From yesterday afternoon to the present time, my blood sugars have been nothing less than horrible. And it’s all my fault.
I can’t blame this one on the pump.
Or my faulty pancreas.
Or the alignment of the planets.
Nope. This has ME written all over it.
So, I guess I associate Sundays with “stuff-your-face-until-you-could-pop,” because I can’t seem to control what I put in my mouth from Sunday afternoon until I go to bed. Perhaps it’s the anxiety I feel about the upcoming week of teaching? This is my 4th year of teaching, though, so you’d think I’d be over that hump by now.
Yesterday morning the man and I went to brunch at IHOP and I thought I chose wisely by ordering an omelet consisting of eggbeaters, mushrooms, onions, green peppers, tomatoes, and a small amount of cheese on the side. I also had an order of wheat toast – it’s a morning staple for me. However, two hours after eating, I was soaring in the upper 200’s, proving that while my order was relatively healthy, it still sat in my stomach for quite a while and played chicken with the insulin that I sent in at mealtime. I corrected the blood sugar, tinkered around the man’s apartment for a while, and then we went on a walk for an hour. After the walk I am famished – I’m ready to eat anything not nailed down. I ring in at 140 and begin preparing dinner. The man has ordered what is, in my opinion, the best meal in the world (when you’re PMSing and starving) : toasted cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. As Rachel Ray says, “YUMMO!” It was delightful, but I did a shoddy job of counting carbs and rang in at 314 around 8:15. Now the normal person (IE: not me!) would have given a correction bolus, drank water, and retested in an hour or so. What do I do??? I bolus for a snack – since I evidently didn’t get my fill of fat/junk at dinner, and raise my basal so that I don’t fly into the outskirts of “Oh Sh*t That’s High” later on. I go to bed without testing because (in my ultimate wisdom) I figure I don’t really want to see the effect my snack had on me. I toss and turn for a good hour before I finally get up and test my blood sugar.
60. Piss! I (over)treat and go back to bed.
I wake up at 5:30 and, of course, I’m high: 341.
I give a correction, shower, and then change my pump site.
Before I leave for work, I’m 275, so I tell myself I’ll hold off on breakfast because I’ll certainly be down a bit more by the time I’m at work and have started preparing for the day.
Once at work: 250. Whoopdedoo… I eat anyway – so much for waiting, right?? At this point, I really don’t care. I realize I’m to blame for the crappy numbers; I realize that it’s my own fault that I feel like a certifiable piece of poop right now.
I can’t blame anyone but myself, but hopefully I can learn from this.
Or even better, maybe this entry made YOU, dear reader, feel better about your blood sugars for a moment or two……
See – everybody wins