Monthly Archives: August 2013

Welcome to sucksville

You know what sucks…
Waking up at 5 am for a run, and not being able to run.

You know what sucks…
Squeezing into a sports bra, which, seriously, is no easy task, all for naught.

You know what sucks…
Fueling up for a run, but not actually running.

You know what sucks…
Spending a whole week icing, Advilling, stretching, foam rolling, being a good little injured runner, and yet, seeing hardly any positive steps towards healing.

You know what sucks…
Running 200 meters only to be struck down by the feeling of hammers ferociously pounding down on your pelvis.

You know what sucks…
The memories of not being able to walk a week prior instilling the fear of the running gods in you and stopping you dead in your tracks.

You know what sucks…
Sitting on a bench at 5:30 in the morning frantically sending worried emails to your coach and physio, looking so forlorn even the family of ducks sauntering across the boardwalk look at you with pity in their eyes.

You know what sucks…
Doing everything right and still being struck by injury.

You know what sucks…
Being that one person to prove all the cycling enthusiasts wrong and actually get injured on the bike, something they all told me – multiple times! – would not happen.

You know what sucks…
Being a runner with a cycling injury.

You know what sucks…
THIS BLOODY WELL SUCKS!!! 😦

Syringes vs. Infusions

For nearly four years I have not known the feel of a syringe, the gentle ease at which it slides in under the skin, the smooth, non-evasiveness of its short metal tip, and the non-existent flinches, pinches, and pokes that often result with infusions.

I was happy not knowing…

The day after Jog for the Bog my blood sugars went into a panicked state. Almost right from the moment I got up they were high, not overly high, but high enough for me to be annoyed. I kept giving myself extra doses of insulin in an effort to bring the sugars down, but none worked.

By dinner, they were 11.5, and creeping up into the Holy crap, what the hell is going on??? hyperglycemic zone. More insulin. Two hours later they were 15.8. More insulin. One hour later, they were 16.8. At this point, most people would probably change out their infusions. But not me. Just like my blood sugars, I, too, can be super stubborn. Plus, it was nearing 11, my eyes were droopy, my body heavy, all I wanted was sleep. The BG lethargy had taken over.

More insulin.

When I awoke at 2 a.m. to check again, they were 16.7. HOLY FREAKING FRICK! Desperate times. I stumbled over to the wardrobe where I keep my diabetes supplies, I rifled through a box until I found the unopened emergency baggy of old-school syringes. I pulled one out, drew up three units of insulin, pulled up some belly fat, and slid her in. It was the first time in nearly four years I’ve done so.

130801needle1
Hello old companion.

Immediate thoughts: Huh… that was the easiest injection I’ve given myself since going on the pump. Huh… had it always been that easy? Huh… why the heck are infusion needles so bloody long? Huh… how the hell am I to go back to injecting infusions, knowing their pains, when I’ve just had a taste of comfortable bliss? Huh….

Like I said, it’s sometimes better not remembering.

130801needle2
Okay seriously, that length and thickness is just not cool next to the sleek syringe!

I switched out my infusion, which, let me just say, at 2 a.m. takes a helluva LOT longer than any other time of the day!!! I thoroughly examined that sucker but nothing appeared wrong. The canula was straight as an arrow, not bent out of shape in any which way; the infusion site was perfectly clear, no redness at all; the tubing wasn’t kinked; and while there were a few air bubbles in the reservoir, it was nothing that should have caused those kinds of BG numbers.

The only thing amiss was the state of my pump’s battery. I had been getting a low-battery alert for a few hours prior to bed, but I figured I could push the battery through to the morning. And it didn’t outright die, there was still juice in there, so again, I’m doubting that the culprit. Just another one of those ugh, frustratingly awful diabetes mysteries I guess.

By 6:30 a.m., my BG was back down to a happy 5.4 … all thanks to the old-school injection!