In Vlog #5, I share Halloween well wishes to the DOC…as well as a frightening tale fit for the season. You won’t want to miss this spooky little video. You’ve been warned!!! Press play now and let me know what you think by leaving a comment.
So basically everyone in my life right now is engaged, or on the fast-track to getting engaged.
And that’s awesome! No, seriously, it’s an exciting time for a lot of my family and friends. And I’m happy to be part of it all because I like going to weddings. Who doesn’t love to celebrate love?
Well, I can tell you what doesn’t love to celebrate love…MY DIABETES.
My diabetes effing hates weddings.
My diabetes hates weddings SO much that I’ve yet to go to one where it doesn’t act up in some way.
I was naive enough to think that it would actually be a good diabetes day during the last wedding I attended. And it was, for the most part: I woke up, had a Dunkin Donuts sandwich for breakfast, got dressed and made-up. I showed up for the ceremony with a slightly low blood sugar that was swiftly corrected with a mini box of raisins (oh, if only I knew how many more I’d consume that night…).
I was fine, right through the cocktail hour and the start of dinner. But that’s where the troubles began. You see, there weren’t many passed hors d’oeuvres during the cocktail hour, and I could’ve really used some because I hadn’t eaten anything besides the sandwich and the raisins all day long. By the time dinner started, I was ravenous and basically shoved anything within arm’s reach into my mouth. This included a lot of cheese, meats, and pieces of flatbread.
If I’d actually been thinking about how my blood sugars usually respond to slow-acting carbs in things like flatbread, I might’ve actually wound up okay. But over the course of the next several hours, as wedding guests were whooping it up on the dance floor, my blood sugar was making a slow and steady climb up into the 300s! When I finally realized this, I started taking correction boluses that, apparently, were far too aggressive…because when I finally ended the night in my hotel room around 1:30 A.M., I was in the 70s. And dropping.
My lowest blood sugar was 43 that night. I ate multiple packs of raisins, 5 or 6 glucose tablets, a FiberOne bar, and half a pack of peanut butter crackers. All between the hours of 1:30 and 4 in the morning. It was exhausting. I was tearful and sweating so badly at one point that it looked like I had just come out of the shower. I even wound up sending my sleepy boyfriend down to the lobby at one point to buy me an orange juice, because I was running out of low blood sugar remedies. I drank half of it and was relieved to see my CGM showing, at long last, a diagonal up arrow. I couldn’t believe that I’d just spent the last few hours hovering below my “low” threshold on my CGM, but I didn’t waste any more time thinking about it – I was extraordinarily tired and happy to finally go to sleep.
But now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’ve realized that I need a new strategy for myself and my diabetes when it comes to weddings. I’m going to be my cousin’s maid of honor next month, for goodness’ sake, so I want to do everything I can to ensure “decent” (i.e, blood sugars under 200 but over 80) for the special day.
A key to success, I think, will be regularly scheduled meals and making sure that I avoid an empty stomach at all costs.
T1D is an unwelcome presence in my life, but I’ve made peace with it. However, it doesn’t stop me from worrying about how its existence might affect others in a wide variety of situations.
Take a bachelorette party, for instance…I wasn’t sure how my diabetes would respond to a weekend spent in Saratoga Springs with my soon-to-be-married cousin and the gaggle of girls who would accompany her to a few different wineries, a comedy show, and other various shenanigans. I went into the situation hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.
What does “expecting the worst” mean? Basically, it meant that I was preparing for the apocalypse. The bachelorette weekend was barely 48 hours total, but I was so paranoid about something going wrong with my diabetes that I packed twice the number of pods that I would need, extra insulin, spare syringes, Glucagon, and a low-blood-sugar-snack stash. Although I had a rough idea of what our itinerary looked like for the weekend, I still wasn’t 100% of what we would be eating and when, which as any T1D could tell you, is kind of a major concern when it comes to taking proper care of diabetes – and that concern is intensified when alcohol gets thrown into the mix, as it unquestionably would on our quest to find the best winery in Saratoga.
