Mama’s Shoes Don’t Fit

Last week I was put in the shoes of my moms for probably the first time ever. Okay, yes, I have a child just like she did (although, I’m only doing it once, not four times over) and some of you may relate that to walking in her shoes. But for me and my moms, it wasn’t until last week that I truly felt what it was like to walk in her shoes. I didn’t like it. So here’s the back story: Lightening Bolt’s parents were in the hospital awaiting the arrival of Baby Number 4 (who by the way has the BEST video game name ever) and I was charged with insulin injecting duties for little LB. Something to do with me having the disease, going 28 years of injections, you know, being veteran T-1 and all. And at first I thought no problem. But then the cogs in …

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Syringes vs. Infusions

For nearly four years I have not known the feel of a syringe, the gentle ease at which it slides in under the skin, the smooth, non-evasiveness of its short metal tip, and the non-existent flinches, pinches, and pokes that often result with infusions. I was happy not knowing… The day after Jog for the Bog my blood sugars went into a panicked state. Almost right from the moment I got up they were high, not overly high, but high enough for me to be annoyed. I kept giving myself extra doses of insulin in an effort to bring the sugars down, but none worked. By dinner, they were 11.5, and creeping up into the Holy crap, what the hell is going on??? hyperglycemic zone. More insulin. Two hours later they were 15.8. More insulin. One hour later, they were 16.8. At this point, most people would probably change out …

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