Resolved!

I am a rule-maker and a list-maker, and am a very big fan of post-it notes. As of Monday, each time I open the pantry, a notecard greets me with a question: "Nic, have you eaten a fruit today"? And on the refrigerator is my exercise checklist, which reads: Curves, run, Curves, aerobics, Curves, cardio.

These two reminders are the result of some serious body image issues, issues that have nothing to do with my body and everything with what I am doing to it. I am no heftier or pudgier than I was one month ago, but in my mind I am. Due to car problems and motivation issues, my Curves attendance has been once a week instead of 3 times a week; due to snow, I am not walking; due to diss and job-related things, my mouth thinks it needs to be chomping all the time. And it is.

I can be quite disciplined when I want to be. I ask, "Nic, do you really want that trail mix?" And if the answer is no, I can usually turn away. But there are times when the "I deserves" or "I needs" trump this discipline, and this has been the case for the past month. What I am not getting in contentment and security I am getting in calories.

But no more. Those calories have been replaced by a lot of Extra Sugar-Free gum. I've been to Curves twice this week, and I ran on the treadmill yesterday. I am still struggling with snacking, and with a string of lows that make calorie consumption necessary, but I am trying to get this under control. I am resolved to do so.

They like me, they really like me!

Well, they don't necessarily like me. They like it. My committee, that is, liked my latest dissertation chapter. Now, the last time I met with them, I cried. In front of them. So I was understandably a little nervous about this most recent meeting, especially because I couldn't tell if my chapter was good or bad. I thought it was good but I was so close to it that I didn't know anymore. Imagine my joy when Prof. R said, "I loved the part where..."

Other things or people that like me (or things about me):

• My friend SJ! She just drove down from Rochester, MN to see a Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat with handsome hubby and I. We have been friends for 10 years, and she is (and has) the most lovely soul. She is a wonderful listener, and a wonderful friend to the diabetic me. When we travel, she travels with candy for my low blood sugars just in case. She makes me check my sugar. She asks, "is that enough" if she thinks I'm skimping on food. But she does it in such a SJ way that I don't feel harassed or babysat. And it's very few people who manage that.
• My nieces and nephews. All 12 of 'em.
• My hubby, who apparently likes me enough to stay married to me even though I am at my most insecure, annoying, neurosis period in our marriage. Ever.
• My students. One even emailed me to tell me that yesterday's exam was "good." Whatever that means!
• My blood sugars. I've been in the 80s-170s...except for...

Things that don't like me so much:

• My insulin pump, or the cannulas, or something. Hence,
• My blood sugars. After changing out my pump on Wed., I woke up 2 hours later trying not to toss my cookies and at a stunning 501. I of course shot up and changed again, only to be 466 at 7 am. With a purple pee-stick. And then higher. And then 300. And then, after rage bolusing my heart out, 62. Whereupon I rose above 100 only once the whole evening and have in the course of the last 24 hours been on the low end ever since.
• The scale. I've gained 3 pounds since Feb. 1st. My motivation to get the gym went the way of corded telephones. And my motivation to watch what I eat? Well...

Snow Day!!!!!!

I am originally from Minnesota. I spent the first 21 years of my life, more or less, in the snow state. Snow does not impact me. It's snowing? Okay, get out the shovel, put a blanket in the car, and keep on trucking. I am, moreover, from Brainerd, which historically does not cancel school with major snow falls. All of the school districts around us would close but not ours. The only time I really appreciated Governor Arne Carlson was when he cancelled school for most of the state because it was snowing and 60 below.

It has been a major adjustment moving to Indiana, where schools shut down based on the threat of snow. As of Monday night, all of the schools had been closed except my University. I did not cancel Tuesday's class because as of midnight Monday, no snow had fallen. By morning, 2 inches had fallen. And it was windy. I got to campus and headed to the coffee shop to find it closed due to "inclement weather." (This did not sit well. I NEEDED MY COFFEE. The weather was wintery, not inclement). In my department, which had exactly four people in it, I was asked "if we were crazy to be there." My response didn't sit well. "I don't think so, but I'm from Minnesota."