My worry only grew when things didn’t exactly start as I envisioned them. We hit the road around 4 o’clock in the afternoon that Friday, and picked up the delighted bride in Western Mass a short while after 6 o’clock. I expected that we would stop for food soon after the bride joined our caravan of cars bound for New York…only to be proven totally wrong when I discovered that most people were too excited to stop and eat. “No problem,” I said to myself. “I’m sure that by the time it’s 7:30 or so, people will be hungry.”
No such luck. As I watched my blood sugar slowly drop, my stomach roared with hunger as I thought about the last meal I ate, nearly seven hours ago. I knew I should speak up and ask the group to pull over, but I was scared. I didn’t want to be “that” person who was making such demands, especially since I was merely a passenger in the car and not driving.
But it was almost 8 o’clock and I knew that if I didn’t eat soon, it wouldn’t bode well for the rest of the night. My body tends to rebel if I go to sleep soon after eating a decent amount of food, and my blood sugars usually make me pay for the lateness of the meal. I feebly requested a stop to the girl who was driving, and discovered that she desperately needed to make a trip to the ladies’ room – at last, my chance for food! I called one of the girls in the other car to let them know that we would all be hitting up the next rest stop. “And Molly needs to eat!” The driver yelled into my phone before I could hang up. I felt myself blush, not wanting to be a pain in the ass…but little did I know, the girls wanted me to speak up.
When we all met at the rest stop, everyone asked with genuine concern how I was doing. As I assured them that I was much better now thanks to my Subway sandwich, I was gently scolded by the bride – my cousin – for not saying something sooner. Each girl agreed and I promised them that I would be better about letting them know about potential blood sugar issues for the rest of the weekend.
The funny thing is, though, that I really didn’t have any problems whatsoever. I was very surprised, due to the fact that we were eating late/inconsistent/not-very-healthy meals each day, drinking a few different kinds of alcohol, and spending less time than I anticipated moving out and about…normally, that’s pretty much a recipe for disaster. I can’t help but wonder if I avoided problems because I did everything the “smart” way – ate plenty of food to combat the effects of alcohol, took extra insulin as needed, and stayed hydrated all day, everyday. It certainly is a formula for success, and deserves credit for taming the unwanted bachelorette guest all weekend long.
Now if only I can replicate this for the upcoming wedding weekend…
Check out my second video blog – press play below and leave a comment to let me know what you think once you’ve watched it!
This is a sad, difficult post for me to write…
I had to end things with P.B. I’m pretty distraught over it, but I know that it’ll do me some good in the long run. Absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder, right?
If you’re wondering who or what I’m talking about…P.B. is, of course, peanut butter.
It’s that time of year again – the Lenten season, otherwise known as the six weeks prior to Easter during which Catholics traditionally practice penance, prayer, and almsgiving. In addition to avoiding the consumption of meat on Fridays during Lent, it’s also common for observers to give up something in order to focus more energy on acts of kindness and charity.
Last year, I gave up alcohol for Lent and wrote all about it in this blog post. This year, I’ve decided to really test myself by forgoing peanut butter during Lent.
And yes, this truly is a toughie for me…anyone who knows me knows that I love peanut butter. I love it too much. I eat unhealthy amounts of it. If I have a bad day at work, I have a couple spoonfuls of peanut butter. If I need a quick boost of protein, there’s peanut butter. If I’m giving my dog a taste of peanut butter, then you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be giving some to myself, too.
I know there are far worse foods out there to be pretty much addicted to – but peanut butter isn’t exactly the healthiest. The kind we keep around the house is not the natural/healthy stuff free from additives. It’s the Skippy/Peter Pan/Reese’s peanut butter jars that we have in stock…it’s the good stuff that tastes sinfully sugary and fatty.
