Diabetes Stole My Day

I would like today back.  I had things to do.  But, alas, it was not to be.

It wasn't so unusual.  After the kids were at school and the hubs was at work, I got the house cleaned up.  I had an unusually high morning sugar (229!) but wasn't too concerned about it because it hadn't been high for very long (thank you CGM), and I am not a stranger to the dawn phenom, although, like everything else, it cannot be counted on to show up every morning.  Just when it wants to.  I corrected, bolused, and ate the same breakfast with the same dosage I eat probably 80% of the time.

Hours later, after hilariously trying to fix pool stuff I do not understand in the least, I started to think about lunch. The dogs are asleep on me, which is very sweet, and the next best thing to a newborn on your chest.  I consider driving through somewhere on my way to my errands. I decided not to disturb the dogs just yet, after all, it was only 12:30, and I had eaten breakfast around 9:30.  I have gone much longer between meals, and it's not like it was a morning where I had worked out.

And then the CGM buzzed.  59.  OK.  I guess I better get up and deal with this.

And then it hit me.  One of the lows that has you crawling on the floor begging for any food that anyone will throw at you.  A low that has your CGM abandoning all pretense at numbers and just screaming the word LOW at you.  One of the lows where you know you're going to overtreat, but you don't care, because this is one of the scary ones.

I eat a couple of Starbursts.  I do not feel better. I am sweating like a crazy person (although frankly I don't know if crazy people sweat more).  I call my husband and ask him to stay on the phone with me until my sugars come up. I check the monitor.  41.

I crawl into my room. We have a stash of Halloween candy we bought off our children and I use it for this purpose.  I begin shoving Butterfingers and Twix.  I eat a Reese's.  I take off my nasty sweaty shirt and somewhere something registers that if the paramedics have to show up, I might want my shirt on, but at this point I do not care because the sweat is the worst part.

And slowly, slowly, I begin to feel better.  Things are looking up, literally.  The CGM still says "Low" but with an arrow slanting upward.  I let my husband go back to his lunch.  I get dressed.  I am upright again and walk to the kitchen and assemble my lunch, staring at the leftover Chinese food and wondering just how to bolus for this plus the candy assault I had just launched at my body. And ooh - there are some Saltines! Those look good.  Might as well eat those too. I must have done alright because my sugars never raised above 170.

(Until later when I continued to eat Saltines for no good reason except that the salt tasted good after all that sugar, and I conveniently didn't bolus for them, because really, one cracker at a time isn't that much.....THEN I began to soar).

And then you would think it was over, right?  A scary time, yes, but when all is said and done, it was really only a half an hour out of my day.  Still plenty of time to get everything done.

Except.  Except for the headache.  Except for the fatigue. The Hanglowver I believe it's called. And except for the emotional toll those suckers take on me. What if I had decided to get in the car to get lunch?  What then? Usually I'm in class on Friday mornings.  What if this had hit while I was there?  I know.  I would have been fine.  Embarrassed maybe, as I sweat and ate massive amounts of candy, but fine.  And so I chose to catch up on Tivo'd shows and instead of worry about the pool, just sit by it, and just try to remind myself that it's all good.  These aren't that common.

But what they are is hard to predict.  I had absolutely no reason to believe today would be a day that the low monster would grab me in his paws and not let go.  That today was a day where diabetes likes to channel the girl from the Labyrinth and try to convince me that  "You have no power over me."

Usually I'M Jennifer Connelly and diabetes is the creepy David Bowie dude.  But occasionally...

Just about sums it up...

Pretty much all I can hope for at this point is that all these people working on different cures spark an "arms race" of sorts to be the first to get this done.

(I still like Faustman.  She's the only one addressing the immuno issue.)

(I will take everything and anything offered, though.  Let me be clear on that.)

Everybody's Got a Cure....Links and Stuff

It seems I have been hearing a lot of the cure lately.  And so I will tell you what I've heard....

First of all, Dr. Faustman has raised over 14 million.  She has reversed Type 1 in mice, and she continues to put together her protocols for Phase 2 of her clinical study, and hopes to enroll patients sometime this year.  I will be headed out in September to give her blood.  Sweet.

