I come from a very Dutch family. My grandparents immigrated to Canada from the Netherlands over 60 years ago, eventually settling here. These people have lived through some incredible history. My Oma actually had German soldiers living in her home and taking all the good livestock. I still have to smile when she says that they put a sign on the house saying they had some terrible contagious disease so the soldiers would leave them alone. These people have lived a life I can't even imagine. They have seen advances in everything from healthcare to technology. I always kind of laughed at how little they new about modern day conveniences.
No one, to my knowledge or the knowledge of my family, in my family has ever had diabetes. This is a disease that no one really even knew about. The only people who seemed to have any clue about diabetes were my Oma and Opa. I was only 6 weeks pregnant when I was first (mis)diagnosed with diabetes (the doctor said "It must be type 2 because adults don't get type 1 and it's too early to be gestational"). The next time I saw my Oma she looked somber. She asked "Sweetheart, you have dat sugar diabetes?" When I responsed with a 'yes' her eyes glassed over and her jaw clenched tight. I didn't understand this response. Sure, diabetes isn't fun, but I didn't think it warranted that. She looked at me like she would never see me again.
As time went on, I researched. I have never in my life liked non-fiction. I can't tell you how many non-fiction books I poured through. One of which gave a great history of diabetes. Do you know that people have known of diabetes for many many years? Back in the day, the way they tested for diabetes was by tasting your urine. Now that is a job you couldn't pay me enough for. Mmmm, this is sweetened lemonaide.
I learned so much. This brought into perspective how far diabetes healthcare has come. In my Oma and Opa's lifetime, type 1 diabetes was a death sentence. If you had the top care and followed instructions (eat nothing, drink nothing) you would be lucky to get 2 absolutely MISERABLE years. So when I told my Oma who doesn't understand that a VHS can be replayed and you don't have to buy a new VHS everytime you want the watch The Sound of Music (they have like 8!!!), yes I have diabetes, she wasn't up on all the new 'stuff'. She did look at me like she might never see me again because in her mind, she might never see me again. When I made this discovery I called to explain that things have changed. She still doesn't quite grasp this concept, so I will forever be "Dat poor sweetheart with dat dumb sugar problem." Except when she writes sweet it is spelled sweat.
Oma and Opa are very old now. They do ok, but they need help that they are too stubborn to accept. The stove has been left on ("You have never done dat?") and bones somehow break in bed while they're sleeping ("No, I didn't fall going to the bathroom."). They really aren't cheap though- they have spent their lives working very hard and saving, leaving them fortunate, blessed and giving. Truely, they are dear sweet people that I adore. Which is what makes this story so frusterating (and in a few years funny for me, probably funny for you now because it didn't happen to you).
After years of traveling to Florida we have managed to convince them they should no longer go. Actually, we didn't convince them. They started the planning process and a nurse who was coming to their home (who obviously thought this trip to Florida would have been a terrible plan too) told them that their insurance wouldn't be accepted in Florida. In fact, their insurance would only be accepted within about 20 miles of their home. God bless this nurse! No Florida trip for the old folks.
I feel sad for them being home. They are bored. It's cold and there is nothing for them to do. The toddler and I have been trying to make an extra effort to keep them company this winter. Who knows how much time they have left? We generally go over there, but the roads are clear, so today they came here for a nice cup of coffee and some cookies. How "gezillig".
We are blessed to have a roof over our head and heat to keep us warm. I am not complaining about this place we live in. Let me just say though, about 50% of the time our garage is wetter than the Netherlands before the dikes were put in. Today is one of those days. Needless to say it is all sandy and salty from the car. Not to mention our driveway, which is like every other driveway here, is covered in about 2 inches of ice and hard snow.
10:00 AM rolls around this morning and here comes the massive Lincoln pulling tenatively in the driveway. I can read Oma's lips as she is straining to verify that this is indeed my house. "John (which sounds more like Yon), turn John, here" in her broken english. Toddler is running around the house yelling "Oma and Opa!!! Me want cookie!!!" The dog is barking like a maniac to alert us of the extremely dangerous eldery couple slowly pulling into the driveway in their tank of a car. They pop the trunk and begin to unload food, tulips (I AM NOT JOKING!), and old dutch books. From what I understand, these are things that only the "sweetheart with dat dumb sugar" get. Sorry cousins, guess you should have gotten a chronic illness if you wanted old dutch books.
I fight the losing battle of keeping the toddler and the dog away from the door while trying to carry in everything the old folks brought. (BTW, they call themselves the old folks, I am not being a brat). I now have a lifetime supply of fruit, coffee cake, cookies and dinner for 4 for a week. The tulips, although stereotypical, are beautiful and the books would be much more interesting if I could read Dutch.
They enter the house through the wetlands (aka the garage). Oma proceeds through the kitchen to the dining room where I am assuming she will sit and remove her now soaking wet, snow caked, sand sprinkled shoes. At the first sight of 'road apples' as my husband calls them, in the kitchen I run to get a towel. Our house isn't new and perfect, but we try to keep it nice and clean. I am now on my hands and knees moping up road apples off my kitchen floor. At this point I notice that no matter how much I wipe up, I am not even making a dent in this mess. It's like it keeps growing. I realize she isn't sitting down, but rather pacing in circles around my house with the toddler. And Opa is on his way to join her.