By noon, however, we were crazy to be there, as the snow had picked up and the wind was blustery. So I headed home. By noon, the University had cancelled classes for only the fourth time its history. My sour, "Indianans are wimps" softened to, "now this is really snow, and it's a snow day!" We spent the day being goofy--driving to Walmart in my brother-in-law's 4-wheel drive jeep, building snow forts, drinking cocoa with marshmallows, watching Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Today is also a snow day. Yay for wimpy Indianans!

Raging Bolus

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.

Who-hoo!

I am celebrating. 68 pages later and chapter 4 is finished! A dissertation chapter should be 50 pages so that when the diss is published it will be a 25-page chapter. Any longer is the kiss of death (at least for me, of short attention span fame). So, my chapter is at least 18 pages too long, but it is done and I am happy.

I am also happy because the Trumpeter Malbec wine that has been in my pantry for 3 months has now been consumed. I bought it in October and the deal was that I couldn't drink it until the chapter was finished. Handsome Hubby was a strict enforcer. And tonight we enjoyed it together, and I enhanced it with some espresso-flavored Ghiradelli.

In other news...nothing has changed in the diabetes front. But things have changed in the insurance front. My husband lost his job last week. They are closing his office. And while I am insured under my graduate student insurance, it only covers doctors' visits to the student health center. No endo, no Minimed. Handsome Hubby has a couple of job leads, but nothing solid. And my car decided to freeze up today (literally--it's cold!) and had to be towed home. When it rains, it pours.

Sometimes I like Doctors

Usually I don't. Usually I need help with somethin--usually my basals or boluses--and they are unable to help me. And this inability (I usually take it as unwillingness, though this is wrong) makes me suspicious, and so I don't call for help when I need it. But my awful blood sugars prompted me to rethink my suspicions (spelling? too tired...) The thing is, despite my attempts to get my basals under control I have been skyrocketing after breakfast and then plummeting...right as I am teaching my English students. Then I have been yo-yoing the whole day, for a fabulous 38-41 finale at about 1 am. This is not acceptable.

My doctor agreed. And yesterday at my endo appointment she took my pump in her hands and redid all of my basals. She did the math on the spot (it takes me forever), adjusted the times and the rates, and...I am in love with her! Number of highs today: none. Number of lows: none. I went up to 194 after breakfast, which after the 300s is great by me.

All of my highs from the last two months are evident in my A1C. It was (as I said it would be!) 6.8. I'm happy when I'm between 6 and 7, but since I've been 6.4 for 6 months I'm a little disappointmed. Although the 6.4s were because I had a good string of 30s...so I guess it balances out.

My life in trash

Detectives often look in people's trash to get clues regarding their lives, habits, secrets. So I thought it would be interesting to keep track of what I threw away today...

1. 1 Starbuck's Venti cup (one day old; "calm" teabag included")
2. 1 foil creamcheese wrapper (Walmart brand; 1/3 less fat)
3. 1 medium coffee cup from campus coffee shop
4. 1 hershey's kiss wrapper--the silver and brown striped kind
5. 1 Snickers "fun size" wrapper
6. 1 USA Today (money and sports sections intact; cover and life sections disheveled)
7. 1 piece of plastic wrap, with tomato sauce on it

I'm noticing a food trend here, so I might as well continue the list. My munching pattern, today:

1. 1 Hershey's Hug
2. 1 fun-size snickers
3. 3 tablespoons cajun trailmix
4. 3 chocolate-covered almonds
5. several handfuls of chocolate chips and marshmallows
6. 2 Jello Jigglers (I had to eat those, my nieces and nephews made 'em for me)

...the above list is why I should not work at home.

Number of low blood sugars today:

1.

Number of high blood sugars today:

too many.

Next doctor's appointment:

Thursday.

Projected AiC: 6.8

Weight: Too much.

CGMS Update

I have been abandoning my blog as I try to finish a chapter and keep up with course prep and grading. And I am really at a loss for words at the moment (this is what happens when you write all day). I do, though, have some CGMS discoveries to share.

