looked like puffy spider webs had taken up residence in my eyes.

Trying to acknowledge and understand this first diabetes-related complication, I wrote a blog post about the experience of “finding out,” and explained this new situation as best I could, while trying to remain positive.  Folks who were reading my blog at the time left very kind, supportive comments and their words soothed me, reminding me that this wasn’t “the beginning.”  But it was the comment my brother left that cracked the concept of complications wide open for me, assuring me that there was life to be found after this diagnosis, too.  And I’d better damn well seize it.

He wrote:  “When we were little in stature, the snow would cover our backyard like a puffy comforter. We would go out into the backyard to build snow forts, to go sledding, and to eat a majority of it.  We also had this thing where we would try to go as long as possible without damaging the ‘virgin’ snow, keeping to our trails and cordoned off zones, in an attempt to stave off ruin. We were a prepubescent SnowPeace, minus the trademark galleon.  It would only last for so long, before the snow would melt, no matter how hard we tried to preserve it with the no-walk, no-eat zones, but we knew there’d be more snow to cover up the previous damage we had done.  You’ve done so well, for so very long. The way you think and operate, I see a snowscape for you for a very long time … just don’t forget to eat some snow once in a while.”

Diabetes isn’t just a balancing act for the people living with it, but the people living near it and caring for people with it.  I never knew that my brother noticed what I did to take care of my diabetes, and I hadn’t thought ahead to how he would be impacted by any future issues.  He wasn’t feeling the highs and lows, but he saw them and they left an imprint on him, too.  Now that my brother has two children of his own, he’s mentioned that diabetes is on his radar as a parent, not just as a sibling.  “I can’t help but think that it was the simple roll of the genetic dice.  I keep tabs on my children’s weight and how many ounces of fluids they drink as opposed to how often they go to the bathroom,” he admitted, when I asked him about watching my niece and nephew for possible symptoms.

My sister agreed, confirming that my diabetes was an ever-present force, but something that lived on the peripheral of our lives.  “Diabetes didn’t really affect my childhood.  There were food changes that Darrell and I had to adapt to, with a lot of the sugary foods we used to eat being cut out.  Lucky Charms cereal was replaced by Cheerios.  Regular lemonade was replaced by that Crystal Light stuff.  We still ran around the house, though, and got into trouble.  Picked on one another.  Diabetes didn’t really change much, in that sense.”

Laura found herself in a similar situation as a sister, focusing on the hard-to-pinpoint effect that diabetes may have had on her life.  “I don’t feel it’s had an effect, but maybe that’s how it’s had an effect. Maybe Jacquie wishes that it were more front and center for me, or that I would have been more helpful when we were younger. She was kind enough to participate in a Science Fair Project for me in the 10th grade. She was my only participant. I basically made her check her blood sugar, jump on the exercycle that was in our kitchen, and check her blood sugar again. I made it to the State Science Fair that year and was placed next to participants who were proposing cures for cancer and ways to reduce the spread of oil in the event of an oil spill. I was surprised because, to me, it seemed I was just presenting a day in the life of my sister and her blood sugar levels. It’s not until we started to spend more time together as adults—even if just on vacation—that I feel I’m really understanding what a burden she’s been carrying around.”

So what do you do, if you’re the sibling of a person with diabetes?  It’s not your disease to manage, but it resides in a person you care deeply about, so it becomes yours, in a sense.   Jackie found that she could make the biggest impact, and be the best supporter for her sister, simply by being there for Mollie. “The comfort of knowing they’re not alone and that there’s someone who’s got their back no matter what, makes their struggles a little easier to bear. Sometimes that’s all anyone needs to help them get through the day.  For someone with diabetes, it’s always one day at a time.”

Laura and my siblings agreed with Jackie, but also mentioned the need to be there for the moments of acute need, such as low blood sugars.  “I don’t know if it’s best to make a big deal out of it or to try to make life seem more normal by not making a big deal out of it,” said Laura.  “All I knew to do was to be there with a juice box, if needed.” 

Darrell concurred.  “Be ready to help if a low or high occurs, as I know your greatest fear is to have that happen alone, with no one to assist when your body and mind aren’t cooperating.  Young siblings should know how to call 911 and/or parents if there are issues.  Other than that, treat them no differently. There’s so much change and so many routines a person with diabetes has to do to work to be healthy, I’m sure they’d appreciate just being a brother or sister to them.”

He added, “That and look beneath the frozen snap peas for the M&Ms.”

*   *   *

You can purchase a copy of Balancing Diabetes if you’d like to read more.  As always, thanks for everything.

Pump Peelz Giveaway!

I’ve been a fan of Pump Peelz for several years, impressed by both their products and their back story.  The company, founded in 2011 by high school sweethearts turned married couple Scott and Emily, aims to “help people with diabetes live with more confidence by turning insecurities associated with diabetic accessories into a form of individual self-expression.”

Can’t argue with that, as the team at Pump Peelz is helping shift our one-size fits all, sometime very drab diabetes devices into personalized and fashionable conversation pieces.  (Because wouldn’t you rather be asked where you got your Dexcom sticker than “Hey, what’s your blood sugar?”)

