One Messy Night.

I was ready to go to bed.

As I watched my blood sugar slowly climb into the 10s, I gave a unit of insulin to correct. Thinking about the after effects of stacking my dinnertime insulin on top of a late afternoon coffee and one of Nonna’s biscotti, I set a temporary basal rate of 150% for 2 hours to help that insulin better do its job.

I set the alarm on my iPhone for 1am and switched off the lamp on my bedside. With a nagging feeling of doubt as I turned on my side, I fumbled for my pump in the dark and gave another unit.

DURN! DURN! DURN! DURN! 

I hastily fumbled for my phone to silence the shrieking alarm, before switching on my bedside lamp again. As I swiped my Libre reader, I was half expecting see blood sugars heading into low territory.

Instead, I was actually a pleasant 13.8.

I was in disbelief. However, I thought it could be plausible after having pasta for dinner. I reached for my insulin pump, and gave a rage bolus of 3 units.

ZZZZ! ZZZZ! ZZZZ! ZZZZ!

My rage clearly wasn’t enough to fuel the delivery of this bolus, which was stopped in its tracks by a very irritating occlusion alarm that was hissing and vibrating at me for attention.

I ripped the cap off my infusion site, which revealed a perfectly clear looking site. A poke and prod around the area showed no signs of any discomfort. I primed several units of insulin out of my pump line, watching it spill over the cannula and pool around the cap to satisfy my paranoia. I held my pump line up in the air and ran it through my fingers, watching it like a hawk for signs of air bubbles.

With my paranoia satisfied, I reattached the cap to my infusion site and delivered the remainder of the bolus that my pump had cut off. I set another temporary basal rate of 150% for the next two hours, setting my alarm for 3am.

When I stirred at 2.17am, feeling rather uncomfortable, my Libre reader revealed a reading of 17.7 and rising. I hastily grabbed my pump and went to deliver another rage bolus of 5 units.

ZZZZ! ZZZZ! ZZZZ! ZZZZ!

That hissing, vibrating occlusion alarm sounded once again, stopping my rage bolus in it’s tracks.

By this point, I was furious as I flung my bed covers away from me and was forced out of bed.

Finally, I ripped the infusion site away from my stomach. There was no kink in the cannula. There were no signs of blood, bruising or bleeding on my stomach where I’d placed the site. Everything looked fine, and I was convinced I had just wasted a perfectly good site.

After inserting a fresh infusion site, setting a temporary basal rate and delivering my third rage bolus of the night, I was finally able to close my eyes.

I wasn’t surprised to learn that I’d slept over my 6.25am alarm. I gulped down my coffee, showered, and hastily threw two pieces of frozen Pane Di Casa into my bag to toast at work.

I soldiered on, reminded of just how much responsibility rests on my shoulders every day.