1. I can only make a sensor last 6 days. Day 5, the sensor starts to hurt. Day 6, the numbers go wild. Day 7, the many warnings--CAL Error, etc--drive me bonkers and I rip the sensor out in frustration.
2. I like the sensor on my rear/back thigh the best. It's a little difficult to get to, but it isn't as uncomfortable as the abdomen.
3. The transmitter should be moved every 3 days. The first time I hooked up, I left it in one place and when I removed it my skin went with the tape. Ouch! It should also be moved because a tape residue builds that is very hard to wash off. The big grey circle on my thigh is proof, because I have scrubbed and scrubbed.
4. No one tells you how much removing the sensor and transmitter smells. Yes, smells. You know the damp, fleshy smell that accompanies the removal of a band-aid? Mulitply that times 7 days of very big tape (3 strips, to boot), and you'll have an idea of what I mean.

The things we have to learn...

Three Cheers!

Thanks, Julia, for telling me how to get the title field. I feel legit now. Three cheers for you!

And three cheers for my blood sugars (and for all of the prayers that I know have helped them straighten out). I increased my daily basal from 13 units to 18, but they're level (hear me scream!). Today I did not go above 200, and I haven't been able to say that in a long time. (Maybe ever?) In fact, I think I might need to cut back a bit, since I've been maintenance suspending all day. But...the numbers are just so beautiful.

Because I made such drastic changes to my insulin, I cancelled my appointment with the CDE to discuss carb counting. It was supposed to be this morning, but since I only had 1 1/2 days of numbers I thought I would be better off waiting. And even with .5 more units of insulin to cover my mornings--I doubled my basal there--I still need 5 units to cover toast, peanut butter, and milk. So maybe I'm just a reject who needs a lot of insulin to cover breakfast and food in general. We're all "special", right?

Speaking of "special"...I have a huge bruise on my thigh from my latest exercise attempt. See, my New Year's resolution was to try a new form of exercise each semester. This semester, it was supposed to be water aerobics. I got as far as putting my swimsuit in my bag. After a week, I took the swimsuit out to use the bag for something else. So, to assuage my guilt I got a TaeBo video, since I've never done TaeBo and I could do it in the cozy comfort. Good gracious! It's only eight-minutes long but I had to stop the video twice because it is so intense. And the elbow-to-knee segments are killers--my sharp elbow and my fleshy lower thight connected. Ouch! My husband says I could be a model if God had given me any grace...

After whining on Wednesday, I made some drastic basal adjustments. I surveyed my trends and ups and downs and went back to the early pump days, where instead of having a gazillion basals I had four. I decided to make huge changes in the hopes that I could get things leveled out. What a difference a little whining (sorry! I feel guilty!) and basal changes can make. My nighttime sugars have been much better and I've actually been okay--if a little low--during the day.

This is good. But there is always a but...

The but is I'm losing trust the CGMS that I was beginning to love. Why? Because today it had me between 80 and 120 throughout the morning, just kind of hovering there. I was happy. And because I was hovering, and veering low, I had a brownie. And because I had down arrows telling me I was falling, I had a brownie with a bolus. I was not ill-advised to do this, since I munched on the brownie and since I've been falling in the mid-morning. At least, I thought I was not ill-advised. After all, 146 after a brownie without insulin is respectable, right?

Yes, it is, when you are actually 146. But when I went to calibrate I discovered I was not 146. I was not 246. Nor was I 346 or 446. I was, in fact, 530. See my jaw dropping?

One of the problems with the CGMS is you cannot calibrate when you are on a rapid rise or fall--that is, when you have double arrows on the screen, when you have eaten, or when you have exercised. My blood sugars last night were wacked for a different reason, and I couldn't calibrate until this morning. Perhaps something went wrong there. Or perhaps my sensor is starting to come out of my skin--it is a little sore, but I'm not ready to give it up yet. Whatever the reason, a difference of 400 is way to much to account for, and is certainly not healthy. From now on, I will be testing my blood sugar more often.

