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.
Judging by the title of this blog post, you might assume that I’m rewriting yet another Christmas song to make it about diabetes. Well, I’m here to tell you that is false – no more Christmas carol transformations for me! (At least, not until Christmas 2019.)
Rather, this post is all about an odd, kind of silly thing that happened to my mother and I when we were out on a walk with Clarence, my parents’ dog.
We both heard a high-pitched beeping coming from…somewhere.
We exchanged glances and my mom asked me if I heard that sound. I nodded, and we both sighed as we fished through our pockets for our PDMs. That’s because we both just knew that one of us was experiencing a pod failure, and that the pressing of a couple buttons would reveal who was about to become extremely annoyed.
But both of our PDMs indicated that our pods were working just fine. Bemused, she told me that sometimes her PDM won’t recognize the pod failure right away, and it will be the pod itself that emits the beep-of-dread. So I started lifting up layers of my heavy winter clothing to see if my pod was making the sound, while she briefly stopped walking to listen closer to her pod.
After our careful scrutiny, we determined that…
…the beeping sound was actually someone using a weed whacker or some other piece of lawn-care equipment in the distance. Oops.
We continued our walk, chuckling a bit about it while Clarence pranced along in between us. It was a relief to know that we wouldn’t have to scramble home so one of us could take out insulin and a fresh pod to apply as soon as possible.
What’s the point of sharing this little vignette? To show that diabetes is such a significant part of our lives, always one of our first thoughts, even in the most mundane cases. It also illustrates how volatile diabetes can be – just like that, a random beep can change the course of the day and determine your next series of actions.
Just some food for thought, all triggered by a (literally) false alarm.
What is LDM? According to my mother, it stands for Lovely Diabetes Mystery. The “lovely”, of course, is sarcastic, whereas the “diabetes” and “mystery” relate to a random, unforeseen diabetes medical incident – which occurred to me on Sunday, October 7th.
I woke up that morning with some abdominal pain. I rolled over soon after waking to check my CGM, and was startled to see that I’d be in the 300s for most of the night as I was sleeping. I quickly bolused for it using my PDM, and shut my eyes, hoping to get some more rest and to wake up again without stomach discomfort.
No such luck. About an hour later, I opened my eyes and looked at my PDM again, and I had barely come down. I tested to confirm, and sure enough, I’d only gone down a few points. I was worried, which was exacerbated by the weird nausea I was having. Could this be a sign of something more serious?
My mother convinced me to do a manual injection with a syringe. We both figured that that would help bring my numbers down faster, and that if I started coming down quickly, then it could mean that the pod I had just applied the day before was not working properly. We agreed that I should probably change it, to err on the side of caution.
However, I didn’t get to change my pod until much later in the day. That’s because of what happened soon after I took my manual injection.
I went to use the bathroom, certain that the churning of my stomach meant that I was about to be sick. I was standing in front of the toilet when I started sweating – profusely. On top of that, my vision went all fuzzy, and I felt totally disoriented. I knew something was wrong, so I called out for help.
My mom raced into the bathroom to find me seated on the floor, dripping in sweat. I placed myself on the floor deliberately because I was worried I might pass out and injure myself. She started cooling me down with a wet facecloth, and searched through the drawers to find a thermometer to check my temperature. She also grabbed her test kit and my lancing device, because naturally, we both assumed that perhaps my blood sugar was dropping rapidly from the insulin injection, and it might be a hypoglycemic event.
But when we checked my blood sugar, I was still in the high 200s. I was pretty scared at this point and just wanted the sweating to stop and for my vision to clear. That’s when my dad came in and made the executive decision to call an ambulance for me.
A police officer, three firefighters, and two EMTs showed up my house. I answered questions in my confused state. My vision restored and the sweating stopped, but I still felt weak and woozy. They put me into the ambulance. I was given an IV bag and medication for the nausea. It was my first time in an ambulance and it was not exciting, just weird. I didn’t like riding backwards or experiencing the twists and turns along the way.
We arrive to the hospital. I’m whisked away into the ER. I answer a series of questions from various medical students and nurses and doctors. They draw blood for tests. I give them a urine sample for more testing. I keep on explaining the concept of my OmniPod to each one of them. No one seems to have seen it before, besides one med student who has a sister who works for Insulet. Small world!