Second of all, dogs seem to have gotten in on the cure action, and since they gave us insulin, it seems only fitting.

Third of all, this guy has a big announcement he can't wait to tell us about, and yet he can...

Fourth of all, cancer drugs fix everything. .

Fifth of all, a bionic pancreas is in the works.

Of all these cures, I really think that last one is the only thing that will lead to anything.  Why do I think that?  Because it's the only one that forces us to stay dependent on devices and injected insulin.  Seriously.  3 devices.  2 pumps and a CGM.  The cost and the maintenance will be a pain.  It will be so much better than what we have, but it will be expensive.

The rest of them will actually make our bodies do the work, and we can't have that, oh no, we can't have that.

So I sit, and wait, and inject, and test, and sigh.  I do hope a little.  Somewhat.

And I drink Diet Dr. Pepper.

Dex and Control Issues...

The best way I know to control your diabetes is to lose your Dexcom receiver for a couple of days.

You will be waiting around for that beep and buzz that you're high, or low, so you can FIND that sucker, but no...your sugars are at 100, or 83, or 130.

I did find it that way once.  I couldn't find it, and then my usual nighttime high hit, and bam!  There it was, beeping at me from THE RECYCLE BIN.  Why it felt the need to leap in there and recycle itself, I'll never know. It has issues. It probably feels very strongly about the environment, and was making a statement.

I also think it wants to travel and meet other people.  For the past 2 days, I have been frantically trying to find it.  I knew when I had it last, I had calibrated it in the car right before piano lessons.  But then I couldn't find it.  I pulled apart my house.  I pulled apart the car. I called the piano teacher.  She pulled apart her house.  Nada.

I waited for the high to hit.  I'm thirsty...that's a good sign...check sugars...nothing.  I fell asleep, (at a perfect 100! that never happens) and going 2 nights without it has taught me how incredibly dependent I am on this.  I waited for the morning dawn phenom to kick in.  114.  Excellent.  Grr..I hadn't even taken out the trash, leaving a full bag in my kitchen just in case it decided to have a conversation with the used napkins and moldy tomatoes.

This morning....the piano teacher's son called.  They had found it!  It was in their front yard!  A neighbor asked them about the black iPod in their yard, probably hoping he had just found a new gadget for himself. I guess Dex and my purse don't get along.  She kicked it out, apparently, or else it decided to make the leap again.  Unfortunately, leaping into a yard on the one day a year we happen to get snow in Southern Arizona isn't the wisest decision.

And so they just dropped off my Dex. It is still working, thank heaven.  The piano teacher's son had a charger that fit, (and if you know him at all that won't surprise you in the least) and has been charging it for the last hour.  As soon as it saw me, "172" popped up on the screen, further supporting my theory that sugars are better controlled when it's not around.  Not that I want it to leave again.

I guess going high or low wouldn't have helped anyway.  Plus I couldn't make myself do it on purpose. 

But seriously, it needs to stay with me.  The world is dark and wild.  Hopefully it learned that.  And maybe I might just start using that zipper on top of my purse.

(That same purse HAD recently kicked out my transmitter too after I removed it when it was too itchy...I'm thinking we need to have a talk.)

And the Winner Is

We have a winner!

The number is 391!!

Her name is Mindi P!

I couldn't be happier.  I know Mindi, she is a lovely lovely person.

In fact, I think everyone who gave is a lovely lovely person.  I know this is a terrible time to have a fundraiser.  I know so many people's paychecks went down with the new tax changes.  I know you are all working on your taxes and yet nobody's received their refund yet.  I know paying for the holidays is still stinging, and I know there are many New Year's Resolutions to stick to a budget and save more money.

So I just want to say thank you.  THANK YOU.  I got many people who said "Sorry it's not more."  Well, technically I could be sorry it's not more as well.  It would be great if everybody could throw thousands and thousands of dollars to cure my disease.  But I am not sorry.  I am just happy.  We raised right around $1200, and that, my friends, is $1200 Dr. Faustman didn't have before.

So THANK YOU once again, and CONGRATULATIONS, MINDI!