Remember I am the grandchild here. I want to give the benefit of the doubt that this is an accident she hasn't noticed. She would not be disrespectful of all my hard work cleaning and hubby's hard work to keep us in this house. So I make a rather loud mention that there is dirty slush all over my freshly washed laminate flooring (that isn't suppose to get THAT wet). Nothing. I am literally wiping up after EVERY step she takes. I can feel my blood boiling and my blood sugar dropping from all the scrubbing. Fine, I will ask.
"Oma, why don't you sit down and take off your shoes. They are all wet and dirty. I can take them off for you and get you some nice slippers." What I expected to hear was "Oh, yeah, sweetheart, dat would be soooo nice." What I got was "No. Dese shoes are sooo good. I keep dem on."
Perhaps she didn't notice I am chasing her with a towel. Maybe she didn't hear the part about being wet and slushy. "But Oma, they are all wet and slushy from being outside. See, I am scrubbing the floor after every step you take." That outta do it.
"No sweetheart. My shoes are clean. I just wear dem at home and den into our garage to da car and den come in here."
Did you not see the flood in our garage and the swamp in my kitchen? They are soaked and sandy, take them off. "Our garage is very wet and messy though and I can see that your shoes got all messy from our garage. Let me get you some slippers."
At this point Opa is struggling to keep his balance to begin removing his shoes. I quickly help him get his balance and grab a chair for him so we can take off his shoes.
"Sweetheart, I like to keep my shoes on." She says this while clenching her teeth and giving me that I am grandma and I scared off the soldiers look.
My blood sugar is dropping. If I can feel it I know I am sitting at low 50's. I need to eat. Toddler and dog are under foot dragging this mess all through the house and she is not going to take off her stupid shoes. Maybe I am just irritable that I am low, but I can feel my face turning bright red and I am ready to ask her to walk her shoes right out of my house.
"How are you feeling sweetheart? Do you still have dat dumb sugar?" Yes, yes, it's fine. I am having a lot of ups and downs lately. I explain that scrubbing the floor has attendency to make me low which makes me feel like I'm dying.
She changes the subject to the food she brought and how much work it was to bring (which I asked her not to bring because it is a lot of work and I am capable). I know this is a guilt factor. I know how she works. She is thinking "I had to work to make this food and bring it here, you can scrub your floors again." But I live in bare feet most of the time and the toddler has (now wet and dirty) socks on. I am not re-cleaning my entire house because she is having a love affair with her shoes.
"Oma, your shoes are still wet and dirty and making a big mess. I really appreciate all the work you did on the food even though I told you we didn't need anything. Please take off your shoes."
She totally ignores me and walks into the living room (on our 'nice' rug) and sits on the couch next to the now shoeless Opa. I finish moping up the the kitchen and prepare their coffee each to their liking without asking because I know. I am boiling angry and taking extra time in the kitchen trying to decide my next move. I am still low, but that will have to wait. I can talk and I can see well enough.
That is when it hits me. I am not getting these shoes off this woman. She is an old stubborn Dutch woman, I will lose. But I grew up with a stubborn Dutch dad (so I know how to work the system) and am also a stubborn Dutch woman (so I MUST have my way out of stubborn-ness). What I care about isn't the removing of the shoes, what I care about is the mess it is making. How can I prevent the mess?
I bring the coffee into the living room with 2 plastic bags- Meijer of all places. Not the luxe D&W. I put down the coffees for each of them and look to Oma.
"I know you want to keep your nice comfy shoes on and I respect that. I am sure you don't want to make a lot of extra work for me, because I know I would never want to make a lot of extra work for you. So, I am going to put these bags over your shoes so they don't drip all over the house anymore. I think it's a nice compromise."
Checkmate.
I walk back into the kitchen to get the cookies. I hear a bunch of Dutch which I know well enough to pick up on how ridiculous I am being about a little dirt. I stuff a cookie in my mouth, partially to treat the low and partially to keep my mouth shut.
I have to laugh a little when I walk back into the living room to see Oma in her nice plastic bags. When she dies someday (hopefully in a long long time) I am burying her in those stupid shoes.
Showing posts with label hypoglycemic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hypoglycemic. Show all posts
Friday, February 11, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
There is no such thing as a free Zumba class.
I was going to blog this all last night, but I passed out. My husband will argue that I fell asleep on the couch watching TV. With a BG like that, I know better, I was in a sugar induced slumber.
A good friend of mine had called me Sunday night asking if I wanted to join her for a FREE Zumba class last night. I really like Zumba because I really like to dance. I don't like to exercise, but, to me, dancing is not exercising. Zumba and I get along. Well, except for the whole routine of it.
If you have ever been to a Zumba class and look around, they are all very similar. In the front of the class is the super adorable teacher, very slendar with curves in all the right places. These people are born that way- you can Zumba until the cows come home, it's nature in this instance. I'm not saying you can't make some major improvements. Some have the genes for this but it has been hidden behind cookies and coffee. Most of us, we don't have this. But don't stop trying!!! All this fighting a losing battle stuff is really good for your heart. At least that's what the doctor's always say.
