There isn’t a day where I’m not annoyed with diabetes to some degree. Somedays are worse than others.
Today was a worse than others day. It was one of those days where I could do everything right and I wasn’t going to get expected results. These days are the worst for me because when I take the time to make sure I’m doing everything just right, I expect my diabetes to behave appropriately. You’d think that after 16 years with this damn disease that I’d have learned not to expect so much from it. What can I say, I have high expectations for the things in my life (besides, when I do figure out how to make it behave, I’ll be rich and have a mansion of a cabin in the forest, that has a helicopter pad, and an indoor pool).
Today, diabetes handed me a few high things of it’s own. High numbers, all day. Even with a few correction shots, an unscheduled site change, negative ketone checks, and adjusted basal rates, I stayed up in the 200s all day. Worse was that my sensor was reading 60 pts below where I was running (I know the thing isn’t perfect, but there’s a big difference between 10-20 pts and a 60 pt span between my meter and my sensor numbers.) The only thing right about my sensor was the hourly flatlines of where it thought I was running (the longest flatline today was almost 2 hrs long and it showed me in the 140s).
What’s worse is that it hurt every time I pricked my finger, gave myself a shot, or gave a bolus. I don’t know what the problem was, but I could feel everything. That and I wasn’t bleeding when I pricked my fingers and so for any one check there would be between 2-3 finger pricks.
Well, I wasn’t bleeding until tonight anyways. I bled all fine and dandy tonight. It was dinner time and so, as food would have it, I needed to check my blood and I was going to do just that. So I pricked my finger. No blood. So I squeezed it. Still no blood. So I squeezed it harder. I still didn’t think it was bleeding and then I saw it, not a droplet of blood beading on my finger, but a stream of blood shooting up a foot high from my finger.
If there had been a magnifying glass watching this event, it would’ve been like the cap having been unscrewed from a fire hydrant and the water shooting high up into the sky.
Now normally, this wouldn’t have phased me because I’m rarely somewhere where I’d care blood landed when this happens. Granted, I can’t predict when this will happen, but I do know that I’ve never been as traumatized by this happening as I was tonight.
I was standing over my bed. And on my bed wasn’t some comforter with a cover that I didn’t care about on it, no, the quilt Grams made for me 2 Christmas’ ago was on it. And when I saw the blood on it, I freaked out.
The last time my diabetes bled all over me, I had to throw the shirt away because I couldn’t get the blood out of it. Granted, there was a lot of blood, a good eighth of my shirt was covered in it, but that’s the last memory I have of my diabetes, blood, and some form of cloth.
So, while I’m freaking out, I’m yelling at mom “how do I get blood off my quilt?”
Her: “when did it get there?”
Mom: “cold water”
this is where I start to cry, because cold water didn’t save my shirt (neither did shout).
So then, I’m standing over the sink with my quilt in it, tears streaming down my face, watching the cold water run over the blood, leaving it there, (if the water had tracks, it’d be leaving the blood in it’s tracks). At this point, I’m muttering about how much I hate diabetes. I kind of touch the blood, afraid of rubbing it in, and then it starts to disappear a little. Eventually, most the blood got washed away, and if you didn’t know where the blood was to begin with, you won’t ever see it. As time passes hopefully my memory of it’s location will disappear as well.
Today was a bad diabetes day.