I spent a fair chunk of last night ploughing through some uni work. I finished up at around 9pm, brushed my teeth, put on my pyjamas and sat down to catch up on the last episode of Australian Survivor. My eyes kept wandering to the clock on the DVD player, which was edging closer to 9.30pm, while my brain kept reminding me of my early start in the morning and my desire to maintain this post holiday feeling of zen. At around the 10 minute mark, sleep won out over Survivor as I switched off and headed to bed.
I feel as though I’ve been chasing my tail for days when it comes to my blood sugar levels. Nothing awfully high, but still a feeling of not quite being able to curb those highs as effectively as usual. I had woken up at around 9.7 yesterday, and was unable to catch my tail for the majority of the day.
As I climbed into bed last night, I noticed that my Libre trend was slowly but surely creeping up again. Just to settle my paranoia, I pricked my finger, which registered at 10.4. I gave a 2 unit correction. Not feeling confident that this would be enough to bring me down, I also set a temporary basal rate of 120%. I so badly didn’t want a repeat of that morning.
I lay there in bed, but couldn’t will myself to go to sleep while my mind wandered indecisively over what I should do. It was in that moment, at about a quarter to ten on a Wednesday night, that I registered that my levels hadn’t been co-operating quite right since I returned home from Sydney on Friday.
It’s not the first time that I’ve thrown away travel insulin, convinced that it’s somehow spoiled in-between flights and hotel rooms and days out in the sun. But I always just thought it was pure paranoia.
I always carry my insulin with me when I fly. It normally sits in my satchel, which sits on the ground underneath the seat in front me during the five hour flight across the country. I had already replaced my cartridge a day earlier with a fresh one from my travel stash, with no noticeable difference.
So, I heaved myself out of bed, pulled a fresh cartridge of insulin out of the bar fridge, and begrudgingly replaced the cartridge on my pump, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to sleep while my mind was plagued with diabetes paranoia.
Today hasn’t been perfect, but my insulin is definitely working a lot better and those Libre lines aren’t slowly creeping upwards out of habit.
Diabetes. The sixth sense that I didn’t know I had.