Not sexy.

15 06 2012

I hate diabetes.





Baggage

12 05 2012

So yesterday after school, I went to a picnic for my school’s Best Friends Club and then went to the gym with a couple friends. I’ve been running really high (300s-400s mg/dL or 16-27 mmol) during the week from late morning til the afternoon. After a few site changes, I’ve concluded that I need to adjust my basals or maybe my sensitivity rate. Anyway, it’s been really annoying. I’ll test well before lunch and give myself a correction and by lunch, I’ll still be high. Bleh.

At lunchtime, I was 480 mg/dL (26.7 mmol), and not feeling so great. I sucked it up, made it through the day, and went to the picnic. Some of the dd kids were extremely active, so there was a lot of running around. Over the course of 90 minutes, we played tag, duck duck goose, red light green light, frisbee, catch, etc. There was socializing and snacks, and I bolused accordingly.

My friend picked me and another friend up at the picnic and we ran a few errands before going to the gym. We made it to the gym, got changed, I bought a water bottle, and we headed over to the ellipticals. After less than 10 minutes on the elliptical, I felt unusually weak and shaky. I knew it wasn’t from the exercise, because I had it on a low setting and I hadn’t been on that long. I stopped the machine and told my friends I felt low and I was going to the locker room to test. My friend asked if I wanted her to come with me and I couldn’t really think straight so I just said “I don’t know”. She said I was scaring her and I told her “I think I’m fine” so I stumbled my way back into the locker room. I dialed my combination in, dropped the lock, picked the lock back up, and fumbled through my bag til I found my blood glucose kit. I sat down on the bench, tested, and sure enough I was 34 mg/dL (1.8 mmol).

I put my stuff back in the locker and walked over to the ellipticals. “Guys I’m low”. They asked if I’d be ok and I said I needed to go into my friend’s car and get some candy out of my bag. They asked how long it would take to bring my sugars back up and when I told them at least a half hour, we decided to leave. After gobbling down some sour patch kids, I realized how guilty I felt.

Now it wasn’t my fault we had to leave, it was diabetes’s fault. But it is my diabetes and, therefore, my fault. Even though lows come out of nowhere sometimes, I still could’ve been more careful to prevent the low. It was an unusual day so I should’ve tested more. I should’ve been more on top of it. It was my fault my friends had to sacrifice their afternoon at the gym. It was my fault we wasted all that time and gas.

Diabetes is a burden, and in many cases, it makes me feel like a burden. I hate having this excess baggage. I hate that my baggage has to interfere with my life and my friends. I hate being the diabetic one. I hate being responsible for ruining things.

I have to get over it. As much as I hate diabetes, it is a part of me.

And I can’t hold grudges against myself.