We monitor my blood sugar closely. My tests come back normal. I eat my first foods for the day around 2 P.M.: sugar-free jello and two hard-boiled eggs. Yum…
I get an injection of insulin at the hospital. We don’t have a vial of Humalog with us – it was the one thing we forgot to grab from the house. But my dad drives home to retrieve it so I can change my pod at the hospital. My mom does it for me. I feel helpless.
The old pod comes off and we notice a definite bend in the cannula. Okay. One thing explained. I wasn’t receiving my full insulin dosages due to the bend, and unfortunately, I have no way of knowing how much insulin I was truly receiving. All I know is that it wasn’t enough, and that’s why I was running high.
I receive a diagnosis: vasovagal syncope, or pre-syncope. It’s explained to me, but I still don’t really get it. So I text my best friend, who is also a nurse. She tells me that it’s very common and can be triggered by a variety of things. The pre-syncope aspect makes more sense to me, seeing as I never truly passed out.
I’m discharged and feel so very tired. It was a long day. The following days are filled with follow-ups and message exchanges between myself, my endocrinologist, and my primary care physician. My healthcare team and I think that we come up with a plausible explanation for the hullabaloo: My body knew something was wrong. It knew that my blood sugar was abnormally high, and it knew to send signals to me that I needed to take care of it. Hence, the abdominal pain. My dehydrated state exacerbated things, and when I started sweating and lost more fluids, it was a lot for my body to experience.
Sheesh. What an ordeal. Like any diabetes-related experience, it taught me a lot, but I certainly don’t want anything like that to happen again. Shout-out to the healthcare professionals, but especially my parents, for taking damn good care of me throughout the whole episode. You’re the bomb diggity.
One Friday per month, I’ll write about my favorite things that make life with diabetes a little easier for me.
This month’s favorite thing is so damn obvious that it’s kind of shocking I haven’t written about it yet on the blog: my OmniPod insulin pump.
I love the friggen’ thing.
I don’t know if it’s because pumping works better for me in general over multiple daily injections (MDIs), or if it’s because the OmniPod is simply the perfect pump for me. Honestly, it’s probably a combination of the two. I love how convenient it is – I can deliver insulin any time, any place, I don’t have to worry about tubing getting caught on random objects, and it lasts me for three full days (of course, only if it’s working properly…I’d estimate that it does about 90% of the time). And I love that my dosages are so much more precise compared to how they used to be when I was doing MDIs. It gives me more control, knowing that I can dose in .05 increments according to my current blood sugar levels and carbohydrate intakes.
However, it is merely another piece of diabetes technology, meaning that it does have some flaws. Sometimes pods fail for the silliest reasons, such as coming into contact with static electricity. And other times pods don’t work for no damn good reason at all, without giving the user proper notice (in the case of bent cannulas, something I recently encountered).
But for the vast majority of the time, I love my OmniPod. I’m still surprised to how quickly I adjusted to the system – the first week or two was tough, but then it was relatively smooth sailing after that period. I think it was easy for me to get used to another wearable device, because I’d already been wearing my Dexcom for a couple years by the time I got my OmniPod.
Will I wear my OmniPod for many years to come? Or will I want to switch things up and give another pump a try? Only time will tell, but for now, I think I’ll stick with what I know best in the world of insulin pumping.
I’d only been wearing my new pod for about an hour when my arm brushed up in exactly the wrong way against a chair. Riiiiiiiip!
My pod tore right off – not from my arm, but it lifted up from the adhesive that it was glued to and dangled precariously from the still-intact adhesive stuck to my arm.
After cursing loudly, I asked my mother for her opinion. I wanted to know if she could see the cannula, because that was the component that made me most concerned. As long as the cannula was still stuck under my skin and delivering insulin, it shouldn’t matter that my pod was a little loose – right?
She tried to peek under and around my site, but it was virtually impossible to tell whether the cannula was where it should be. I thought about it for a few moments, and decided that it would be wise to just change out the pod. The notion of tossing one that had only been in use for an hour was unappealing to me, but I know myself pretty well, and I know for damn sure that I would’ve been super paranoid about the pod functioning properly for the following 72 hours. I also figured that it couldn’t hurt to try calling Insulet to see if they would replace the kaput pod. The odds were slim, but why not try?
So after I changed my pod, I dialed up Insulet and described the situation to the customer support representative. And…I got a replacement! I was pleasantly surprised by the rep’s empathy towards the situation and how easy it was to get my replacement. She reaffirmed that I did the right thing, noting that if she’d been in my shoes, she would have called it in, too. It goes to show that when in doubt, change the pod – and don’t hesitate to call for a replacement.
