Running on Fumes.
I feel exhausted right now.
Yesterday, I decided to do a random 3 a.m. check just to see how the overnights were going. My blood sugar was 156 mg/dl. I did a slight correction and woke up at a stunning 126 mg/dl.
Last night, I went to bed at 254 mg/dl. I had been high all evening for some strange reason, and I blame the 254 on me compounding the problem by eating pasta and ice cream because, well, I wanted to.
Because I had woken up in the middle of the night, I was more tired than usual and since my overnight was such a good number, I though my active insulin would bring my blood sugar down and I would stay stable all night.
I was wrong.
I woke up nauseated and more tired than usual, ringing in at 300 mg/dl. I did a correction bolused, dressed and went to work.
Once I got to work, I had my usual cranberry oatmeal and some hot chocolate in my nifty Merck mug I got at World Diabetes Day. I absentmindedly forgot to bolus for my breakfast until half an hour later.
Even with the bolus, I only came down to 203 mg/dl. Because I was running late in the morning, I bought lunch instead of packing my own. I had a sandwich and a bag of potato chips and estimated I had 70 carbs (it was a large sandwich with a slice of cranberry sauce so I went a bit over than my usual estimation for a sandwich). I even bolused early as I rode the elevator back to our floor.
Now, I’m 315 mg/dl.
I don’t know what happened. Yesterday, I had a great numbers. After the wake-up 126, I hit 87 mg/dl and then 97 mg/dl before skyrocketing to the stratosphere. Nothing in my activity has changed. I’m not sick – in fact, my corneal infection is completely clear now. I’m not eating anything different. I have not changed my ratios and I have not changed my basal rates. I am counting carbohydrates the same way I always have.
I feel terrible when that little green bug of annoyance creeps into my heart, but I just can’t help it when I read comments from newbies (scroll down to the comments from AJ) who say: “If you want to eat 200g of mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie, then ratio accordingly and dose the proper amount. Check an hour or 2 later to be sure and re-dose. Problem solved. Quit whining.”
Or even: ” Life is what you make of it. I have chosen to minimalize diabetes’ effect in my life by shaping my perception of it. I’m sorry if it came off as harsh, but I thought a little slap in the face might make some people realize that your attitude shapes things more than you think, and focusing on how hard it is rarely helps.”
I did count my carbohydrates.
I did use my bolus ratios.
I do wear that magical little contraption at my hip that is supposed to solve all my problems.
I am a happy, well-adjusted diabetic doing her part to help a community deal with depression and burn-out.
But dammit, it doesn’t always work.
And who’s fault is that? Is it my fault? It sure feels that way sometimes.
I tried. I try every damn day. Maybe diabetes would be just a chore if it didn’t make me feel so lousy. I can feel it. Not just in some far-off future where my limbs are missing or I’m blind, but now. In the present. While I’m at work and trying to hold things together. When I’m with my friends or my family, laughing and having a great time. I can feel the aches in my hands and dizziness in my head when I’m low. The tingles in my feet and queasiness in my stomach when I’m high. I can feel the pricks on my fingers and the itchiness when my set has been in too long.
No one who knows me could accuse me of not having a positive attitude about diabetes. My blog is titled “Lemonade Life” for crying out loud.
This isn’t just something I do and then put away. It’s still there.
And I feel exhausted. Sometimes, I just need someone to hold my hand and pull me along, just for a little while.
Edit, 5:53 p.m.: Now my blood sugar is 346 mg/dl and I haven’t eaten anything since lunch. Raise your hand if you think my set is kinked.
I also edited the post to make it clearer who this person is and that they have diabetes, and are not a non-diabetic.