Author Archives: Scott E
When I was first diagnosed with diabetes, I took one insulin injection a day: a little bit of Regular and a little bit of NPH mixed in a syringe before breakfast. That quickly shifted to twice a day: before breakfast and before dinner.
I had a glucose test kit that stayed in the school nurse’s office. In 1981 (1st grade, diagnosis), it was a urine test, in 1991 (11th-12th grade) it was a blood test. But it was there, not with me.
The only thing I carried around with me everywhere I went was a little box of Sun-Maid raisins, in case I felt low. Or maybe a roll of Life Savers, which always ended up permanently stuck to the paper wrapping (and each other) ensuring I had plenty of fiber with my low BG treatment.
At some point I switched to blood tests, first by holding the strip up to a color chart, and later by using a big, clunky meter. I took it with me on family outings, but I don’t remember ever taking it to school. All I took was the box of stale raisins to treat lows; or maybe a roll of Life-Savers, inseparably stuck to the foil wrapping and each other.
I don’t ever remember carrying a meter with me in school. In 9th grade, I had a late lunch period and consistently went low during my biology lab period before. But I fought through it like a
champ chump, traveling light.
I can’t remember if I carried a meter with me to class in college. Twelve years later after diagnosis, I was still on just two injections a day, each was a mix of Regular and NPH, taken before breakfast and dinner, with the Regular dose on a sliding scale that increased with my blood sugar. The scale matched the intervals on the old Chemstrip color chart: 180-240, add 1 unit. 240-300, add 2 units. 300-400, add 3 units, and so on.
The song “Blue” by Eiffel 65 is a close runner-up, but was redeemed by its potential to be used as a Blue Friday soundtrack.
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Diet Coke is a hundred times better than Diet Pepsi. But I’d choose either of those before drinking a Coke Zero.
I can tolerate Diet Pepsi from a can, but from a fountain, I find it repulsive.
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Dogs are awesome. I’m not particularly fond of cats.
My opinion was not at all influenced by this hysterical audition on AGT.
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I’d rather take an hour-long circuitous drive through Westchester and Rockland County than sit in traffic for twenty minutes on the Cross Bronx.
Even better, avoid driving in New York altogether.
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The DOC’s dying to know.
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There’s no reason to keep a straight face in a Drivers License photo. A smile will never go out of style.
But a mullet will.
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I’d prefer for you to leave a comment and tell me where my preferences may have gone astray.
But a simple Check! will suffice.
The last time I took insulin in my leg was in June of 2006. It was with my very last Novolog FlexPen.
I’m hoping this experiment turns out well, because real-estate on my body is about as valuable – if not more – than land in Manhattan. And this could open up more options for my CGM sensor, which seems to have a low tolerance for scar tissue.
That, and I can hide it beneath swim trunks. Summers are always hard for me when it comes to site selection.
Suddenly, my diabetes – as I know it – has changed. I learned this when I saw what you see in this picture.
I am thankful that the CGM alerted me to several PREDICTED LOWs before the actual LOW (my low threshold is set to 80 mg/dl), and after those repeated nags (despite a manually suspended basal), that I finally pulled out the meter.
I learned that my blood sugar was not 79, but it was 48…
…and I feel fine.
And that scared the crap out of me.
I wasn’t too scared of the 48, but was scared that I didn’t feel a freakin’ thing. Previously, I’ve dipped into the 70s and even the 60s while being unaware of my hypoglycemia, but never the 40s.
I felt perfectly fine. As if I could have gotten behind the wheel and driven to the grocery store (thankfully I didn’t), or stopped what I was doing to change my son’s wet diaper (I did). I didn’t hesitate to snap the photo in real-time (notice its not going back in the meter history) just before popping five glucose tabs. Nothing could slow me down. Nothing but my own self-restraint, that is.
I felt absolutely NOTHING. Physically.
Mentally, I felt bad about not feeling bad. And that feeling is terrifying.
And I fear it could happen again.
This new guideline first crossed my eyes in the form of a **BREAKING NEWS** post on Facebook.
It was posted by the very organization that made the news. (Does anyone else find that just a little bit self-serving and disingenuous?)
But after getting over my disgust over the misrepresentation of (what should have been) a press-release as a groundbreaking, developing situation, my thoughts shifted from the presentation to the message.
And my reaction to the lowering of an A1C target to 7.5% (from something that, I could only guess was something more than that) was a hearty, passionate…