Not too long ago, the following message appeared in the inbox of one of my social media platforms:
I’m so sorry to bother with something like this. I down to my last pod. And.. currently I’m having insurance issues.. I was wondering if there were any pods you could spare? I’m trying to search around. Or if you know anyone that does have extras? Or samples? I would hate hate to return to multiple daily injections.. I know u understand that. If not it’s ok. Sorry to bother. I don’t know where else to try apart from everything else I’ve tried
When I read it the first time, my heart immediately sank. The message was fraught with desperation, as evidenced by the typos and fragmented sentences. My gut reaction was to reach out to this person and let them know that everything would be fine, that there had to be an option out there that would help them.
My next reaction, though, was pure skepticism. I’m not proud to admit that, but here are the facts that I was facing:
I did not know this person. I tried to look at their profile to see if I could learn more about them, only to discover that it was private. I couldn’t see any of their information, other than a minute profile picture and numbers regarding their followers/activity.
This person said they might be forced to go back to MDI. Personally speaking, if I ran out of pods and had to go back to shots, I wouldn’t like it – but if it was my only option, then of course I’d do it. I did it for something like 17 years before ever trying a pump. It sounded like this person wouldn’t want to do it, but…
Most importantly, I do not have any pods to spare. I’m not sure why this individual thought that I did. It seemed like they’ve been asking as many people as possible on social media for pods, which makes me believe that they’re exploring the #omnipod or #podder hashtags. Regardless, I rely on regular shipments (every three months) from Insulet in order to maintain the bare minimum of pods that I need. And I can’t exactly give up “spare pods” that I don’t even have.
As horribly as I felt for this person, I had to take into consideration the facts that were in front of me, as well as the unfortunate truth that you can’t trust everything on the Internet. I told them that they should try to reach out to Insulet for assistance, and that I would be hoping for the best for them. I know that my kind words probably brought little comfort, but it was all that I had to offer to this total stranger.
The whole exchange haunts me. That’s why I want to know…
I’d just settled into my beach chair, ready to crack open a book, when I spotted her.
She was walking as quickly as she could through the sand to help her friend carry a cooler, but not fast enough for me to miss the CGM on her upper arm. I sat up in my chair and wondered whether I should say something to her – after all, not all T1Ds are excited to encounter one another in the wild.
She caught up with her friend and grabbed the other end of the cooler. As they passed me, I saw she was wearing an OmniPod on her opposite arm. Not just any OmniPod, though: This one was decorated with some sort of emerald green design. I took that as a sign, a literal green light, that she probably wouldn’t mind if I said something.
“Nice OmniPod!” I called out.
She looked around, trying to locate my voice. My mother, who’d been reading the whole time and was unaware of a fellow T1D in our midst, shot a bemused look in my direction as the woman finally made eye contact with me.
“I have one too,” I said, pointing to my arm.
“Nice! I like your decoration. Do you have a Dex, too?” She asked, smiling at me.
“Yup – I’m wearing mine on my abdomen. I saw you had both and couldn’t resist saying something.”
“Well, we’ve got two OmniPodders over here,” She pointed to where she’d set up camp for the day.
Beaming, I told her that we had two in our group, as well. My mom offered her arm up to show her pod. I think that Mom was half entertained, half embarrassed over the whole exchange, so it made me happy to see her join in at the end.
The woman returned to her spot and we wished her well. Mom and I soaked up the sun for a few hours before deciding to pack up for the day. As we were getting our belongings together, a young woman approached us.
“Excuse me, may I ask what is on your arms? I’ve seen numerous people wearing that sort of thing today and I can’t figure out what it is, for the life of me!”
I was going to answer for the both of us, but my mom beat me to the punch. She explained that it was an insulin pump, though other people may wear different medical devices that look similar to it. The girl, seemingly appreciating the response, remarked that it was cool and that she was surprised to see so many people wearing them on the beach. She wondered out loud if she was missing out on some sort of trend.
“Yeah, all the cool kids have them,” Mom said, and we all laughed.
I don’t know how many people on the beach that day were wearing OmniPods – or any other insulin pump, for that matter – but I do know for certain that my mom is right: All the cool kids have them, and they’re much cooler for wearing them with pride in full view of the world.