PS Can anyone tell me how to get "titles" to show up on my blog? I know it's possible with Blogger...I just don't know how to do it. Thanks!

I am having envy issues. I read blogs in which people say, "I'm so upset, I've worken up above 100 for three days in a row" or, "I've managed to stay between 80 and 120 for 5 days" and instead of saying, "yay" my response is an uncharitable "shut up." Because I am trying, trying so hard to reign in my blood sugars. Yet the more I try the worse things seem to be. For instance: After three days of running high I decided to do an all around basal hike. My numers warranted it. I moved conservatively, only upped each time by .5. So, what happens?

Well, my blood sugar overnight was consistent. As in, ranging a stead 240-300. As in, nothing below 200. So I corrected this morning and had my oatmeal and then began to plummet. Managed to stave off a low because of those handy double-arrows. And this afternoon I was steadily between 80 to 130, which would have had been dancing through the library aisles if not for the fact that steadiness was the result of a whole bottle of glucose tabs, consumed throughout the day; a Snicker's bar; and the handly little suspend function. The whole afternoon I had symptoms of a low even though I wasn't, and let me tell you, very little work got done. This is not good. Dissertation defense looms.

So I must confess I am having the "why me's?" And I hate that almost as much as I hate this disease.

Potpourri

I read a blog awhile back in which the author wrote diabetes haiku. The haikus were clever and amusing, and have inspired me to write my own. I find it comforting ordering the disorder of diabetes into three lines, 17 syllables. Condensing everything and making in conform. I can't find the blog now to give proper credit where it is due, but if I find it (or if anyone can refresh my memory) I'll be sure to link to it.

Anyway, here is my attempt:

Post-prandial woes
306 after oatmeal
and seven units

...a continuous problem. I can't get my post-breakfast readings under control. I understand a spike is necessary, but really, shouldn't 5 units for 1 piece of toast and a glass of milk be more than sufficient? I keep upping my basals, but it's not working. So I hooked up the 'ol CGMS to see if I could get a handle on things. It was the first time I did it alone and it was really difficult. The soft-serter has a really sticky button and it's hard to push it fast like you're supposed to. The first time I tried to insert the very long needle it only barely went in. The second time my handsome hubby helped, and it worked just fine. I'm thankful for his help--he is calming and smart, and he had to overcome a definite aversion to needles in order to help. Even I find the CGMS needle hard to deal with!

Finally, two more really interesting NYT diabetes stories.

This one--"What's Making Us Sick is an Epidemic of Diagnoses"--is really thought-provoking and provides an interesting compliment to my previous post about to doctor or not to doctor. I agree that we are too quick to think ourselves sick, and that medicine is interested in proving we need "help." At the same time, as one with many friends and relatives with such "questionable" illnesses as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia, I think it is imporant to take a balanced perspective.

This one--"New Job Title for Druggists: Diabetes Coach"--I found inspiring. It portrays the kind of hands-on, preventive kind of treatment that is necessary to have educated diabetics. I wish more health insurance companies would get this--that buy investing in measures such as those shown in this story (as well as technologies like the CGMS), we can help prevent the kind of complications that hinder our lives and that they have to shell out for later.

As diabetics, we have more health problems to worry about than most people. Or maybe I should say, we have the threat of health problems to worry about. Not only do we face possible complications with our eyes, kidneys, hearts, and feet, we face higher risk of everything from gum disease to skin infections to frozen shoulder.

And, I am deciding, we face a higher risk of hypochondriachism, the belief that there is something wrong when, in fact, it's all in our heads. When we're told that we could lose a foot if we have a wee little cut, who can really blame us? My imagination, for one, can run rampant.

And this poses a problem. Because, what it boils down to for me is my imagination versus the probability that I am probably a-okay. As in, yes, my shoulder hurts, but it's probably just me shoulder just hurting. Yes, maybe I should go to a doctor, but it's probably nothing. He will scorn at me (and I hate to say it, but it's always a "he" that scorns) and roll his eyes at another white, middle-class woman with too much time on her hands. But...maybe it is, say, frozen shoulder, and if I go now I won't need surgery later. And what these scenarios boil down to, for me, is a push-me-pull-you of paralyzing indecision about whether to seek medical attention. It's why I had a sinus infection for a month before I went to the doctor, because it had to be a cold, didn't it?

