First Strange Occurrence:
Last Friday was like any other day.
I woke up, tested my blood sugar, took a shower, brushed my teeth, dressed.
Took my Lantus, drove to work, ate breakfast from the cafeteria (because I still hadn’t gone grocery shopping yet).
Everything was pretty normal, all considering.
I had a mild high (low 200s) in the afternoon, but as I was going to the gym for the first time in a
millenia six months, I figured it would be better to be higher to see how my body reacted. I had a turkey sandwich and some tea buscuits for dinner, and off I went to the most expensive gym I’ve ever been a member of: The New York Sports Club.
Since this was my first time there, I spent the obligatory forty minutes with a personal trainer doing stats and touring the gym. The personal trainer obviously had never met a diabetic before, although he had told me he had others come in. When I told him I had type 1 diabetes, he asked, “And what do you take for that?”
“Uh…insulin?” Honestly, I felt like it was a trick question. And he then asked me if I always took it.
“Yes, I’m a type 1.” And then I asked, “Do you know anything about type 1 diabetes? I’m not trying to be rude or anything.” Then he tried to backtrack by saying he has had people coming in saying they had type 1 diabetes but didn’t always take insulin. I was pretty confident at that point that 1) he had no idea what he was talking about and 2) wouldn’t listen to me even if I tried to explain things.
After the tour, we talked about how often I should work certain parts of the gym. The personal trainer tried to convince me that because I am a diabetic, I need to do cardio at least 5-6 times a week, because of how my body reacts to carbohydrates. I told him that he must still be thinking of type 2 diabetes, because I have never in my life heard such a thing (though please correct me if I’m wrong.) It was pretty funny though. I love it when people who obviously don’t know what they’re talking about try to explain diabetes to me. It’s hilarious. It’s like my own personal comedy show.
When we were done, I whipped out my meter to see where I was.
Hm. Well, that’s a bit too low to start working out heavily now, and seeing how often I was yawning, I decided to pack up my stuff and head out. Upon arriving at my apartment, I kicked off my sneakers, dropped my purse on the floor and crawled onto my bed.
I’ll just lay here until I hear…the…. traiiin……..Zzzzzzzzzz
When I woke up, I could hear the television in the next apartment was still on. So was everything else. My gym clothes, the light, the air conditioning. I figured it couldn’t be that late if a TV was on, so I stumbled into the kitchen to check the time on my cell phone.
2:58 a.m. Hm. Pretty late.
Aw crap! Lantus!
I quickly whipped out my meter and nervously waited for the astronomically high reading I was about to receive for going nearly five hours without my second Lantus shot, and almost 12 hours without any Humalog and then the number appeared and I was aghast to see:
Okay. Fine. Take a couple swigs of juice and six Ritz crackers and I’m back to bed, sans Lantus.
Upon rising at 10 a.m. (now pushing 27 hours since my last Lantus injection and about 18 hour since my last Humalog shot) and I’m ringing it at a crisp…
Okay, dood. Come. on. I know these are wonderful numbers and all and I should be grateful for not waking up at 454 mg/dl, but I don’t. like. it. when my body does crazy-ass stuff.
Why can’t you be normal and go high like you’re supposed to?!?
STOP TOYING WITH MY EMOTIONS!
I attempted to do the experiment again on Saturday night. I woke up at 304 mg/dl. Ah well.
Second Strange Occurrence
I drove to Pennsylvania yesterday. Which is kind of a big deal for Oregonian to drive across her entire state in less than two hours. But that’s not the strange occurrence. I spent about three hours meandering around the Delaware Water Gap, and I’ve already decided I want to go back another weekend to take advantage of their hiking, biking and kayaking.
I also went to Portland.
Portland, Pennsylvania, that is.
Did anyone else know that there was a third (possibly… are there others?) Portland in the United States of America. One in Oregon, obviously. Then there’s on in Maine (we’re actually named for Portland, Maine – remind me to tell you the story later). Now Pennsylvania. Who knew? Probably nobody, as this Portland is a two-road podunk town along the Delaware, with a couple antique stores, a market and a gas station.
Third Not-Really-Strange-More-Like-Sad Occurrence
I missed my second blogaversery last week.
I’m actually really depressed about this because I had a whole post planned out. I thought my blogaversary was tomorrow, on July 17, but when I double-checked (which I should have done much earlier obviously) on my Blogger blog, I discovered I actually started this whole deal on July 12.
So really I should have posted something last Thursday, and not today.
Oh well. These things happen.
Anyway, I do want to say that I have had the grandest time writing a blog about diabetes, though it’s swiftly becoming about everything else in my life. Though just as well. My life is more than just diabetes. Now it’s mostly about work. The City. Exploring my new neck-of-the-woods. Making new friends.
It’s really quite exciting, although exhausting at this point (seeing as how I passed out at eight o’clock last Friday).
I’m glad you’re here to explore with me.
And answer some of my questions about the “other” coast.
Like what the hell is the fascination with Dunkin Donuts? Talk about a strange occurrence.