That was my blood sugar yesterday morning at 5:30am. When I mentioned the term “cascading failure” earlier this week, I had no idea that I’d be a perfect example. How the hell did this happen? Let me confess quickly and get this out of the way, because that failure is not why I’m writing this post…
A late flight and late night on Monday night. I didn’t bring home a traditional souvenir from my trip to Bethesda to attend the Diabetes Technology Society’s meeting about blood glucose meter accuracy; I brought home a scratchy throat and stuffy nose.
Tuesday was spent driving around the state for various personal reasons. In the course of my day, far away from home, my CGM decided to do a Snagglepuss and “Exit Stage Left” , leaving me floundering in the wilderness without my trusty diabetes compass. I don’t keep a CGM sensor in my bag o’ tricks. (My purse is filled with glucose tabs and other diabetes sundries, but if I took everything that a Type 1 needs – or may need – I’d have to use a pack mule.) “All righty then,” I thought to myself. “New sensor when I get home.
Did I mention that I did change my insertion set while I was on the road? I wasn’t happy with my morning numbers and realized that I was a little past my infusion set’s expiration date.
I got caught up with other important things when The Kid and I returned home (Play-Doh is seriously important. You know this.) John walked in on me clutching a tall glass of apple juice and saying: “52.” A normal evening ensued, but I did rebound before bed. I took a correction bolus and hunkered down for a much needed sleep.
The sensor didn’t go on.
The insertion set came off.
I’ve been pumping since 1999. This was the first time I’ve had an involuntary nocturnal removal (INR). I’ve heard about this from other T1s, but never experienced it myself. I can only assume the set change on the fly didn’t stick well.
So, when I woke with the Sahara Desert in my mouth, I knew something was wrong. I grabbed my pump, padded to the bathroom, then stood dumbfounded at the length of tubing that dangled in my hand, ending…not on my body.
5:30am insertion set, two large glasses of water, and a internal monologue that was not for prime time.
Error after error after error… and all my fault. I couldn’t pin the 421 on anyone but my bad decision making skills.
Yesterday was a hot mess. I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. And spent the morning pushing correction boluses carefully so I didn’t crash. Which I didn’t, so end of that story.
And now, I get to the point of this point, which is why I’m not laughing.
The guilt over my comedy of diabetes errors faded quickly and was replaced with a different – and more gut-wrenching type of guilt.
I couldn’t muster enough energy to “Jump, Mommy!” with my daughter, who was filled with exuberant energy and wanted to DO! RUN! PLAY! WITH MOMMY RIGHT NEXT TO ME!
That guilt…has not gone away, unlike the 421.