Whenever I take a particularly large amount of insulin, it seems that normal bolus ratios don't apply. There are a couple(or more,depending on the dose) of units in there that I have to deduct or bam, after 2 hours I'm low.
Due to this "fudge factor", I'm a little leary about bolusing everything up front, preferring to dual wave it(and suspend basal for a period of time) on particularly challenging meals. Normally,I just bolus after I eat, and only after I'm 120+. Insulin works very quickly in me.
Ate a rather large stickybun on Thursday for breakfast,took only 6 units(instead of 8) and still
got low. I don't know if the sole alcoholic drink I'd consumed the night previously had anything to do with it, I hope not. How can anyone drink alcohol on a regular basis when it screws up the blood sugar so majorly? The rest of the day, I ran between 90-163(even with cutting my boluses in half) It's called dumb luck, and its why I rarely drink. I don't have that kind of luck on a regular basis-and I need a new medical ID.
Friday morning,July 13.
Scene: Coronodo Ballroom,H Section. Coronodo Springs Hotel, Orlando,Fl.
I load my plate high with scrambled eggs,bacon, sausage,hashbrowns,and fruit, grab two chocolate milks/cup of coffee and slide into a back table-intent on eating my breakfast/waking up before heading off to another thrilling(boring) session.
"May I sit here?"
The family at the table smiles in gracious assent, so I sit down and start working on my breakfast.
9 AM, they're finished, head off. I'm 1/2 way through with my own breakfast but I think I'll stay around for John Walsh's "Strike the Spike",I don't feel like hurrying.
"May we sit here?"
I say yes, because there's only one person at the table and I don't wish to be unsociable.But why they chose my table out of all the other (more) interesting ones I don't know. I'm as socially scintillating as a block of wood.
"Dad, can I have some chocolate milk?" the little girl asks her father.
"That's not really..."
"Pleaseee,Daddy? I want some."
"Ok, I'll get you some." He looks helpless, in the face of such unmeasurable cuteness. And after all, its healthier then poptarts.
Casting a ruthful glance at the 2nd of my chocolate milk bottles, I sigh. No saving it for later- they need it more then I do.
"Here, take mine."
"Thank you," he says, gratefully. And they commence to eating their own breakfasts.
"It's soo good," the little girl says.
"Yep, its good sugar," I say.
"Good sugar?" her dad winces.
Slap forehead, mentally. How do I get in these conversations- I must seem like a real brainwave.
Chocolate milk is not the healthiest of options.
The dad takes the little girl off to childcare.
I strike up a conversation with the lady on my
"So, do you have a child with diabetes?"
"No, my husband has diabetes."
Yeah, that's right. She'd mentioned that, when she sat down next to me.
"I've got diabetes. No kids."
We have a very good conversation, and at the end of it, I've learned something. Just because one is the the Surgeon General doesn't mean diabetes is a piece of cake. In some respects, it must be more difficult when you're famous(you can't get support in the usual methods).
And its a good thing we were sitting in the back of the room, because by the end of the John Walsh presentation my sides hurt from laughing so hard(and it was time to check damage control from the breakfast)
"Great meeting you."
"Same here." I smile, and though I'm still tongue tied the instant her husband came up I hope I'm not too bad.
200 mg/dl. Not too bad. I go to the Exhibit Hall, browse around.
11 AM- My stomach is rolling and I go back to the room for a nap, prelunch.
1:30 PM- Get up, go back to buffet for lunch. Look at lunch + decide the only thing I want is sugar free punch. Go to
joint Nicole Johnson/Fran Kaufmann "D and Pregnancy" discussion group.
"Now, I'm not going to ask if anyone here is pregnant;
(my stomach lurches) but I just want to say that its entirely possible to have a healthy baby with diabetes..." Nicole J.Baker is giving the opening remarks.
Darn it, I'm not going to make it. Need to get back to the hotel room before I hurl. At least I got to see Nicole.
10 minutes later, I stumble back out + back to the hotel room I go. Become a recluse for the rest of the day, while the disagreeable food made its way out of my system.(I think it was the sausage) Dissapointing, because I'd planned to attend the Young Adults dinner(with Will Cross) that evening but that didn't happen. Ah well,such is life.