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Posts tagged ‘pizza’

So Maybe Don’t ALWAYS Pre-Bolus.

I like to pre-bolus.  It helps keep my post-meal blood sugar spikes from rocketing out of range and taking a sizable bite out of my overall diabetes control.  (… I’m sorry.  I laugh every time I type the word “control.”  It’s not a word I toss around lightly when it comes to diabetes.  I’m not Janet Jackson.)

The art of pre-bolusing has been instrumental in keeping diabetes shit in line.

But it only works when it works.

Last night, we ordered pizza to go along with our birthday cake for Birdzone (we rounded out the meal by eating a stick of butter each and guzzling soda – healthy! – only the butter part is a lie) and the promise was “delivery in 30 minutes.”  Since pizza can be insulin’s kryptonite, I thought it wise to pre-bolus so that the initial carb influx of the pizza would be headed off by the first bolus, and then I’d chase my meal with more insulin to grab the fat-induced-blood-sugar-bump that hits about two hours later.  (I don’t have a #DIYPS, so when my food choices edge towards pizza party, I have to improvise a touch.)

Basic gist?  I took my insulin way too freaking early because the pizza arrived an hour later.

My Dexcom was freaking out by the time the pizza delivery man left – “Kerri, your Dexcom is vibrating like crazy over here, and says you’re low.”  “Like how low?”  “Like spelled out as LOW low.” – so the first piece of pizza was inhaled in a matter of seconds.  The second piece went just as quickly, and then I chased my dinner with a handful of glucose tabs.  (Wildberry – the perfect palette cleanser.)  Pre-bolusing doesn’t always work – its success leans on timing.  My pre-bolus was working right on schedule … if the pizza had arrived on time.  But due to tardy carb arrival, my blood sugar was in the trenches and covered in pepperoni.

“Mawm, is this good pizza?”

“The best!”  I answered her, through a mouthful of glucose tabs.

One Size.

“Just bolus fifteen minutes before you eat, and you won’t see that post-prandial spike.”

“Just bolus thirty-five minutes before you eat, and you won’t see a post-prandial spike.”

“Have you thought about Levemir?”

“Have you tried Apridra?”

“Have you seen any difference between Humalog and Novolog?”

“If I use the Opsite tape, I can get a sensor to stay on for ten days.”

“I use a tubed pump.”

“I use a patch pump.”

“I use pens.”

“I need a dual-wave bolus for pizza.”

“I use a square-wave bolus for pizza.”

“I use my insulin pen like four times for pizza.”

“You eat pizza?!”

Even though we are living with the “same” disease, the way we manage is different for each one of us.  One size, or one management plan, does not fit all.  (And one size doesn’t even fit for the same person every day … see also “insanity.”)

Tasty Pizza Secrets.

Views from Barcelona:

Parc Guell

Discreet dragon from the Gothic Quarter

Barcelona Cathedral

Rambla del Mar

But one question remains unanswered …

… when did pizza become a secret?  (Unless they’ve figured out the magical bolus required for pizza.  In which case, don’t keep that a secret!  Share that shit.)

Pumped for the Pizza Man.

The oven broke.

It took me a while to notice, because it was upwards of 90 degrees inside of my house (no central air … we will not be making this mistake with our next house), but once I realized the stove was kaput, it was about 6.30 pm and very much time for Birdzone’s dinner.  While I’d like to say that I walked out to our garden and picked enough fresh green beans, tomatoes, and lettuce for a healthy salad, then followed up with chicken on the grill, with a dessert of fresh blackberries and cream, I can’t.  Because I never ended up planting the garden I wanted to (too much time on the road) and we don’t have a grill (still haven’t bought one) and the frigging birds keep snaking our blackberries so, to this day, I haven’t had a single blackberry from the huge bush outside due to the aforementioned dickheaded birds. /digression

So we ordered a pizza.  Judge all you want.

Birdy and I were playing in her air-conditioned room when the door bell rang, signaling the arrival of the pizza man.

“The pizza man is here!”  Birdy opened her door and let in the dragon-breath heat from the kitchen, scurrying towards our front door with her yellow Batman Princess tutu flapping at her waist.  (She wears pieces of that costume all the time.  Even the itchy bits.)  I handed her a few dollars so that she could tip the delivery person.

I opened the door and the guy handed us our pizza and drinks.

“Here you go, miss.  It’s hot, isn’t it!”  It wasn’t a statement, but a declaration, as the heat was undeniable.

“Yeah.  Our stove broke, so there was even less of a chance of me cooking.”

He smiled as Birdy said, “Hi!” from behind my legs and darted out to hand him the money.

“Thank you … um, Batman,” he said, slightly confused but offering her a friendly smile.

“You’re welcome!”  and she took off.  I thanked him, and shut the door.  A few seconds later, the door bell rang again.  (The pizza man always rings twice?)

“Hi again.  Sorry, but I forgot to have you sign the debit card slip.”  He handed me a slip of paper, and as I signed it, he asked, “Do you have diabetes?”

“Excuse me?”

“Diabetes.  Do you have diabetes?  I noticed the sticker on your car said ‘insulin’ or something on it, and I wondered if you were diabetic.”

I laughed, surprised.  “Yes, I do have diabetes.  Type 1, diagnosed as a kid.  Do you?”

“Yeah.  Diagnosed as a kid, too.”  He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out a Minimed insulin pump.  “I’ve been pumping for about six years.”

I lifted the corner of my shirt and flashed him my silver Animas Ping.  “Almost ten years for me.   Small world!  And that sticker on my car is for Insulindependence.  It’s a diabetes organization focusing on sports and exercise.”

“Cool – I’ll check it out,” he said, winding his pump tubing around his fingers as he shoved the pump back into his pocket.

“Cool.”  I paused, and the words tumbled out like I was confessing.  “I don’t normally eat pizza, you know.”

The pizza man grinned.  “It’s like the most complicated bolus ever.  No matter what, I never get it totally right.”  He started to walk back towards his car, waving at Birdy.  “Have a good night!  Stay cool!”

Birdy appeared from behind the door.  “Mawm, he had a pump, too!  He has diabeedles!”

“He does!”

The diabetes world is a small, small one.  Never before had I been so pumped to see the pizza man.

(Yes.  We went all that way for a horrible pun.)

Also, today has been unofficially designated as a “day to check in” (hat tip to Chris Snider) with the DOC blogs that we’re reading.  I read a lot of diabetes blogs, but I don’t often comment because I usually want to say something meaningful, instead of “I like your post.”  (But I do like your post!)  But instead of finding that meaningful comment, I usually roll on and forget to return to comment.  NOT TODAY!  Today I’m commenting on every blog I read, because that’s the name of the game.  I love this community, and today I’ll show that through comments.  So please – if you’re here, say hello!  What’s your favorite color?

 

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