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Best Diabetes Joke Ever.

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Your Love is Weird and Toxic - Community 3.03

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Dayabetes

I tried to figure out what to write for diabetes day. I thought, "oh I should do a Thanksgiving thing, and write all the things we diabetics should be thankful for," but that was just tiresome. Then I was like, "what if I combine No Shave November with diabetes awareness," but I was stumped on how to do so, and also, I don't have facial hair (but don't we all want to see Wilford Brimley sporting a blue mustache?).

Then it hit me at 5 am. Well, it woke me up. It was my pump just freaking out. My first thought was, "why isn't my husband waking up from this, seriously, it's so absurdly loud."

I looked at my pump and it said my blood sugar 275 and rising. I checked to make sure my pump was still attached to my body--it was. 24 hours ago I was somewhere between 90 and 110, so my overnight insulin rate is correct. I checked and I bolused for dinner. I did math, which sucks to do at 5 am by the way, but by all accounts, I should be not high. 

That's diabetes for you. You think you have got it then BAM something totally unexplained happens. 

I also saw I left my meter downstairs, so I pulled myself out of bed, checked my blood sugar and saw it was 225, not 275, but still high enough to need extra insulin. At this point I also woke up my incredibly needy and loud cat, who demanded an early breakfast. 

By the way, I wonder what the psychological impact of stabbing yourself in the finger every single morning has upon a person. Normal people are probably like, oh first thing I do is drink coffee, or check my phone, or turn on the tv, but in the first waking moments of my morning daze I'm like, "must....stab...finger...for...blood...." 

6am, my pump shows I'm lower but still high, but I have more insulin in my system that has not gone to work (OR DO I??? SPOILER ALERT: I DON'T [OR I KIND OF DO MAYBE BUT NO???]). I haven't fallen back asleep because Mr. Loud Cat has discovered that the door to my bedroom is closed, as it is every night, and he decides to yowl before it, perhaps in the attempt to get me to feed him more. Husband is somehow still asleep.

And THAT is when I realize that the site where my pump attaches to my body hurts. AHA! The pain gives me new hope! My site is bad! I'm pretty excited even though it feels like a bee is stinging the side of my body. I'm not going crazy, there is a reason my blood sugar is high. 

Then, somehow, and I have no idea how, I fall back asleep, despite cat noises and bee sting pain, without changing my site. So I wake up 3 hours later (sleeping in way more than I normally do) and my blood sugar is 200. Okay, not horribly high, but it's site change time. 

I rip out the old site and blood comes out. No one should be happy when they are unexpectedly bleeding, but this confirms my earlier theories about why my blood sugar was high. So I changed my site, gave myself more insulin, and await breakfast. 

So this is how diabetes ushered in Diabetic Awareness Day for me. But the thing is, this is kind of normal for diabetics, this total chaos and not knowing. There was no immediate medical emergency, I barely even felt the symptoms of high blood sugar, because I was working hard to make sure there wouldn't be anything more serious, but that's everyday. Every day is trying to stay out of the hospital.  Every day diabetics work 24/7 against their body--not just around eating time--every damn hour of every damn day. There is no day off, diabetes gives you no breaks, and there is not always a simple explanation or fix. 

But there is hope. And there is a community of people who get it. 

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Liabetes and Stomach-Dwelling Pac-Man

Liabetes (noun): The name for the state a diabetic is put in when he or she lies for or because of diabetes. 

The other day I had a doctor's appointment, during which my blood sugar dropped horribly low. After consuming four juice boxes, my endocrinologist advised me to buy some sort of granola bar before driving. I was of course totally for this idea, mainly because I needed to satisfy the Pac-Man that manifests in my stomach when my blood sugar drops.

Yes, a Pac-Man with a voracious appetite magically appears in my stomach needing to consume massive amounts of food stuffs when my blood sugar goes low. What of it?

So, having left the doctor's office, I go to the gift shop of the hospital and upon seeing that all of the granola bars contained peanuts, which planned a revolt against my body back in '09, I went to the candy--and oh man, do hospitals have candy. So. Much Candy. The Pac-Man in my stomach was all "NOMNOMNOM FEED ME I WANT FOOD." 

Anyways, the volunteer working the cash register was this adorable elderly gentleman blasting some sweet Glenn Miller tunes from his hospital-issued boom box who, bless his heart, was taking forever. When it finally got to me I had basically raided the candy station and dropped down like four candy bars and a juice, because, Pac-Man.

The volunteer then asked me if "they" had sent me. Deciding "they" was not my endocrinologist and Stomach-Pac-Man, I quickly said no and reached for my cash. "Wow, so you came here on your own??" squeaked the man in delight. 