Super adorable teacher is in the front in her awesome (read expensive) zumba pants that have those adorable hangy things on the butt that she can actually spin around by moving her hips (which is amazing since the only thing mine can do is bear a child). Behind the teacher is what I think of as her Cronies (with all due respect). These are the women who are also wearing the cute zumba pants with the thingies on the butt and can also make them spin simply by moving their hips. These women know the routines as good as, if not better than, the teacher herself. In my mind, I secretly dream of being one of these women.
The rest of the room is full of an assortment of women ranging from 8-70 yrs old, a majority of which are probably 27-52 yrs. These women can keep up with the 'moves' and the instructor, though, most lack the hips. They anticipate what is next and flow smoothly through each song. Even a lot of the first timers seem to catch on. I brought my mom once knowing she likes to dance. I had been going for sometime and was able to hold my own, only 'messing up' a few times a song. My mom isn't the most coordinated person, I figured it would take her a bit to catch on. No. Apparently, zumba is the modern day jazzer-cise, which my mom was a goddess at. She should have been up front with the cronies.
The other type of person in class is the person that lacks any coordination. This person may have taken years of dance and still cannot jump and clap hands at the same time. You can always find this person because they are usually the one getting run into when everyone else is moving. If this person is aware of their lack of abilities, they usually find a spot along the wall (less people to run into or get in their way). I am this person.
So, last night I am anticpating my free Zumba class. Make a nice fish dinner with some rice (going to need some carbs for zumba) and broccolli. We gobble up dinner, even the toddler chows, and I clean up. Go and change into my cutest black sweat pants and a tee shirt, grab my zumba shoes (the ones that kill my feet for the first 5 songs and then are like heaven), and fill up a water bottle. As I am pouring my cold filtered water into my favorite water bottle my pump starts 'yelling' at me. It has been an hour already? Alright, time to test the BG. 73. That is not good for someone who is going to be hard core sweating in an hour. Grab a nice 19 g carb peanuty granola bar and pack some extra test strips. It will be fine.
My friend picks me up and we are off. I make mention that my BG wasn't terribly cooperative earlier, but I am sure it will be fine. We are searching for this place that neither of us have been before and end up in a sleeping trucker haven. Realizing we must have passed it, we cross our fingers we didn't wake anyone and turn around. Just around the corner from sleeping trucker haven sits the church in an industrial looking strip mall. It looks very small from the outside. This should be interesting.
We walk inside to find coat racks, apparently they are expecting quite the crowd. After hanging up our coats we find the zumba room. This place is quite large actually. Wow. A great place for zumba. We sign in- we're like number 11 and 12 on the list. I decide now is a good time to retest. Still in the 70's. I am not going to make this without some hard core low GI index carbs now. Grab my can of ER pineapple juice and chug. I reluctantly finish the can- it's like 24 g carbs and I don't want to spike- but I would rather spike than look a fool.
Suddenly I look around and see about 60 people lining up in this room that doesn't seem as big anymore. We find a spot along the wall (I know my abilities are less than grand). We are ready. For how crowded this room is I find that there is plenty of room to do the routine. The routine is fun and energetic, giving a good full body workout and not too terribly hard to follow. Of course, I still manage to start with the wrong foot and get lost in the routine, but my friend managed just fine.
After each song I look at my continuous monitor. This isn't looking good. I am sitting in the 80's with a nice flat arrow. That would be great if I was sitting on the couch reading a book, not great when I have just started a hard core workout. As we continue through the songs that flat arrow begins the slow decline. Dang it. I already used my ER juice. I decide I need to stop moving and do something about this before it becomes a problem.
I jog through dodging a line of like 15 women who are zumba-ing all over the place to the churches kitchen area. They are a church, they must have coffee, and if they have coffee they must have sugar. 2nd cabinet and I find the sugar and a styrofoam cup. Put an unknown amount of sugar in it, put some tap water in it and stir with a random knife. I think of my dentist as I chug my sugar water like a starving butterfly. Cheers. If that doesn't do it, nothing will.
I dodge the 15 women back to my spot and check my BG. Wow, it's worse than my CGM read...I'm at 53. CGM still has a slow decline. I decide that until things start moving up I should sit out and stretch. So much for not looking like a fool.
My friend asks how it's going and I lie (like a good diabetic who is trying to not be too bitter about all the women around her who don't have this) saying everything will be fine. She insists that we leave and I remind her that I will be hypo here or at home so she might as well get a good workout. I must not be a good actress because she's not buying it. She says she is shot and is ready to go (this woman is in better shape 4 weeks post partum than I EVER have been in my life). I appreciate her understanding and not making me feel like an even bigger fool, so I agree.
We dodge the 15 dancing women and get out of there. In the car we are saying that in our 20-30 mins of zumba we hope we burned 400 calories. I add up how many calories I consumed to compensate for the low and realize that it would need to be more like 500 just to break even. When I get depressed about that idea I think of the doctor saying it's good for my heart and want to throw up in my mouth. It's not his muffin top that's going to need a pair of bigger jeans. So much for free zumba.
I get home and try to close the garage door. The opener is insisting that something is in the way. I turn on the outside lights trying to see what the garage door's problem is and find that somehow, something totally broke off the garage door sensor on my hubby's side of the garage. I come inside and tell him to deal with it-it is his side of the garage after all. He asks if I hit it with a shovel or something...NO. I don't know what happened. It would appear that we have a garage door sensor breaker running through our neighborhood because neither of us know how it broke. Hubby fixes it without too much trouble as I admit defeat and take a shower.
