A Diabetic without a Kitchen . . . .

As I sit here typing this, I’m waiting for a floor guy to come measure our kitchen.  This seems to be a normal occurrence these days, as I believe this will be the third set of measurements taken . . . at least.  But thats okay, because in the next month or two we will be deep in the throws of a complete kitchen remodel.  If you’ve ever seen my kitchen, you’ll understand just how excited I am.  I have the ugliest kitchen in the world.  You probably think I’m exaggerating, but I’m not.

Of course, along with being excited, I’m also stressed out and neurotically nervous about the renovation - because I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t completely stressed out and expecting the worst.  When you live in a house built in 1921 there are a lot of things that can go wrong with any house project.  And then, of course, there is diabetes.  Because diabetes adds an extra layer of stress to just about anything, right?

Here’s the thing.  In the next month or so my kitchen will be gutted.  For approximately five weeks I’ll have no stove or sink, and the contents of my cabinets will be in boxes.  Hopefully we can stick the refrigerator in the dining room to hold some food . . . . and cream for coffee made in a borrowed Keurig.  As long as I have coffee and some fruits and vegetables I’m good for breakfast and lunch.  But dinner is what I’m worried about.  Dinners for five weeks with no kitchen.  Dinners at restaurants for five weeks.  I don’t see how my blood sugars (or my pants size) are going to handle that.  Help!!!

Have you ever gone through a similar renovation?  How did you manage to eat healthy when you had no kitchen?  I could sure use any tips!

Pretty Purple . . . .

I’ve been really loving purple lately.  My pump is purple, my iPad cover is purple, and many of my newest pieces of clothing are purple.  I’m even sporting a big purple bruise where my last CGM sensor was.


I wasn’t surprised that the sensor left a bruise, because upon insertion it bled.  It bled a lot.  But it finally stopped and I hooked up the transmitter, and for the entire life of the sensor my readings were SPOT ON.  The accuracy of that sensor made me smile, much like the smiley face I see where the sensor used to be.  (You see it too, right?)

Purple bruises may not be all that pretty.  But if they give my CGM super accuracy?  They are pretty darn gorgeous in my eyes!

When the Scary Crashes In . . . .

Living with diabetes is a delicate balance for me.  I need to be mindful of the horrible things this disease can bring.  But I can’t let myself dwell on them too much because I have to LIVE my life.  Sometimes, though, the scary just crashes in.


Sunday night, for the first time in my life, I needed Glucagon.  I actually don’t remember that part at all and was completely shocked when Pete said “You remember I gave you Glucagon, right?”.  I vaguely remember some juice I wouldn’t drink, and that’s about it.  Pete was pretty intimidated by the LONG list of instructions and HUGE needle - when he stuck it in my leg he expected me to jump up screaming like they do on T.V.  Apparently all I did was tell him to “Stop pinching me” - but then again, the needle was in my thigh, not in my heart like on T.V.

I spent all day yesterday feeling like I’d been run over by a truck.  (I was unprepared for how awful I’d feel, either from the Glucagon or the low itself or the combination of the two.)  But anyway, I’m okay.  Well, I’m physically okay.  Mentally?  I’m still kind of freaked out.  I don’t quite know what to write, what to think, what to say.  I’m not quite ready yet to dive in to any more details of the night.  For now, I just need to put it behind me and keep going . . . . .

Over-Treater: An Exposé

Created using this cool meme maker I found.

There are many facets of my diabetes routine that could use some improving, but treating lows had never been one of them.  I pretty much had the “low-treat-move on” routine down.  But lately, something has changed.  I’m in a cycle of “low-treat-treat-treat some more-high-correct-correct-correct some more-low again-repeat-repeat-repeat”.  What’s up with that?  It’s time for some in-depth analysis, yes?

After some keen observation and deep-down soul searching, I’ve uncovered two causes of my newly developed over-treating addiction.  Discomfort and fear.  In the past I didn’t mind lows so much.  Sure I felt a bit fuzzy and shaky, but it was fine.  Lately, however, my lows seem to be accompanied by an indescribable feeling that is, for lack of an actual description, downright majorly sucky.  I treat and try to wait it out, but every five minutes feels like five miserable hours.  So instead of re-testing after 15 minutes, I find myself eating a little bit more every five minutes just to make that “OMG make it stop” feeling go away.

You would think uncomfortable and scary would go hand in hand, but for me and my lows that isn’t the case.  Or maybe the fear just over-rides the discomfort . . . . I don’t know . . . . it’s not like I’m thinking all the clearly in that situation.  All I know is lately some lows have been popping up where I feel like my rational thought and state of consciousness are slipping away.  It’s usually when I’m home alone and it always scares the daylights out of me.  It sends me to the kitchen determined to eat anything and everything I can get my hands on.

I bet you can guess where both of these paths lead once the low is gone.  I’m left with a high blood sugar from hell.  I hate to be high.  I really really hate to be high.  So I correct.  And when it doesn’t budge, I start to rage bolus.  And we all know where that leads . . . . .

I guess it’s time to check myself in to Over-Treater Rehab.  I’ve figured out what makes me over-treat and I know what I have to do to stop it.  But come on, when I’m sweaty and shaky and my brain isn’t working right and I feel completely horrible and I’m really scared, calmly eating the correct number of grams feels like the most difficult thing in the world.  I know I should believe I can absolutely do it, but I’m pretty sure I can’t.  And that is a huge part of what makes diabetes so freaking frustrating for me.