Hyperglycemia

One Messy Night.

1 Comment

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.

Diabetes at 3.14am

2 Comments

I stirred in my sleep, registering the blaring red 3.14 on the clock radio beside my bed. Pulling my left arm out from under the covers, I fumbled around for the switch at the base of my bedside lamp. When my desk was finally illuminated in cosy warm white light, I heaved the remainder of my body up from the bed, reaching for my meter and test strips.

This certainly wasn’t the number that I was expecting to see, considering the full 2 unit correction that I had given prior to bedtime for a 10.7. (And in case you’re wondering, I’m only using the OneTouch Verio to deplete my final box of strips…)

I immediately ripped my pump away from it’s resting place inside my inner left pocket, and gave another full correction of 3.3 units for that very uncomfortable number. My frustration was only further fuelling my actions, as I set a 50% basal rate increase for the next two hours on my pump to ensure that this correction insulin did its job.

As I flicked off the lamp and rested my body back onto my bed, I couldn’t get back to sleep. I could feel the heat emulating from my pillow, and flipped it over to the cool side. My whole body felt stuffy, presumably a consequence of the higher blood sugar.

As I lay there, tossing and turning, my mind was quickly consumed with guilt.

I wasn’t happy that it had taken me this long into the night to finally stir in my sleep and check my damn blood sugar. I felt terrible for the fact that I had been sitting there, at that very uncomfortable level, for the better part of five hours. I felt frustration, because a mere two weeks ago I was super insulin sensitive and today I feel like I’m not getting enough.

Second guessing my prior decision in the darkness, I reached for my pump and lowered that 50% temporary basal rate to 30% before clipping it back inside my pants pocket.

Trying to purge those thoughts from my mind, I began thinking about all of the positive things that I am doing in managing my diabetes, reminding myself that numbers like those are isolated occurences nowadays.

If this had happened in the middle of the day, I’d have corrected the high without giving it a second thought. But laying there in the middle of the night with nothing else on my mind to worry about, was a completely different story.

By the time I woke up on a grey Sunday morning, last night’s occurrences felt like nothing more than a dream.