I begin to mope. Stupid diabetes. My BG is settling in at 100 and remaining steady. I grab for a piece of birthday cake and bolous for it the same amount I did earlier in the day that worked perfect. We start a movie and I pass out/fall asleep. Hubby wakes me up and encourages me to get into bed. My CGM is quiet and still looking good so off to bed I go.
About 1 AM my CGM is screaming at me. I never heard it before then (that's why I insist it was sugar induced slumber, this is the thing that woke me up 5 times the other night). 329. WHAT!??!?! I have it set to alert me at anything over 120, every 1/2 hour. That means I missed at least 4 alarms. I give a big old correction and return to my sugar slumber.
I woke up this morning feeling like death. Which is what happens when you have syrup running through your veins all night after not being able to keep a steady BG during zumba. I should have known, there is no such thing as a free lunch or a free zumba class.
A good friend of mine had called me Sunday night asking if I wanted to join her for a FREE Zumba class last night. I really like Zumba because I really like to dance. I don't like to exercise, but, to me, dancing is not exercising. Zumba and I get along. Well, except for the whole routine of it.
If you have ever been to a Zumba class and look around, they are all very similar. In the front of the class is the super adorable teacher, very slendar with curves in all the right places. These people are born that way- you can Zumba until the cows come home, it's nature in this instance. I'm not saying you can't make some major improvements. Some have the genes for this but it has been hidden behind cookies and coffee. Most of us, we don't have this. But don't stop trying!!! All this fighting a losing battle stuff is really good for your heart. At least that's what the doctor's always say.
Super adorable teacher is in the front in her awesome (read expensive) zumba pants that have those adorable hangy things on the butt that she can actually spin around by moving her hips (which is amazing since the only thing mine can do is bear a child). Behind the teacher is what I think of as her Cronies (with all due respect). These are the women who are also wearing the cute zumba pants with the thingies on the butt and can also make them spin simply by moving their hips. These women know the routines as good as, if not better than, the teacher herself. In my mind, I secretly dream of being one of these women.
The rest of the room is full of an assortment of women ranging from 8-70 yrs old, a majority of which are probably 27-52 yrs. These women can keep up with the 'moves' and the instructor, though, most lack the hips. They anticipate what is next and flow smoothly through each song. Even a lot of the first timers seem to catch on. I brought my mom once knowing she likes to dance. I had been going for sometime and was able to hold my own, only 'messing up' a few times a song. My mom isn't the most coordinated person, I figured it would take her a bit to catch on. No. Apparently, zumba is the modern day jazzer-cise, which my mom was a goddess at. She should have been up front with the cronies.
The other type of person in class is the person that lacks any coordination. This person may have taken years of dance and still cannot jump and clap hands at the same time. You can always find this person because they are usually the one getting run into when everyone else is moving. If this person is aware of their lack of abilities, they usually find a spot along the wall (less people to run into or get in their way). I am this person.
So, last night I am anticpating my free Zumba class. Make a nice fish dinner with some rice (going to need some carbs for zumba) and broccolli. We gobble up dinner, even the toddler chows, and I clean up. Go and change into my cutest black sweat pants and a tee shirt, grab my zumba shoes (the ones that kill my feet for the first 5 songs and then are like heaven), and fill up a water bottle. As I am pouring my cold filtered water into my favorite water bottle my pump starts 'yelling' at me. It has been an hour already? Alright, time to test the BG. 73. That is not good for someone who is going to be hard core sweating in an hour. Grab a nice 19 g carb peanuty granola bar and pack some extra test strips. It will be fine.
My friend picks me up and we are off. I make mention that my BG wasn't terribly cooperative earlier, but I am sure it will be fine. We are searching for this place that neither of us have been before and end up in a sleeping trucker haven. Realizing we must have passed it, we cross our fingers we didn't wake anyone and turn around. Just around the corner from sleeping trucker haven sits the church in an industrial looking strip mall. It looks very small from the outside. This should be interesting.
We walk inside to find coat racks, apparently they are expecting quite the crowd. After hanging up our coats we find the zumba room. This place is quite large actually. Wow. A great place for zumba. We sign in- we're like number 11 and 12 on the list. I decide now is a good time to retest. Still in the 70's. I am not going to make this without some hard core low GI index carbs now. Grab my can of ER pineapple juice and chug. I reluctantly finish the can- it's like 24 g carbs and I don't want to spike- but I would rather spike than look a fool.
Suddenly I look around and see about 60 people lining up in this room that doesn't seem as big anymore. We find a spot along the wall (I know my abilities are less than grand). We are ready. For how crowded this room is I find that there is plenty of room to do the routine. The routine is fun and energetic, giving a good full body workout and not too terribly hard to follow. Of course, I still manage to start with the wrong foot and get lost in the routine, but my friend managed just fine.
After each song I look at my continuous monitor. This isn't looking good. I am sitting in the 80's with a nice flat arrow. That would be great if I was sitting on the couch reading a book, not great when I have just started a hard core workout. As we continue through the songs that flat arrow begins the slow decline. Dang it. I already used my ER juice. I decide I need to stop moving and do something about this before it becomes a problem.