The Pump Peelz team has offered some skinz as a giveaway here on Six Until Me, which I am very excited about because the cost to enter is minimal, but fun.  Here are the details:

To enter this giveaway, you need to create a diabetes-related haiku (a poem with three lines, the first containing five syllables, the second line containing seven syllables, and the third line back to five syllables) and share it in the comments section or on Twitter (make sure you tag me with @sixuntilme in your Tweet).  Winners will be chosen from a hat by my kid (because I’m low-tech, but trust me, we have a cool hat) and will receive a prize pack from the kind people at Pump Peelz.

I love adding a little flair to the sometimes mind-numbing plainness of diabetes technology.  Here are a few examples of the work they do at Pump Peelz:

For the Dexcom G4 receiver

A skin for your Omnipod

 

And if you’re a Pebble watch user, they’ll throw in one a decorative skin for your Pebble, too!

Once the three winners are selected, I’ll announce those here on SUM on Thursday morning.  The contest is open starting today and will close tomorrow night at midnight EST.  The winners will connect with Scott for their peelz, and for anyone who doesn’t happen to win, 15% off is available to readers using the coupon code “SixUntilMe”.

For more information on the company, you can check out their website or “like” them on Facebook.  (Is it required to put like into quotation marks?”)  And if you’re interested in winning some peelz of your own, be sure to enter the giveaway.  Huge thanks to Pump Peelz for making this giveaway possible, and I am excited to meet them in person at Friends for Life in a few weeks.

Poems don’t have to rhyme.
But if you count syllables,
You might win fun shit.

An Animas Assist for Snap Users.

All disclosures out of the way first:  You guys know I have a professional relationship with Animas, as they have been a partner of mine since 2010, details outlined here.  Bias lens firmly in place?  Continue on.

Today I have a Q&A with John Wilson, the new VP of Insulin Delivery at Johnson & Johnson about Asante closing, the Animas connection, and an option for patients who have been left a little in the lurch.  

*   *   *

Kerri:  John, thanks for talking with me today.  Could you give a little background on who you are and what’s your diabetes connection?

John Wilson:  I’ve been in the healthcare industry my entire professional life, most recently working in oncology pharmaceuticals. In order to be successful, I need to have passion for what I do, and the diabetes space is easy for me to get my emotional arms around because I have a family connection.  Let’s face it, we all know people living with diabetes, and it’s very clearly an area of high unmet need.  I’m now leading the insulin delivery platform, focusing on Animas and Calibra products.  I work alongside my partners in the blood glucose monitoring platform – also known as Lifescan – and collectively, we are Johnson & Johnson Diabetes Solutions Companies.

Kerri:  Asante Snap users were thrown for a loop last week when the company announced it was closing its doors.  How is Animas planning to help take care of those customers who were left high and dry?

John Wilson:  This announcement caught everyone off guard, and I have empathy for both sides of it.  I know some of the people at Asante and that they care about the individuals in this community and are dedicated to this space, and I know pump users had to react suddenly to this news.  I was grateful that they [Asante] reached out to us to see if we could help.

Kerri:  So how is Animas helping these folks?

John Wilson:  First, we assembled a call-in line for Asante patients with specially trained Animas folks to triage their calls.  That number is 1-877-937-7867 X1562.  From a HIPPA compliance perspective, we couldn’t reach out to Asante users, so we had to wait for them to reach out to us, and we wanted to be ready to help.

The offer is pretty simple:  We are offering the choice of two pumps – the Animas Vibe with the integrated Dexcom G4 technology and the Animas One Touch Ping, and for patients under 18 we are offering the One Touch Ping.  It’s a net cost of $99 for the patient, with an upfront of $799 which, upon receipt of the Asante pump, we will credit back $700.  The Animas pumps are brand new [not refurbished] and we will honor balance of the warranty of their Asante pump.  This offer is available until July 17th.

Kerri:  How will Animas handle things like insurance for people who are transitioning?

John Wilson:  We know this need is immediate, and given the number of insurers, in order to determine whether or not they would cover it, it would take too long for the patient to be back up and running.  This is why we decided to address the immediate need with the $99 cost to the patient.

Kerri:  Customer service means so much to people who are living with diabetes, as our lives depend on receiving our supplies and medications in a timely manner.  This is big deal.  How does Animas plan to handle their existing customer base while helping the incoming PWD?

John Wilson: My team is focused on streamlining processes and improving the customer experience, and we have invested in this area.  It’s critical that we get this right.  We want to reduce the amount of time that people remain on hold, we want to call people right back and make the process as seamless as possible.  I recognize we have had misses in the past, but I’m committed to removing obstacles in order to make this process better.

I think it’s always best to operate transparently.  If I fall short of your expectations, I should acknowledge that.   My hope is that we can ultimately exceed everyone’s expectations.