UPDATE ON THE FUNDRAISER/GIVEAWAY

It has come to my attention that when donating to Faustman labs, there is a place to enter an alternate email, and they say that a notification will be sent to that email.  I totally spaced that. mostly because every time I've donated, I've never felt the need to let somebody else know.

It came to my attention because somebody I know entered my email in that spot instead of forwarding me her receipt. Then when I did not respond, she wondered what her ticket numbers were.  I hadn't received a notification of her donation.  I am not sure when MGH sends those notifications, but it would appear that they are not automatically generated.  I'm guessing they do it once a month?  I am not sure.

So,  if you have donated, but have not received an email from me with numbers on it, please forward me the copy of your receipt so you can be entered to win the Ipad mini.

Here are the steps:

1. Go donate.  Every $3 gives you one "ticket" number.

2. Receive receipt. (This IS automatically generated.  You will get a lovely notice about how you are keeping medicine alive and whatnot).

3. Forward me the receipt.  (Your credit card number is NOT displayed.  I will not spam you.  I am a nice person.)

4. My email is heidithewiz at gmail dot com.

5. Receive email back from me with magic numbers on it.  (They're not really magic. No beanstalk will grow if you plant them.)  I am fairly good at emailing back in a good time frame.  It shouldn't take more than a few hours.

6. Keep receipt for your tax records.  Deduct amount next year.  You know, if you remember.

7. Come back to my blog on Monday to see if your numbers actually were magic and caused an ipad mini to appear in the mail.

This giveaway closes on SUNDAY, FEB. 3 at MIDNIGHT (Arizona time).  At that point, I will put all the numbers into random.org, and display the winning number, along with the winner's first name and last initial.  As in "Congratulations go to #0 HEIDI K." (Which I won't actually say, because that's me, and I'm not winning my own contest.  That would make me a NON nice person.)


SO BASICALLY, IF YOU HAVE DONATED BUT NOT RECEIVED ANYTHING BACK FROM ME, PLEASE EMAIL ME.


The end.

See original post here.

How exercise leads to death, OR the circle of life in action

Around 9:30 p.m. my husband decides it's a good time to workout.  Hey, you do what you have to do.

"Want to work out with me?"

"No.  I can't work out this late.  I'll go hypo all night."  (Diabetes as excuse.  Nicely played.)

He begins his insanity.  I continue to play games on my phone. (I'm really good at Scramble.  Want to play?  I will destroy you.)

"Can you find the remote for the ceiling fan when that round is done?"

(staring intently at my phone)  "Sure".

After my round is done, I totally forget, and like a good wife, leave the room to get some water.  My sugars were a little high, and I was thirsty.  Then I remember like an ACTUAL  good wife, and so I go back in to get the ceiling fan going for him.

The outside door was open.  (We live in Arizona.  It's acceptable to open doors in January.)

He's there doing his jumping jacks and all the other whatchadoos and stuff.

"A bird flew in.  It's either in the corner or Suzy is eating it." (he continues his squats and pushups)

"What?  There's a dead bird under here?"

"Not (puff) sure. Check the (puff) corner."


Suzy is one of our dogs.  I don't want to get too graphic about what was under the bed, but let's just say the score was easily Bird: 0.  Dog: 1.

Hello.  I'm cute and cuddly, and apparently I like to kill things.  

And still, he's working out.

I feel I have to make a statement.

"I AM NOT DEALING WITH A BIRD CARCASS UNDER THE BED."

And so he stops, and we remove the mattress, box spring, maneuver the bed, and proceed to clean everything up that was under the bed.

After, of course, luring the dogs outside. (She won't come out! Get a piece of meat!  She's EATING a piece of meat! Ew!)

Then I felt the need to dust behind the bed and under the mattress, because, seriously, we never clean that, and then voila!  Order was restored.

I feel slightly responsible.  After all, if I'd just found the remote sooner, the ceiling fan would have been on, and the door would have stayed closed. The remote did end up being on the floor right by where hubs was working out, but that's not really the point, now, is it?

Thanks for listening.  And don't forget, there's still time to win the ipad mini.  To quote my cousin Alison, if you win, you can name the mini Cooper.