I jog through dodging a line of like 15 women who are zumba-ing all over the place to the churches kitchen area. They are a church, they must have coffee, and if they have coffee they must have sugar. 2nd cabinet and I find the sugar and a styrofoam cup. Put an unknown amount of sugar in it, put some tap water in it and stir with a random knife. I think of my dentist as I chug my sugar water like a starving butterfly. Cheers. If that doesn't do it, nothing will.
I dodge the 15 women back to my spot and check my BG. Wow, it's worse than my CGM read...I'm at 53. CGM still has a slow decline. I decide that until things start moving up I should sit out and stretch. So much for not looking like a fool.
My friend asks how it's going and I lie (like a good diabetic who is trying to not be too bitter about all the women around her who don't have this) saying everything will be fine. She insists that we leave and I remind her that I will be hypo here or at home so she might as well get a good workout. I must not be a good actress because she's not buying it. She says she is shot and is ready to go (this woman is in better shape 4 weeks post partum than I EVER have been in my life). I appreciate her understanding and not making me feel like an even bigger fool, so I agree.
We dodge the 15 dancing women and get out of there. In the car we are saying that in our 20-30 mins of zumba we hope we burned 400 calories. I add up how many calories I consumed to compensate for the low and realize that it would need to be more like 500 just to break even. When I get depressed about that idea I think of the doctor saying it's good for my heart and want to throw up in my mouth. It's not his muffin top that's going to need a pair of bigger jeans. So much for free zumba.
I get home and try to close the garage door. The opener is insisting that something is in the way. I turn on the outside lights trying to see what the garage door's problem is and find that somehow, something totally broke off the garage door sensor on my hubby's side of the garage. I come inside and tell him to deal with it-it is his side of the garage after all. He asks if I hit it with a shovel or something...NO. I don't know what happened. It would appear that we have a garage door sensor breaker running through our neighborhood because neither of us know how it broke. Hubby fixes it without too much trouble as I admit defeat and take a shower.
I begin to mope. Stupid diabetes. My BG is settling in at 100 and remaining steady. I grab for a piece of birthday cake and bolous for it the same amount I did earlier in the day that worked perfect. We start a movie and I pass out/fall asleep. Hubby wakes me up and encourages me to get into bed. My CGM is quiet and still looking good so off to bed I go.
About 1 AM my CGM is screaming at me. I never heard it before then (that's why I insist it was sugar induced slumber, this is the thing that woke me up 5 times the other night). 329. WHAT!??!?! I have it set to alert me at anything over 120, every 1/2 hour. That means I missed at least 4 alarms. I give a big old correction and return to my sugar slumber.
I woke up this morning feeling like death. Which is what happens when you have syrup running through your veins all night after not being able to keep a steady BG during zumba. I should have known, there is no such thing as a free lunch or a free zumba class.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Just a few things...
Today is my birthday. It's kinda a big one. It's the one that defines a person as an adult. I am no longer allowed to be a screw-up. By my age a person is expected to have a degree, a career, a home, a signficant other, and probably a family. You're suppose to be sure of your life and where you are going. At least that's what I gather from society. If nothing else, at this age you should be able to put on your own continuous monitor.
Last night I decided it was time to put on the continuous monitor again. It's been like 2 months since I've worn it and I was feeling all 'responsible diabetic'. Hear this, I am a baby. I can put on infusion sites and poke fingers all day long, even injections aren't bad. Putting on a continuos monitor is a whole new game. Some of you are freaks and don't care that it's a big needle and that it's not spring loaded, some of you even prefer it. I am not that freak.
The first time I went to put on my CGM (continuous monitor) ever I tried to do it fast, I really really tried. The problem is that when you feel a poke your body says "Oh no, I am in mortal danger" and refuses to let your thumb continue to break the skin. I learned after many unsuccessful attempts to make my hubby do it. That was over a year ago.
Hubby does a good job. I can tell it makes him nervous because he is afraid of hurting me. I put on a happy face (which he can see right through) and tell him the faster he can do it the better. I try not to flinch and keep my clenched teeth grin looking straight ahead. I say thank-you when it's done. That is his contribution to helping me manage my diabetes. That and asking me when I return to bed after treating a low in the night "Are you ok?" Yeah, I almost didn't wake up, but I'm fine now. I love my hubby. He sleeps like death.
Last night hubby was playing basketball when I go all 'responsible diabetic'. I think to myself, I am a grown woman, I can do this. It's no big deal, the needle isn't that long and if I just don't think about it all will be well.
A friend calls and we are talking. I, not even thinking about it, begin to prep a nice juicy site on my tummy. So we are chatting about life and and I begin to adhere the CGM to my tummy. That's the easy part. Now I have a needle holding apparatus that is about 4 inches adhered to my tummy. I am pacing around the house talking on the phone. This is the point where I call hubby, except he's gone and won't be home for 2 1/2 hrs. I cannot hang out with this thing hanging off of me all night.
The thoughts are racing through my head "What are you thinking? You can't do this on your own. Your thumb will freeze again. Why didn't you wait for hubby?" I turn the phone conversation topic to the situtation I am facing. Dang it, we both know I have to do this.
