Justa grumble.

At work.

Just ran out of test strips.

Am worst diabetic ever.

Two hours to go.

Readings today: 70, 260 (DAMN YOU BLUEBERRY MUFFIN!!! DAMN YOUUUUU!), 190, haha dumbass, you're all out of test strips.

Lessons learned: Seriously Kendra, you can't eat muffins. Or scones. Or danishes. Any breakfast pastry you see is cackling in sweet, merciless glee at your attempts to bolus for its sinful carb count. Just back away from the doughnut lady, and no one gets hurt.

I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungrrrrreeeee

eeeeeeeeee!

I am subsisting on one damn piece of ricotta cheese pie (YES leftovers from the party WHEN will they all be digested, NO ONE knows). The ricotta cheese pie that earlier graced me with the 272.

Since then:

242 (11:30am)
210 (1:06pm)

So, pump appears to be working. Feeeebly working. But no lunch for me. Nope! Refuse! I should probably stop being squirrely and just break out the syringe but ah...nope, refuse again. My boss thinks I took a lunch break; in reality I took a blog break, and a cup-o-water break. And my stomach is grumbling.

Hey, did I remember to mention The Smashing Pumpkins? Like, I totally saw them at the 9:30 club on 7/10/07 and they like totally rocked. I shook Billy Corgan's hand, and as I was shaking it I realized I had offered him my BAND-AID HAND. The day before, I had given myself a lovely paper cut with the side of a plastic binder (mmmmm..so really, a plasti-cut). It gapped open deep enough that I swore I could see the Mines of Moria, so I band-aided the sucker. Unfortunately, the humidity in the city (whoa rhyme) caused the band-aid to get a little flaky before the band arrived. So, Billy Corgan shook my grody peeling-offy band-aid hand. Sorry, Crog, it's only a paper cut I swear.

This was seconds after I contaminated him:


Yes, I am somewhere in that photo...and no, I am not the bald guy. If I was the bald guy, I would say eff this crap and just buy a new pancreas for myself on a periodic basis.

And I would also cry a lot and beg James Iha to come baaaack, pleeease come baaaack to meeee....because damn it musta been fun to look at that guy all day long.

By la way, someone requested wedding pics. Here's a link to a few. Don't make fun of my armpit fat, I slouch and I know it.

What in the f*#@ing f!%k?

272?!

Buzzy head - check.
Yawning approx. every 2 seconds? - check.
Site change last night before I went to bed, coupled with a 184 fasting? - check.
FORGOT TO PACK PUMP SUPPLIES IN MY PURSE TODAY? - check.

If this doesn't turn around by 1pm or so, looks like I'll be riding the syringe train...

Grumbledy grumbledy groo!

This is a first . . . persistantly high blood sugars for the past two days for no discernable reason, despite frequent testing and way more insulin than usual. Doesn't matter what I eat, I'm 200-something. Doesn't matter how much I rage bolus, I'll be 200-something in a few hours.

The following variables have been eliminated:

• bad site (I changed my site this morning and am still experiencing The Wonky BS)
• stress (work is pretty slow, husband and I are fine, marriage party planning is okay)
• bad insulin (it works...eventually! I actually got down to 65 yesterday after a few rage boluses. AND despite The Wonk, I have woken up both days with 100 and 109 fastings. I attribute this to a temporary basal rate set for 24 hours at 126%!)
• pregnancy (tested today; "Not Pregnant." Phew!)

The following variables could be the causes of The Wonk:

• sickness (maybe I'm still getting over last week)
• period (I'm a couple of days late at this point, but my cycle has been kind of stupid for the past few months anyway. And I've NEVER had persistant highs like this from premenstrual hormones. Sure, I've had *some* resistance, but this is ridiculous.)

So I guess I'll just soldier on with my basal rate at a temporary 126% and keep rage bolusing until the status quo returns...at this point whatever my Bolus Wizard says, I automatically add 1 or 1.5 units and I'm STILL not in range all of the time. I don't know whether I am more mystified or pissed off. Insulin usually works for me. Maybe I need magic fairy dust?

Hunh.

I just linked to this blog from my facebook account. I don't know if that was stupid or what, but I'm not worrying too much. (I have quite a few "work" friends that may or may not stumble onto this blog. FIRED CUZ OF MAH BLOG. What can I say, I have been nothing but honest. And let me reiterate that I think this job / company is a great place to build a career . . . for someone else. Oh, and I've been writing my blog entries on my lunch break :D No worries!) Okay enough spinelessness.

This weekend was interesting. I woke up on Saturday morning at 11:45. Barely the morning. I felt like SHITE. Awful. Awful. Horrible. But Kendra, you say, you got over ten hours of rest! Isn't that wonderful?

Not when your fasting blood sugar is 177, I say. Keeping in mind that that's probably the lowest it's been in hours since it was nearly noon by the time I got around to testing and I hadn't eaten since 7pm the night before. Mind and body felt like gum. Gummy gum. Husband, chipperly asking if I was well-rested after such a long sleep.

I rather brittlely replied: "Next time I sleep so long, could you help me out and test my blood sugar to make sure I'm not too high? Maybe even give me a correction bolus? If I'm out of range I'm going to oversleep. Sometimes I'm not really that tired, but my body is out of whack." (Lows wake me up, but highs make me sleep the oversweetened sleep of sludgy blood.)

"Uhh, sure, I guess . . . I mean I've seen you test lots of times but I don't think I've ever done it . . . "

Huh, I guess he's right! I've tested his sugar at least three times in our relationship. Once, he was drinking a grape soda and was a cool 120-something. The next time he was something too perfect..a pre-dinner 88. The next time he had just come in from a several-mile summer bike ride into the city, and was an exhausted 68 (! Of course I would've been -868 at that point.) He sees me test anywhere from 2 to 10 times a day. But he's correct, he has never wielded the lancet himself.

I sense a time to be smug, ho-ho! And in my hyperglycemic state I couldn't resist the urge to be snarky. I "let" him test my blood sugar allllll day...AND the whole of the next day, until he was whining to be released from duty! "But honey, I do this ALL THE TIME, what's the big deal!" I couldn't resist, I couldn't. I know, I know. He did have the gall to reply "I'm not diabetic, though." (Implied: It shouldn't be my problem, toots. Oh-ho.) I did take my small delights here and there, though - watching him fumble with holding the meter and squeezing blood out of a finger at the same time. Watching him struggle to get a slippery/sticky test strip out of that infinitesmally small strip bottle opening. "Why don't all of these damn things have automatic dispensers for the strips?!" (insert mad cackling here from myself) Watching him squeeze a freshly-pricked finger, only to have no blood emerge. How puzzling. Watching him wrinkle his nose up at how to dispose of the leftover blood. Such a messy, fussy disease.

Later that day I did apologize, thinking maybe I might have come off too bitchy - blaming him, maybe, for not having the diabetic sixth sense to test me while I snoozed. I know he's worried about me as I slept before, so I thought - why not empower him? I would love some help now and then, if he was willing. He assured me he knew he wasn't being attacked, and that he was glad he now had better finger-prickin' skillz. He also acquired some familiarity with my pump menu (due to premenstrual hormones, there was plenty of correcting to be done this weekend). Next up folks, the partner pump site change! Ha. Now there's trust!