Teaching an Old Dork New Tricks

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth again. It wasn't the same kind of stuck you get when you eat a peanut butter sandwich with no drink.  It was that dry-yet-syrupy cling that comes along with a high blood sugar.  My Dexcom sensor had failed in the morning (more on that later), so I pulled out my kit, tested, and clocked in at about 350 mg/dl.

I'd been crusing between 117 mg/dl and 160 mg/dl all morning, which were good-looking numbers for me compared to some I'd seen lately.  The culprit for the high, I believe, was putting sugar in my coffee and forgetting that fact.  (Cringe all you want, I freely admit I choose my vices and consume artificial sweeteners.)

I knew I needed to correct this bad boy before I felt any more gross, so I pulled out a syringe and drew up my correction by hand.  I was wearing a thick sweater and couldn't inject through my clothes.  I know my boss likes to watch the security camera from time to time, and I was not in the mood for her to be asking what I was doing with my shirt, and if I was feeling okay.  I was, however, wearing a thin skirt.

I looked down at my thigh.  Hmm.  How bad could it be?  My abdomen has always been, and genetically will forever be, plump and squishy to some degree.  It just makes me more fun to cuddle.  My thighs are mostly muscle.  Aren't you supposed to be able to pinch up an inch of fat where you inject?  Do I even have that much on my legs?  Maybe I'll just do this.  I mean, I've had diabetes for how long now? HALP OH GAWD I THINK I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO TRY THIS.

So that's when I did my first-ever thigh injection.

Note--I am not complaining about my body or trying to body-shame anybody else here.  It's merely fact: I come from a line of women with fat stored around the midsection.  I have slender arms, and legs, and I'm busty, which gives me more opportunities to hide my insulin pump.  I see this as a win.  I've never used my arms either, and for the record, my mom is too weirded out to do insulin shots on arms or legs too, so I know for a fact I'm not alone.  What a digression....).

It stung like hell for a few seconds, and then it was over.  I don't think it worked any better or faster than my usual injection/infusion sites, but it did work.  I'm not sure it's something I'd want to repeat terribly often, but after 23 and a half years with Type 1, I guess it shows you can learn and try new things all the time.  People talk about using their thighs, their arms, their bellies, their "side-butt" for sites.  It's purely a personal choice thing, with the exception of problems with absorption or other issues.

Where do you like to inject?  Where do you put your infusion sets and glucose sensors?  Do you think I should keep trying new things, or just stick with what's working?

"I am so high right now."

It's a difficult feeling to experience.  Between the crankiness and the extreme fatigue comes the guilt.

I should have paid better attention to my numbers today.

I should have tested more today.
 
I could have changed my infusion site earlier.  

I shouldn't have eaten [insert "forbidden" food here] at all, let alone that much of it.

I wonder if my insulin went bad, and I didn't even think to check.

I should be getting something productive accomplished but I feel like shit.

I could be sitting here and relaxing, but no, my vision is a bit blurry and so I'm getting a headache while trying to drink water, waiting for insulin to kick in and watching TV.  And now I worry about my eyes.  Great.

I catalog all the reasons I have disappointed myself, my family, my loved ones, anyone who shares my life and living space.  I stop and feel guilty about feeling guilty.  I'm 30 years old.  Shouldn't someone have cured this nonsense by now?  Shouldn't I know exactly how to handle everything?  Shouldn't I remember to test more often?

I am not Diabetes Wonder Woman.  I have not perfected the art of doing it all/having it all/maintaining a great A1C while doing so.  However, maybe I am a bit super.  Nearly infinite in patience with myself, always trying to look on the bright side, always hoping that things are moving in a positive direction.

But it's hard.  It's hard when the numbers seem to be telling me something that I already know.  Sometimes the numbers are threatening.  Sometimes the numbers are harmless.  There are days I'm pretty sure blood glucose meters exist primarily to make me feel bad about myself.   No matter how vigilant I am, it sometimes feels like when I attempt to live like a regular person, I am always on the wrong side of 100.  It's 160 and climbing, or it's 70 and dropping. 

It's difficult work.  It's exhausting. 

It's me wondering why I don't have a gallon jug of spring water at my beck and call for these sticky dry mouth occasions.  It's imagining my blood is slowly sludging through my veins, like dyed-red corn syrup.  That's what they use for blood in the movies. 

It's knowing tomorrow is another day, and now is another correction bolus.  It's the belief that on the other side of that correction bolus is a less-tired, happier version of myself.  You know, the one who was hanging around before my stupid infusion set sprung a leak.