15 mins later I am tired of this apparatus hanging around and I go to insert the needle. My thumb locks up and refuses to move fast. It is cautiously approaching the mortal needle prick it knows is coming. "Ehh," that is needle poking flesh. Thumb stops. I hold my breath, close my eyes, and will my thumb to man up. And it's done. I did it all by myself. It only took me 17 mins from start to finish.
A few hours later my CGM is calibrated and spitting out dead on accurate blood sugars. Why don't I wear this thing more often? I go to bed.
"BEEEEPPPPPP!!!!!!!!" What in the world? I was just falling asleep. Vibrate, vibrate. Come on, really? Look at that, I am dropping. Time to go and finger poke. Get out of bed, turn on the lights, walk to the kitchen. Poke, think "I really need a new lancet." Wow, this thing is spot on. It says 64, glucometer says 63. Eat some food and return to bed.
"BEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP!!!" Not again! What?!? 53 and dropping, there is no way. Go to the kitchen, turn on the light. Eyes adjust. Finger poke, 88. Stupid thing. Re-calibrate it- I pushed the buttons extra hard in attempt to show my angst towards this infernal device. Back to bed.
"BBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPP!!!" Oh my goodness, you are gonna die stupid machine!!! 67?!?! Go to the kitchen, turn on the way too bright light again. Test, 91.
This continues on through the night. At this point I am cursing 'responsible diabetic'. After testing 5 times in the night I decide this thing is toast. I shove it under my pillow to shut it up, and ignore it the rest of the night. I woke up in the 90's this morning. Stupid thing.
Looking at the last 12 hours of BG readings and reflecting. A lot like I am looking over the past 29 years and reflecting. I might not be where society thinks I should be, I don't quite measure up. I don't have the degree, fancy car, career, whatever. But where I am, is even better. Where I am is where I want to be.
Last night I decided it was time to put on the continuous monitor again. It's been like 2 months since I've worn it and I was feeling all 'responsible diabetic'. Hear this, I am a baby. I can put on infusion sites and poke fingers all day long, even injections aren't bad. Putting on a continuos monitor is a whole new game. Some of you are freaks and don't care that it's a big needle and that it's not spring loaded, some of you even prefer it. I am not that freak.
The first time I went to put on my CGM (continuous monitor) ever I tried to do it fast, I really really tried. The problem is that when you feel a poke your body says "Oh no, I am in mortal danger" and refuses to let your thumb continue to break the skin. I learned after many unsuccessful attempts to make my hubby do it. That was over a year ago.
Hubby does a good job. I can tell it makes him nervous because he is afraid of hurting me. I put on a happy face (which he can see right through) and tell him the faster he can do it the better. I try not to flinch and keep my clenched teeth grin looking straight ahead. I say thank-you when it's done. That is his contribution to helping me manage my diabetes. That and asking me when I return to bed after treating a low in the night "Are you ok?" Yeah, I almost didn't wake up, but I'm fine now. I love my hubby. He sleeps like death.
Last night hubby was playing basketball when I go all 'responsible diabetic'. I think to myself, I am a grown woman, I can do this. It's no big deal, the needle isn't that long and if I just don't think about it all will be well.
A friend calls and we are talking. I, not even thinking about it, begin to prep a nice juicy site on my tummy. So we are chatting about life and and I begin to adhere the CGM to my tummy. That's the easy part. Now I have a needle holding apparatus that is about 4 inches adhered to my tummy. I am pacing around the house talking on the phone. This is the point where I call hubby, except he's gone and won't be home for 2 1/2 hrs. I cannot hang out with this thing hanging off of me all night.
The thoughts are racing through my head "What are you thinking? You can't do this on your own. Your thumb will freeze again. Why didn't you wait for hubby?" I turn the phone conversation topic to the situtation I am facing. Dang it, we both know I have to do this.
15 mins later I am tired of this apparatus hanging around and I go to insert the needle. My thumb locks up and refuses to move fast. It is cautiously approaching the mortal needle prick it knows is coming. "Ehh," that is needle poking flesh. Thumb stops. I hold my breath, close my eyes, and will my thumb to man up. And it's done. I did it all by myself. It only took me 17 mins from start to finish.
A few hours later my CGM is calibrated and spitting out dead on accurate blood sugars. Why don't I wear this thing more often? I go to bed.
"BEEEEPPPPPP!!!!!!!!" What in the world? I was just falling asleep. Vibrate, vibrate. Come on, really? Look at that, I am dropping. Time to go and finger poke. Get out of bed, turn on the lights, walk to the kitchen. Poke, think "I really need a new lancet." Wow, this thing is spot on. It says 64, glucometer says 63. Eat some food and return to bed.
"BEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP!!!" Not again! What?!? 53 and dropping, there is no way. Go to the kitchen, turn on the light. Eyes adjust. Finger poke, 88. Stupid thing. Re-calibrate it- I pushed the buttons extra hard in attempt to show my angst towards this infernal device. Back to bed.
"BBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPP!!!" Oh my goodness, you are gonna die stupid machine!!! 67?!?! Go to the kitchen, turn on the way too bright light again. Test, 91.
