Ups and Downs

This photo, while it captures flocculence, does not do justice to the blooms that celebrated a 0.8% drop in my A1c. See bottom of this post for the sort of color that is celebration for me.

Last week, Kerri posted a vlog of herself while low. She bravely showed that scene to the world to illustrate how invisible diabetes can be. The more I think about it the more I realize what a catch 22 that is for me. Invisible means less attention which I prefer on a daily basis, but is terrible for the mulitude of people with diabetes (PWDs) who really do need a cure and deserve research funding as much as any other disease out there.

When reading about or discussing diabetes in a clinical sort of way, I am fully aware that Type 1 Diabetes is an autoimmune disease. But, in my day to day life, I tend not to think of it that way. In my brain, disease = sick and sick = lie in bed moaning (or slugging miserably through your day because there are deadlines to meet). I hate being sick; I don't want to be sick for the rest of my life. But it seems most likely that I will have T1 diabetes for the rest of my life. So, I will acknowledge that I live with bigD every minute of every day, but I bury that whole sick and diseased idea as deep as I can and ignore it until it gets really cranky.

My bigD seems to be getting cranky. My lower A1c came with a lot of low blood sugars. My endo wants to eliminate those (yeah, yeah, me too) so recommended both a drop in basal and bolus rates for a good chunk of my day. Since then, I've been fighting highs constantly. I'm trying to be patient and give my body a little time to adjust to the new amounts of insulin, but I am not happy. Highs have a much bigger and longer-lasting effect on me psychologically than lows do.

Yesterday, I had a raging high that made me feel like I was sick with diabetes (as in "sick with a cold") and like I had totally screwed up, even though I knew I hadn't wildly mis-calculated my lunch nor had my infusion site really gone bad (but I changed it and the tube and the cartridge, just to cover all my bases as I was getting close to time for that anyway). This high made me feel like I was swimming through the molasses that had also replaced all the blood in my veins. I curled up on the couch and cried (an alternative to bed and moaning). After an hour, I tested again and my bg had come down a bit, but not nearly enough so I bolused some more (taking into account the insulin on board even though I didn't want to). Another hour and it wasn't normal, but 169 and about half the insulin of my last bolus left meant I was going to be ok. Bedtime was a beautiful 122. I should, I suppose, be proud of myself for getting that *&$#ing 343 down without a major crash, but all I can remember is how it made me feel sick and like it was my fault that I felt that lousy. I suppose that's the problem with a condition that requires constant self care. If I am going to take the responsibility necessary to keep myself alive and well for a long, long time, it's really hard to not take responsibility for the wacky loops bigD throws us for on a regular basis.

Still with me? Either you are a PWD, you need a hobby, or you are one of the many people who help me get through my incessant days with this damned disease. Regardless, thanks for letting me get that off my chest. There's a new study that naming your feelings lessens their power over you. This week, diabetes makes me angry, sad, tired, scared, frustrated. But, I'm not willing to let it get the best of me. So, a reminder:

The Pancremaniacs are gearing up for the June 6 Tour de Cure - Minneapolis. I, Team Captain, have new, road-worthy tires on my bike. Three friends have officially signed up and several more have made promises. YOU can sign up or sponsor us here. Many thanks if you already have.
I'm considering a team fundraiser party on April 10 (my 8 year pump-iversary), but that's Good Friday - bad timing? I'll keep you posted as that develops.

And I'm still celebrating my 7.1, dammit.