*   *   *

So here’s the fine print:  There aren’t any returns, exchanges, or upgrades in this offer.  To start the process of receiving a replacement Animas Insulin Pump, they are asking that any Asante Snap pump patients to call toll free 1-877-937-7867 X1562.  Their Customer Care Representatives are available to help people out Monday – Friday, 8:00 AM – 8:00 PM EST.  Here’s a link to all the stuff.

It’s also important – and exciting! – to note that the Asante technology is not lost and gone forever.  Last week, Bigfoot Biomedical purchased all of Asante’s pump resources, with plans to pair the pump with Bigfoot Biomedical’s artificial pancreas components.  Way more details are in the diaTribe article, if you’d like to read up.  Also, Animas is just one of the pump companies who are stepping up to meet the needs of the Asante users.  Tandem has their offer outlined here and Medtronic details are here.

Updated:  Diabetes Mine has a great interview with Bigfoot Biomedical’s Jeffrey Brewer up today!

Man, this post keeps going.  I’m going to stop it now, but not without adding this awesome .gif (courtesy of The Space Cupcake):

I Wanna New Tape, One That Won’t Itch.

I wanna new tape, one that won’t itch!
One that won’t give me bit, fat welts or make my skin twitch, twitch!
I wanna new tape, one that won’t give a rash!
Make it easy to wear my Dex, without the urge to “Hulk, Smash.”

(Channeling Huey Lewis and the News.  Click it.  You know you want to.)

I’ve been wearing a Dexcom on-and-off since 2006, but entirely ON and almost 24/7 since my pregnancy in 2010.  There’s a lot about CGM use that I’ve learned over the last nine years, but one thing I’m certain of is that the data is useful for me all the time.  I like the safety net it provides, particularly while I’m traveling.  So I wear my CGM, even when I’m not always happy with the actual blood sugars that it’s showing.  The data informs so many of my decisions.

But it’s tough to wear a medical device that you have an allergic reaction to.

In pursuit of CGM data and avoiding the stupid rash, I try out a number of different barrier tapes.  One that was recommended a few months ago was Mepitac tape (I bought mine on Amazon – no, this is not an affiliate link but only because they don’t let Rhode Islanders do affiliate linking) and I have been using it successfully for a while now.

I thought it would be a good substitution for the ToughPad, but it wasn’t wide enough to put underneath the sensor itself, so I use the Mepitac as a secondary tape (you know, when the edges start to peel and you need to reinforce them).  For a while, the Opsite Flexifix tape was giving me a red rash, so I wanted to move away from it and see if Mepitac was gentler.

It is.  While the tape itself isn’t nearly as sticky or sturdy as the Opsite Flex, it has yet to leave a rash (and I’ve been using it for about three months).  Unlike Opsite, the Mepitac tape can be removed and replaced without ripping up my sensor with it, which is useful for cleaning up my sites but not as good for durability.  It also travels well, and I keep a few pieces of it in my wallet in case of tape emergencies.  (I’ve also used it as a blister barrier for when shoes become unreasonable.  Useful stuff.)

I like options.  I’m glad there’s a less itchy one.  [insert The more you know star here.]

No Disassemble.

I need to exorcise the technology demons in my house.  Because everything is breaking.

It started several months ago, the issue with my laptop, but in the last two weeks, my computer has gone entirely bananas.  I have a Macbook Air as my primary office computer and the bulk of my work is on that machine.  And it worked fine for several years, until the trackpad on the computer started to over-react to everything.  I’d tap my finger on the trackpad and every email in my inbox would open, files would delete themselves, and browser windows threw themselves against the side of the glass.  Crazy shit.

“Why are you so sensitive?!” I yelled at the computer.

“I don’t knooooooooooooow!!” It sobbed in return.

I did a lot of Google searches, and my computer wasn’t the only one feeling super fragile and sensitive.  It was not alone.  (And if your computer is going berserk, you are not alone.)  But last week, while traveling, the computer refused to click on any damn thing while simultaneously clicking on every damn thing, it wouldn’t connect to wifi, and it bit me when I opened it.  (Sharp teeth on that little sucker.)  Because I do not work in a formal office but instead house my business entirely in a computer, I had to make the rotten decision to replace my computer.

Fine.  That problem is solved, albeit in the most expensive and irritating way possible.  Then last night my FitBit decided to go rogue on me, in the middle of an intensely competitive FitBit challenge (cough – @miller7 – cough), rendering it useless.  This morning, my Dexcom receiver did that weird “BEEEEEEEEEP!” thing where static electricity or something courses through it and it restarts on its own.  En route to a doctor’s appointment at the crack of dawn this morning, the GPS in my car took me to somewhere that was not the doctor’s office but instead a supermarket (so I bought apples).

Everything with a battery or a digital footprint is breaking.  I’m afraid.  And then I realized that the way I receive my insulin is via an insulin pump, powered by a battery, chock full o’ breakable technology.  A cold panic washed over me as I worried the tech demons were contagious.

“Shhhhhhh … you’re okay.  You’re my friend,” I said to my insulin pump, as I held it in the palm of my hand like a fuzzy hamster.  “Be good.  No disassemble.  Keep working,” I murmured to it, stroking it gently with one fingertip.

Here’s hoping.

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