My tale begins at 3 am, when I awoke with a start. Usually when I do that, it means my blood sugar is out-of-control. And sure 'nough, it was. It was a nutty 423. Bleary-eyed, I did a shot of 3 units and went back to bed. At 9 am, I was an equally-out-of control 363. Clearly, my pump was malfunctioning--I had had that suspicion last night. But I was still sleepy. So I did a shot of four units and crawled back in bed. When I changed my pump, there were little globules of blood and fat in the cannula, so I think insulin simply wasn't able to deliver and absorb. That makes sense. What doesn't make since is that gazillions of units later, I am still high. I limited my breakfast to a piece of toast and did a more-than-enough bolus of 6 units. Two hours later? In the 300s. Another shot. After a nap, because it was all I was up for, I had come down to a more respectable 253 and gave into my stomach's demands for lunch. Again, I did plenty of insulin and then I braved the cold (with my loving, sacrificial husband) to try to walk off the high and the lingering high blood sugar idiocy. I am now 319.
This sucks. As does being unable to figure out if the problem is: insulin (likely, I'm room-templing a new bottle now); bad sets; a virus...the same old, same old. And as I try to play detective, I am waiting, waiting for the inevitable rage bolus low to catch up with me.