"Yeah...?" I said, utterly confused. 

"Well good for your, they're going to love it." 

"Who the what?" wondered I, as I snatched up the candy bars. "I mean I'm going to love eating these delicious candy bars but....OOOH"

Yeah, he thought I was buying treats for the patients of the hospital. And I, having paid and really greedily looking forward to this candy just said "Yup" and hopped my way out of the hospital and into my car where I gobbled down one candy bar and then gave myself a gajillion units of insulin so that I could snack on the others on the way home, like some sort of gluttonous, Pac-Man infested, dishonest gremlin with low blood sugar. And it felt. So. Good. 

Of course now, I have a karma-hit out on me and should probably give soda to orphans or something. 

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Need-le Fright

     So, generally, I suppose, people begin with a first post explaining their purposes for writing, who they are, why you should care, et cetera, et cetera. Well, you probably won't really care--unless you actually know me (hi mom)--or you have type 1 diabetes, since that is what this blog is going to be about. Ultimately, I am writing this for me. I love to write. I love to make people laugh. What I don't love is dealing with T1D.  You can take my pancreas, you can take my ability to eat food whenever I want, but you cannot take my words, diabetes...unless, of course, my blood sugar is low, then my words probably sound more like this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RoVNBfPEQu8

(If you bothered to click on the video, I was referring to the animated ipad feline, not the baby)

But let's cut to the chase, shall we? I have had diabetes since I was about the size of the baby in that video. I don't remember what not being diabetic was like. I don't know what not having to deal with needles and stabbing implements and blood and glucose tablets is like. I say this in order to give you the necessary background to help you appreciate what I am about to say next.

I think I am afraid of needles. 

WHEW! What a relief it is to get that out into the ether. I mean, it's ridiculous. It's like a primate who eats bugs being afraid of bugs, or, I don't know, any species on earth that breathes air being afraid of...air. I need these infuriating, blood letting/insulin inserting stabbing nuisances to live.

And usually, they are no more than a nuisance, and sort of a joke. I mean, seriously, the finger prick device is called a lancet, you know, like a tiny lance. Basically, it's like I'm partaking in miniature medieval jousting tournament on my finger every time I test my blood sugar, hoping that m'lady Meter will bestow upon me the favor of a blood sugar result lower than 120 (really, though under 150...after pizza, under 180...after my asleep self decided to pull my insulin pump site out, under 300). 

And then, miraculously about a year ago, I got my continuous glucose monitor device after, you know, trying to get one for YEARS. I mean sure, I would still have to test my blood sugar and use a pump, but hey, now I could tell when my blood sugar levels were falling or rising.

And at the time I was like, "Huzzah! I have won the battle against my insurance company!" Trumpeters appeared atop city walls to resound the victory, there was confetti in the streets, and a most beautiful rainbow came down from the heavens--you know, typical things that happen when you wear your insurance company down and they pay for something that they were trying not to cover.  

But then came the thing I was NOT expecting, the peripeteia in my saga of getting this device...and it was a harpoon. 

No, for reals. Harpoon is not a metaphor for my unexpected turn of events. I had to inject a needle the size of a whaling harpoon inside my skin.

(Okay, metaphor no, hyperbole, yes...I get dramatic when I'm scared). 

So, yeah I can TOTALLY inject this harpoon into my body. You know, in the same way I CAN go skydiving and I CAN try the bathtub gin my former landlord Jeb always talked about, and in the same way I CANNOT fly a pegasus to the forested Star Wars moon of Endor and live with Ewoks--because sadly the latter does not actually exist (or does it?) and the former things are real, possible scenarios that exist in the world and can physically happen.

But just because I can shoot myself with a harpoon, or jump out of an airplane, or drink what is likely toxic moonshine, doesn't mean that I want to do any of these things. But, even though my initial reaction to sticking this "needle" into my body is similar to my reaction whenever a spider crawls towards me in my apartment, I know that I need to fight my initial urge to get as far away from it as possible and yell "get it! get it!" Because it will help my body, even though it is terrifying. My brain knows this. I just need to get my initial response to get in line. 

But retraining and questioning your body is something diabetics do a lot. We can't trust thirst or hunger. We can drink juice at incredible speeds when our blood sugars are low, even when we don't feel like consuming anything. We get out of bed in the middle of the night when a low comes on, even though the symptoms make exponentially harder to move our limbs.

So, I guess somehow I will need to retrain my gut reaction, get over this sudden fear of needles. This phobia is a luxury I cannot afford. And who knows, maybe that will also rid me of my fear of spiders.

Psh, what am I saying? I am going to fear spiders so long as am afforded that luxury.