This continues on through the night. At this point I am cursing 'responsible diabetic'. After testing 5 times in the night I decide this thing is toast. I shove it under my pillow to shut it up, and ignore it the rest of the night. I woke up in the 90's this morning. Stupid thing.
Looking at the last 12 hours of BG readings and reflecting. A lot like I am looking over the past 29 years and reflecting. I might not be where society thinks I should be, I don't quite measure up. I don't have the degree, fancy car, career, whatever. But where I am, is even better. Where I am is where I want to be.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
How do I do this again?
So, first things first. I just spent about 20 mins trying to figure out how in the world I am suppose to find my blog to blog. I log into google and go to blog, it gives me a search engine of about 500 trillion blogs. Apparently people have a lot to say, or are hoping that someone/anyone will listen to them. I fall into the latter of the two, I have a toddler so most of the time no one listens to me.
I am searching through 500 trillion blogs and am beginning to think this is a sign that I just need to give up. That is when it came to me, facebook. It's like I knew yesterday that today I would have no clue how to do this again. I log into my facebook and locate the link to my blog. Thank goodness I had the sense to post it to my facebook page yesterday or I would never have found it.
Here I am blogging to the two people who might read it. The decaf coffee thing holds true from yesterday. My BG after decaf was PERFECT. I like the idea of 1/2 leaded and 1/2 unleaded, trouble is that they don't make that for my handy dandy coffee maker. After a lot of thinking, I am going to endure the headaches for a few weeks and go decaf. I just keep picturing myself blind and footless going through kidney dialysis all because I couldn't endure a few weeks of caffine withdrawl.
Speaking of blind, this is crazy. My BGs have been pretty good today. I have been poking before meals/snacks for the last few days to try and get tight control again and it has been paying off. For the last few weeks I have been a nice wife and have been shoveling the driveway. It takes all of 20 mins when I do it and it takes the hubby about an hour (he claims he does a better job, I claim he is avoiding the toddler inside).
Today, I decide to shovel again. Get the boy into bed and pray that he takes a nap today (he skipped yesteryday, but that is a whole other blog in itself). I put on my hot mama winter attire which consists of a mens red and grey jacket, black sweat pants, a pink/brown&green crochet'd hat, a hand-me-down pink & purple scarf from the 90's, some sweet 80 year old taupe boots and hot pink glove mittens. I know I am rocking the neighborhood.
Like the responsible diabetic I am learning to be, I poked before going outside and was sitting pretty at 137. A good place to start before shoveling, it gives me some wiggle room to drop.
It is cold, I mean really, really cold. There is snow everywhere. Does anyone else feel the need to wear sunglasses even on cloudy winter days? It is soooo stinkin' bright out! Well, I forgot my sunglasses inside and was afraid to wake up the *hopefully* sleeping toddler by going inside to get them. That was a mistake.
I am outside in the freezing weather in my hot mama clothes shoveling the driveway, throwing all the snow towards the house (hello igloo insulation!!!!) and my vision is blurry. Of course my vision is blurry, my eyes are frozen, it's soooo bright out they are strained, snow is blowing everywhere as I am trying to throw it at the house to save 1/1000 of a cent on my gas bill, and I don't have my glasses on. My vision should be blurry, this is a normal person thing not a diabetic person thing. An aside to that thought- I think that diabetics are a million times more intuned with their bodies- it's like a trade off. You get diabetes and your senses and sensations in your body are heightened.
Anyway, I am shoveling and can't see. Whatever. Spoiler alert- Kate is yelling at the screen right now that I am an idiot and I need sugar. She is the only other person I know that thought, like I did, while watching Celebrity Apprentice that Bret Micheals would have a low from running up and down 13 flights of stairs.
I notice the blurry vision and keep shoveling. I am shoveling everything. In my blindness, I even shovel out a path for the dog (I usually don't, hubby does. I was thinking of the gas company again and the snow storm predicted for tomorrow. If we lose heat, our house will stay warm longer because of my eskimo tactics).
As I am shoveling I am thinking about life and BG's and what's for dinner and how I am going to get the kid to eat it. I even think about what would happen if I was low while shoveling and passed out and someone saw me and called an ambulance. Maggie would be barking which would wake up the kid who would be destroying the house but no one would go inside to see if there was a kid there, they would just assume it was me alone. They would take me to the hospital and the toddler would be alone with the dog and they would eat all the suckers and make a sticky mess and he would spill the milk everywhere and the dog would lick it up. Finally the hubby would get home the house in shambles and me at the hospital and then CPS would come because they'd think I was a bad mom for passing out in the driveway and not having anyone watch the toddler while I went to the hospital even though I didn't know because I was passed out. I would be on TV and then no one would want to play with me or my son anymore. Hey, there was a lot of snow to shovel. It took awhile.
Finally I am done, or done enough. I decide it's cold and I am coming in. I take off my hot mama clothes and thank heaven that the toddler is still asleep. Decide that I am hungry from all the exercise and test my BG. 54 (for those of you who are clueless, that is bad, it is too low). I have been doing this for weeks, why now is it dropping so much? Was the snow extra heavy today or something? Ack.
Here's the real kicker. I KNOW my best indication of being low is my vision gets blurry and tunnel-ish. I KNOW this. I tell people that all the time. I say "No, I don't really feel my lows unless I'm in the low 40's, I just notice a change in my vision." I have said that to people so many times, maybe even to you. What is wrong with my head?
