“You want to go get some ice cream?”
I like ice cream. With some foods, I never quite know what will happen with my blood sugar (i.e. pizza or a bagel), but I SWAG (Scientific Wild Ass Guess) for ice cream with a confidence that I rarely have with other sweets. So, the answer was a resounding yes and with The Kid firmly set on John’s shoulders, we marched a block to the local ice cream shop.
Peanut butter fudge ice cream with peanut butter sauce. Small cup. BG was going up a little (Snacks at the park - Pirate Booty), but manageable. I dosed and enjoyed every minute of that peanuty goodness. We walked back to the car, chattering away about birds and cars that go beep. I checked my graph on the Medtronic MiniMed 530G and it was stable.
The freefall happened within 20 minutes, and it was my fault. The idyllic day called us outside and an impromptu walk around our neighborhood. The magic number said 173 mg/dl with two arrows pointing down. We weren’t going far and weren’t going for long. A casual meander. Fifteen minutes later, it said 82 mg/dland I was not feeling content anymore. We got home and as we walked through the door, the alarm started to chirp. BG 72 mg/dl and falling. Meter said 62 mg/dl and I said juice. Drank it. Felt better.
It was my fault that I didn’t suspend the pump. It was my fault that I didn’t check 15 minutes later. It was my fault that I snuggled down into the couch and began to watch TV. I got sleepy. Thought I needed a nap. Stood up, waved at John and motioned to our bedroom, mouthing that I was going in.
Did I check before I went in? Nope. But the alarm kept going off on my pump and I ignored it. The threshold suspend feature kicked in and through my haze, I realized that this was not a drill.
I vaguely remember wandering into the kitchen, walking past my family and pouring myself a glass of juice. I was intent on getting “just eight ounces” into the cup, holding it up to analyze my measuring capabilities. I didn’t guzzle it down, but casually sipped at it as if I was at a cocktail party and didn’t want to pay $10 for another drink. John’s voice was fuzzy…or was it me that was fuzzy?
“Oh, yes. I’m fine. I’m not fine. I’m low, but I’m fine. I’m drinking my juice and I’m going to be fine.”
He knew that I wasn’t fine. He verified that the pump was still suspended and told me that he’d come back in and check on me in ten minutes. (He checked on me in five minutes, but was in the next room in case I needed him.)
I drank my juice. I ate some things. I came up slowly. I shuffled past my peeps and back into bed, mumbling that I was tired but my blood sugar was coming up.
And up it did. You know the drill. Overtreat. Bounce. Soar. Dose a few units to stop the rise past 400 mg/dl.
When I went to bed, my blood glucose was 132 mg/dl.
Threshold suspend happened again around 2am. 54 mg/dl.
It was my fault. I take blame for this one for my choices of nourishment and my failure to check. I thank the pump for catching not one, but two sucky hypoglycemic reactions in twelve hours. (And yes, I know about the increase of more hypoglycemic reactions after a serious low. It’s my fault that I didn’t take more precautions when coming down.)
So, this morning, I’m running on fumes. And a BG of 97 mg/dl.
This disease is not my fault.
My choices are my own, and when they’re incorrect and cause issues with my disease…
it’s my fault.