I am not ready for a committed relationship. A new partner, a new persona. Now part human, part machine I sense my life has taken another lunge into the unknown realm. Unknown and outside the comfort zone? Bring it on. But 'bring it on' as long as it is on my terms. Mess with me, but as long as I can push your buttons as you do it.
The first major adjustment to this new relationship is my disruption to my sleep. Disruption to sleep is one sure sign that things are not normal. In fact, thats exactly how I knew there was something wrong with me when I was first diagnosed with diabetes some six years ago. Departing the wonderful realm of my bed to attend the toilet - something that should have been left until the morning, but for some reason had become an absolute urgent matter - was a sure sign that something was wrong, alright. Pass me the insulin, welcome to the D-world.
The past week has seen a return to sleep disruption in a major way. Of course, every diabetic is used to sleep disruption - too high and you freeze on the bathroom tiles, too low and you are crawling for the kitchen (usually a couple of hours after the crawl to the kitchen you are off to freeze on the tiles anyway).
But in order to establish the basal rate of delivery, which administers a small amount of insulin all through the night in varied rates of intensity, I need to test all through the night. Every three hours seems a simple request: first you set all four alarms available to you, then you sleep until all four chime simultaneously for at least half an hour. Or, more like it, you sleep right through them all, and wake up in the morning with a backlog of alarming and some confused clocks. Test, roll over and head back to sleep. The worst nightmare imaginable. I hope this newborn feeding stage ends soon, please.
Now life is controlled by a little, yet heavier that you'd imagine, pager which is attached to my gut via a circular-looking disk that appears melted to my skin. Between the molten plastic absyss and the pager-with-no-camera is a tiny cord, tube, lifeline, whatever. I am to check this tiny thing for 'air bubbles'. On the first day I proudly discover one, only to be informed that it is left-over sticky tape from the tube packaging. Beats me about the dangers of bubbles. I'll take them when I get them, which is bound to occur before I actually see them.
The second major thing I've noticed is storage. Without a cleavage big enough to consume the bulk of the thing within and attached to the bra, I am left to store it on pockets or attached to the top of pants. There are, of course, other storage areas but the vibrate mode isn't strong enough (I mean, erm, compared to other vibrating modes available). But it has inspired me to wear bra's more frequently in the hope that they will have some actual use for once - such as a temporary hook up in the toilet. But will I always be forced to endure the child attached to the hip, or will there be a pram in the future?
Thirdly - convenience. Before beginning this ramble, I happened to open up a left over packet of babysitting treats. Just have a couple, I say. I pull out the pager, set the dose, and return to munching. The packet is gone before I know it, and I have returned to the pager another two times to counter for it. So easy, so convenient. Just dial away. Reading too high? Just correct it, more dialling. Who would have thought that the extra 15 seconds it takes to dig around and find my pen in my bag, or on the backseat, dial up a dose, roll up the belly, find a non-bruised area...okay, more like a minute of inconvenience. Compared this to a turn to the hip, push a coupla buttons..I don't even need to check my skin, or hold the needle cap in my teeth until the shoot up is done. It is a refeshingly simpler process.
Exercise has been a blast to date. Reduce basal rate over a set time has worked magnificently. Mountain biking over the weekend presented a new challenge when I fell and landed on my back. Luckily on the wrong side - I managed to completely smash my blood glucose monitor and finger prick. My pump (in temp basal rate of 70%) was still working away in my other back pocket. A road cycle race on Saturday was so much fun - for once I didn't need to think about my sugar levels (set temp basal at 60%), and instead just focussed on racing, strategy and beating the fellas in the sprint. Great fun, and in pouring rain too (pump in plastic bag in back pocket).
But, while we are strolling in the park together sharing ice creams and dreaming of a long life side by side, I wonder when the honeymoon will be over. I have already thrown my jacket onto a hook with the pump still inside it(oww), woken up with it around my ear, and had my niece kick the shit out of it as she wriggled on my lap.
We'll see, eh?
Monas
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