I’m sitting here, typing this, with a blood sugar level of 18.8. My FreeStyle Libre graph for the past 8 hours looks absolutely dreadful. I had to override the maximum insulin delivery limits on my pump so that I could give higher insulin boluses, and run higher basal rates to bring my blood sugar levels down.
I feel like crap. I feel ridden with guilt. I feel sick and tired of all the discipline that diabetes involves. I feel like I really don’t give a shit about diabetes today.
Rewind back to yesterday morning, when I woke up to a 9.1. Nothing too terrible, but far enough out of range to make my breakfast bolus less sensitive. Which, despite an added bolus for 10 grams worth of insulin with breakfast, still led to a reading of 15.0 afterwards. Which led to an I-don’t-give-a-shit slice of black forrest cake with lunch. Which led to an I-couldn’t-give-a-flying-f*** about being diligent attitude for the remainder of the day.
Diabetes demands so much discipline. Checking my blood sugar. Counting my carbs. Weighing my portions. Delivering my insulin. Pre bolusing that insulin 30 minutes prior for a optimal post-prandial result. Setting the alarm to check my blood sugar at 2am to ensure that I won’t wake up high the next morning. Foregoing so much temptation, for the sake of better blood sugar levels.
Diabetes already demands so much of me, and yet it never seems to be enough. It never seems to be enough, and that’s where the cracks begin to show.
Yesterday afternoon, I was curled up in front of the couch with a coffee and an almost-finished (not by me) packet of melting moments biscuits. I had eaten one, and was sitting there staring at the last one in the packet for what must have been 10 or 15 minutes. Should I eat it? Or I should put the packet away?
I eventually ate the second one, and of course watched my blood sugar rise in the aftermath. As I gave corrections that couldn’t quite catch up to my rising blood sugar, I began to murmur to myself “you’ve got problem, mate.” “You need help.”
The funny thing being that if I didn’t have diabetes, this would hardly have been a problem. I would have eaten the second biscuit and enjoyed the hell out of it, instead of feeling guilty. I might have bragged to the next person I saw about eating those two whole biscuits, instead of feeling ashamed. I might have complained about feeling ready for bed after satisfying my stomach, instead of cursing my rising blood sugar levels.
If I didn’t have diabetes, this would hardly have been a problem.
If I didn’t have diabetes, I wouldn’t be talking to myself like I were a basket case because I ate two damn biscuits.