Theory for why I am an idiot a lot of the time. I have a low. During the low my brain is starved from glucose and therefore cannot function so I am an idiot. Excuse, I mean, theory for why I am an idiot the rest of the time. I HAD a low previously and it killed off starved brain cells, hence, moron.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I am searching through 500 trillion blogs and am beginning to think this is a sign that I just need to give up. That is when it came to me, facebook. It's like I knew yesterday that today I would have no clue how to do this again. I log into my facebook and locate the link to my blog. Thank goodness I had the sense to post it to my facebook page yesterday or I would never have found it.
Here I am blogging to the two people who might read it. The decaf coffee thing holds true from yesterday. My BG after decaf was PERFECT. I like the idea of 1/2 leaded and 1/2 unleaded, trouble is that they don't make that for my handy dandy coffee maker. After a lot of thinking, I am going to endure the headaches for a few weeks and go decaf. I just keep picturing myself blind and footless going through kidney dialysis all because I couldn't endure a few weeks of caffine withdrawl.
Speaking of blind, this is crazy. My BGs have been pretty good today. I have been poking before meals/snacks for the last few days to try and get tight control again and it has been paying off. For the last few weeks I have been a nice wife and have been shoveling the driveway. It takes all of 20 mins when I do it and it takes the hubby about an hour (he claims he does a better job, I claim he is avoiding the toddler inside).
Today, I decide to shovel again. Get the boy into bed and pray that he takes a nap today (he skipped yesteryday, but that is a whole other blog in itself). I put on my hot mama winter attire which consists of a mens red and grey jacket, black sweat pants, a pink/brown&green crochet'd hat, a hand-me-down pink & purple scarf from the 90's, some sweet 80 year old taupe boots and hot pink glove mittens. I know I am rocking the neighborhood.
Like the responsible diabetic I am learning to be, I poked before going outside and was sitting pretty at 137. A good place to start before shoveling, it gives me some wiggle room to drop.
It is cold, I mean really, really cold. There is snow everywhere. Does anyone else feel the need to wear sunglasses even on cloudy winter days? It is soooo stinkin' bright out! Well, I forgot my sunglasses inside and was afraid to wake up the *hopefully* sleeping toddler by going inside to get them. That was a mistake.
I am outside in the freezing weather in my hot mama clothes shoveling the driveway, throwing all the snow towards the house (hello igloo insulation!!!!) and my vision is blurry. Of course my vision is blurry, my eyes are frozen, it's soooo bright out they are strained, snow is blowing everywhere as I am trying to throw it at the house to save 1/1000 of a cent on my gas bill, and I don't have my glasses on. My vision should be blurry, this is a normal person thing not a diabetic person thing. An aside to that thought- I think that diabetics are a million times more intuned with their bodies- it's like a trade off. You get diabetes and your senses and sensations in your body are heightened.
Anyway, I am shoveling and can't see. Whatever. Spoiler alert- Kate is yelling at the screen right now that I am an idiot and I need sugar. She is the only other person I know that thought, like I did, while watching Celebrity Apprentice that Bret Micheals would have a low from running up and down 13 flights of stairs.
I notice the blurry vision and keep shoveling. I am shoveling everything. In my blindness, I even shovel out a path for the dog (I usually don't, hubby does. I was thinking of the gas company again and the snow storm predicted for tomorrow. If we lose heat, our house will stay warm longer because of my eskimo tactics).
As I am shoveling I am thinking about life and BG's and what's for dinner and how I am going to get the kid to eat it. I even think about what would happen if I was low while shoveling and passed out and someone saw me and called an ambulance. Maggie would be barking which would wake up the kid who would be destroying the house but no one would go inside to see if there was a kid there, they would just assume it was me alone. They would take me to the hospital and the toddler would be alone with the dog and they would eat all the suckers and make a sticky mess and he would spill the milk everywhere and the dog would lick it up. Finally the hubby would get home the house in shambles and me at the hospital and then CPS would come because they'd think I was a bad mom for passing out in the driveway and not having anyone watch the toddler while I went to the hospital even though I didn't know because I was passed out. I would be on TV and then no one would want to play with me or my son anymore. Hey, there was a lot of snow to shovel. It took awhile.
Finally I am done, or done enough. I decide it's cold and I am coming in. I take off my hot mama clothes and thank heaven that the toddler is still asleep. Decide that I am hungry from all the exercise and test my BG. 54 (for those of you who are clueless, that is bad, it is too low). I have been doing this for weeks, why now is it dropping so much? Was the snow extra heavy today or something? Ack.
Here's the real kicker. I KNOW my best indication of being low is my vision gets blurry and tunnel-ish. I KNOW this. I tell people that all the time. I say "No, I don't really feel my lows unless I'm in the low 40's, I just notice a change in my vision." I have said that to people so many times, maybe even to you. What is wrong with my head?
Theory for why I am an idiot a lot of the time. I have a low. During the low my brain is starved from glucose and therefore cannot function so I am an idiot. Excuse, I mean, theory for why I am an idiot the rest of the time. I HAD a low previously and it killed off starved brain cells, hence, moron.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)