This morning I was witness to a rare sight. A sugar level of 5.2. Yes, a miracle did come before me. What saintly action did I partake in yesterday, to be rewarded with a perfect sugar level? I haven’t had a reading anywhere near that in over a month – 23 September, to be precise – and that was a ‘hypo’. Before that, it was July. So yes, I felt like bragging (to myself).
Breakfast, when I eat it, my safe meal. Because of my IBS, I only really have a few options. This means that over time I have gained an accuracy, when it comes to calculating the amount of carbs in my breakfast. So, this morning I’m 95% sure I had 40g of carbs. This meant I gave myself 4 units of insulin. My meter told me to take less, because I was only 5.2. I used my judgement to stick with 4 units. Boy, am I glad I did.
Two hours later, I feel like absolute crap, to be honest. All I want is to close my eyes and sleep. I feel fuzzy and sick. I want to cry. I want to cry my eyes out. My blood meter has told me my sugar level is 16. 16. What went wrong? I didn’t have any more cereal than I usually have and I don’t recall seeing a gremlin tip sugar into my tea. So how have I rocketed so high, and so quickly? What am I doing wrong?
The other day, my sugars went up to 12 after breakfast. I decided not to correct, and by lunch time, I was a cosy little 6.9. If I had corrected, I may have had a hypo. The day before however, I was 9.9 after breakfast and risked a single correction unit. My sugar level didn’t budge. So you see my dilemma. Whether extra insulin on board works, is apparently random.
Back to that bitch of a 16. On the verge of breaking down in tears and embarrassing myself in front of my colleagues. 2 correction units injected. Hurry up and do something. Please!
Diabetes is a full time job. A full time job on top of my full time job. I’m not being paid to have diabetes. I’m not getting any reward right now, for having diabetes. It’s not worth the effort I put into managing it. All those calculations, those injections before I can eat, even when I feel ravished. I get no thanks for this diabetes and I only wish I could get rid of it.
No one in this office realises how I’m feeling. The guy next to me is trying to have a conversation with me about running. The words coming out of my mouth sound like I’m listening to him and that I’m interested. My mind is telling him to shut up. Shut up and let me get through this horrible feeling. I don’t want to diabetes, today.