Over Correcting King Kandy

Every diabetic, at one time or another has over corrected. Blood sugar drops and in a desperate attempt to raise it before sudden death, you shove as much food as possible into your mouth. We have all done it and it is ok. This is not a perfect disease nor are we perfect people.

Last night I woke up to the shrill sound of Dex bitching at me once again. I am fairly positive that I will never get a good nights rest as long as Dex is in my life. He’s my pseudo husband, I swear. Hell bent on never letting me sleep. I even set his range lower than it was just so I could get a couple extra minutes of sleep. Dex used to scream at 80, now he screams at 70. So, about 2am I heard him buzzing. I rolled over and pushed ‘OK’ about 15 times. ‘Yea, yea, I got it, couple more minutes..zzzzzzzzzz….’ Dex must have buzzed again and I didn’t hear it because the next thing I did hear was the shrill of a 1000 banshees. UGH!!! I grabbed Dex. ‘42!!’ he yelled! ‘The answer to everything!!’

I sat straight up, let the dizziness attack, thought about dolphins, hit ‘OK’and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Not happy. Not clear. Not myself. But not completely gone. My brain automatically went into ‘madness mode’ simultaneously screaming “FEED ME NOW!!” and “DON’T EAT TOO MUCH!!” I shuffled to the pantry and shoved a chocolate Weight Watchers cake into my mouth. Not tasting, not enjoying, just correcting. The cake had its mission. It’s like how orange juice used to be good until it was used to raise my blood sugar. Now it is like medicine and I despise it. There was no sugar joy to be had here.

In my zombie like daze I walked to the kitchen, ate a cookie and a tootsie roll midgie. Then I lost control in a different way. I grabbed another cookie, a handful of Skittles, my water and headed back to my bed all the while shoving random junk into my mouth. Even in the dead of night, when the brain is clearly not functioning, the will to survive steps in and takes control. Over correction. I woke up this morning to another buzzing. This time high. Dex told me I was 310. ‘Wonderful.’ I tell myself as I feel the leftover glucose glaze on my teeth. ‘I hope you are happy.’ I bolused and set myself back on the right path once again.




















The need to bring your bs level up and the will to not over correct do a constant battle. If you are clear enough in your oxygen starved brain to realize too much is just as bad as too little, you find the will power to resist. Most of the time, I don’t have that will power. Eh, what can you do? I’d rather treat a high than a low. Low bs seems a bit more desperate to me and are a little more difficult to manage or deal with. Highs aren’t as dramatic for me…at least not now.

For everyone, stress is a bad thing. Life, the people and the things in it have a tendency to pile on the stress…sometimes on a daily basis. Not to mention the fact that I’m trying to control an uncontrollable disease day in & day out. It’s stressful enough to know that you blew it. You ate too much, not enough, didn’t calculate the carbs, didn’t work out enough, worked out too much, got road rage, yelled at your child, let your boss annoy you….all of these things screw with your bs. Mine especially. My doc and I tested my theory out. I tested my bs religiously throughout a very stressful time at work, sugars were sky high. I tested my bs religiously throughout a easy peasy lemon squeezy time at home, sugars were normal. Stress is a huge factor in how my body reacts to living. Gawd, I’m getting stressed just writing about it.

While everyone should figure out a way to keep life calm, diabetics NEED to keep life calm. If we don’t, we could end up in a sticky situation. Sweetness pun intended. How do I stop letting life dictate my bs levels? Difficult thing to do. I just have to remember to not let things effect me emotionally. Otherwise, I’ll be up…and down…every day.

I only want to live in Candy Land and marry King Kandy if I’m there by choice….not by force. I bet King Kandy doesn't yell like Dex does.















*Peace.

Cyborg

‘Hello, my name is Kelly and I am a Cyborg.’ It’s true. I am a functioning combination of artificial and natural parts. I am Jamie Sommers, the Bionic Woman. I have the Six Million Dollar Man theme song as my ring tone. I should marry the Terminator or Inspector Gadget. I am better, stronger, faster…..hey, if the Bionic Man married the Bionic Woman, would they have Bionic Babies? Hmm..

Anyway. My first nodule is Chloe. I described her briefly in my ‘Blueberry Muffin Top’ blog. Chloe is a Cozmo Insulin Pump. She is green. She is my electronic pancreas that I happen to wear outside of my body. Unlike you, I have to communicate with my pancreas. I tell Chloe how many carbs I am eating and what my blood sugar is. Chloe then tells me how much insulin I need to inject to cover my meal. I then tell Chloe to deliver said amount and voila’. I can chow. Sometimes I miscalculate the carbs, sometimes I eat more or less than what I tell Chloe. It’s never perfect, but, so far, it’s the closest thing I have. I also haven’t woken up to a room full of paramedics, half naked and screaming like a banshee in over 6 months so that’s a good thing. Thanks, Chloe.

Chloe does annoy me though in that she is always stuck to my body. I have to insert a nodule, clip Chloe’s tubing to it, shove the tubing down my pants or in my pocket and either clip Chloe to my belt loop or stick her in my pocket, too. I do this every 3 days. Oh joy. Oh rapture. I have to unclip her for showering, sex, swimming…mostly ‘s’ things, I think. I can’t wear a dress because I don’t know where to put her. My stomach is beat up because it’s the easiest and less painful place for insertion. But, I take the good with the bad…. and deal…*sigh* …like always.

My second nodule is my CGM (Continuous Glucose Monitor). This piece is newer than Chloe. I couldn’t figure out a name so I enlisted the help of my friend, Bill. I was complaining at dinner saying how the CGM was whiney, needy, wanted to be constantly near and always yelled at me. We decided the CGM sounded like an old boyfriend whom I dubbed ‘He Who Shall Not Be Named’. Every time I ever said his name he appeared…yipes! So using that nickname was the safest way to talk about him. Now…my CGM is called ‘Thing That Shall Not Be Named’. Long name, but very fitting. Thanks, Bill.

Anyway, this nodule is stuck in every 7 days. I can move this one around because there isn’t a tube. Last week he was on my calf. This week he is on my upper arm. Thing checks my blood sugar approximately 350 times per day. Way better than stabbing my fingers 350 times per day. I may actually start to get the feeling back in my fingertips. Wooo! Thing keeps track of me and keeps me in check. He has an alarm that loudly and annoyingly notifies of highs and lows. Embarrassing when he yells in the library but what can I do? I am getting used to Thing and can always take a break from him if he gets too clingy. It’s a perfect relationship for me.

I wonder what I would look like if I clipped my Chloe, Thing, iPod, and Crackberry to my waist. I’d be like the newer, geekier version of a pocket protector.

So, like I said, I am a Cyborg. Obama overruled the Stem Cell ban today. Whew! My hope has been renewed. While I don’t think I will see a cure in my lifetime, I hope that my daughter and my grandchildren will never have to go through these things that make up my life. That is my biggest wish.

*Peace.