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.