To intensify matters, peanut butter is my go-to food when my blood sugar is high but I’m craving something delicious. Now that I can’t have it for this window of time, I’m going to have to find an alternative that works…and no, I can’t just consume a different type of nut butter. I’m not eating any of it during Lent because I’m choosing to give up ALL of it. If I indulged on almond butter, I feel like that would just make me want peanut butter more, so I’m avoiding any and all temptation. Honestly, my reliance on peanut butter as a food to eat in just about any situation is making me curious as to how my blood sugars will respond without it for this length of time. There’s a chance they could improve; after all, peanut butter is not without carbohydrates or sugar. So I’m cautiously optimistic that I’ll be glad I gave it up for Lent. Hopefully, by the end of this period of time, the distance will have done some good and lessen the strength of my addiction, as well as maybe even help me lose some weight. Time will tell. As for now, anyone have any suggestions on what could possibly, temporarily replace P.B. for me?!
So Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. Perhaps you loathe the holiday of love and celebrate it solo, or choose to use the day to express your gratitude for your close friends, in the style of Parks and Recreation’s invented holiday, Galentine’s Day.
If you’re in a relationship, you might have an extravagant, candle-lit, five-course dinner planned with your loved one. Or maybe you’ll keep it a bit more simple and say “I love you” to your sweetheart, with a thoughtful card, box of chocolates, and a dozen roses in hand.
Whether or not your scenario includes a dozen roses, though, consider this:
What if you received 11 roses in your bouquet, instead of 12? What if you knew that a rose was spared because the value of that flower helped support a child living with diabetes in a less-resourced country?
I bet you wouldn’t mind getting one less rose in that case.
This Valentine’s Day, please consider sparing a rose as part of your celebrations. Life for a Child is a nonprofit charity that created the Spare a Rose campaign. They’re able to support nearly 20,000 young people living with diabetes by using donations to buy them insulin, syringes, clinical care, diabetes education, and more. Anyone who’s familiar with diabetes realizes that access to care, education, and resources is critical to living a healthy and normal life. No one would want to deny another, especially a child, from having to forgo these resources because of the financial burden associated with them.
Spare a rose and save child this Valentine’s Day.
I just wanted a nice dinner out on New Year’s Eve…but diabetes – or rather, my diabetes devices – had another plan in mind.
You see, that’s when my brand-new pod decided to stop working properly, leaving me no choice but to deliver insulin via syringe in the middle of a fancy restaurant.
Hence, my unamused expression in the following photo.
On the one hand, it was irritating to deal with, especially since my malfunctioning pod delivered high blood sugar to me in lieu of insulin. But on the other hand, what else could I do except roll with the punches? After all, it was New Year’s Eve – the final night of 2018. I was NOT about to allow diabetes to ruin it for me.
So I left my frustration and dismay at my high blood sugars at home, where I first realized there might be something wrong with my pod, and did my best to maintain an upbeat attitude throughout dinner. Yes, I was checking my CGM often, but I also remained engaged in conversation with my dinner companions (thanks for that meal, Mom and Dad). I took comfort in the knowledge that I was prepared with a vial of insulin and syringes should my blood sugar stay high in spite of my aggressive boluses. And when it did indeed climb into the 300s, I calmly set down my fork and knife, fished a syringe and my insulin from my backpack, drew up eight units, and rolled up my sleeve to inject right then and there. It felt kind of weird to “shoot up” in the middle of the dining establishment, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I could’ve gone to the restroom, but I knew that the lighting would be bad – at least I could have assistance from my parents by injecting at the table (again, thanks Mom and Dad, the cell phone lights came in clutch in this situation).
As I pushed down on the syringe’s plunger, I vaguely wondered whether any restaurant patrons were watching and wondering what the actual eff I was doing. I was self-conscious about it for a hot second, but I got over it because I knew I was doing what needed to be done.
I was rolling with the punches, high blood sugar and all, because it was the best thing to do for my body and my mind. Plus, I really got to stick it to my diabetes by refusing to let it spoil my night, and to me, that was much sweeter than the cheesecake my mom and I split for dessert.