But this post really isn't about a shoulder or a sinus infection. It's about the fact that I am beat. Wiped out. Absolutely without energy. I have had a sore throat for 10 days; I am still trying to get my voice back; I am ready for bed at 7 pm. And while I am aware that yes, I am diabetic, and that it takes a while to recover (though I rarely, if ever get sick), and that yes, a viscious cold is going around, and that yes, I just did four interviews in 2 days and traveled to boot...I am a bit unsettled. Partiuclalry because I am clearly no longer fighting this bug like I was, as is clear from my low-to-normal blood sugars. So I waver. To doctor or not to doctor, that is the question.

Anyone else go through this fear-of-hypochondria, fear-of-mortal illness dilemma?

What I learned on my Christmas Vacation, by Nic.

I like to talk. I learned this after losing my voice. It's very hard to be rendered mute when you are a story teller and a joke-cracker. And it's hard to lose your voice anyway, when every little interaction requires voice. Especially when those "little" interactions are 4 job interviews in two days. Thankfully I didn't fully lose my voice until after the last one, but gracious, that last one was a struggle!

The Continuous Glucose Monitor is a mixed blessing. I knew this already, but the mixed-ness became more apparent as my journey to Philadelphia for interview drew near. I love, love, love knowing my blood sugar all of the time. It is addicting, and as I prepped to leave I was faced with this debate: "Do I really want to test my blood sugar 10 times a day when interviewing" versus "Do I want my roomates to hate me because the CGM goes off constantly in the middle of the night"? I decided that roomate hate was a bad thing and left the GGM at home. This turned out to be a good decision, becuase between the stress and the illness (a quasi-cold that has lasted 10 days!) my average was 280, with some exciting 45s and 489s thrown in.

Things are not always as they appear. When I approached my interviews I had a ranking of what school I wanted to end up at. The one in dust-bowl, Tornado-alley state was near the bottom, while the one in a city-that-is-300-miles-from-anywhere was near the top. But the interview experience changed all of that. The Dust Bowl school had interviewers who were so nice and human; we had a comfortable conversation and they showed me that they really care about their faculty (and faculty families) as people. This certainly was not the case with the 300-miles-from-anywhere school, which was an unsettingly interview for several reasons. I haven't discounted it totally--for on thing, the poor people probably had interviewed 20 people by the time they got to me--but it certainly shifted my career priorities.

Reading non-school books is fun! This I also knew, but it had been a long time. But between being sick and being fried from course and interview prep, I got to read a lot of books this break that have absolutely nothing to do with my dissertation! I enjoyed my first exposure to David Sedaris's Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim--funny and sad and true and twisted all at the same time. Definitley my type of humor. Joanne Dobson's academic mystery novels took a little guilt out of the fun reading since her heroine, Karen Pelletier, is a nineteenth-century American scholar. Dobson gives such a wry and truthful glance at the warped world in which I've chosen to build a career. And I finally read The Kite Runner, a beautiful novel by Khaled Husseini that I continue to think about. And now, the fun reading is over. I only have 4 months to finish my diss!

I love my husband and my family. They are such blessings. Handsome hubby tricked me with my Christmas gift and gave me Love Actually (an all-time favorite) instead of the very pracitcial and un-Christmassy box of glasses that he had wrapped up (with Love Actually inside). He takes great care of me all of the time, but especially when I wiped out with a migraine (Monday); a blood sugar (Tuesday); a cold/larynigitis (now). And he is patient. And my mom and dad are the most supportive parents in the world, calling me in Phildelphia and checking in and emailing me daily. It's a good time to count blessings.

Check out this New York Times story: "Diabetics in the Workplace Confront a Tangle of Laws".

The education lady laughs at me when I tell her I'm only going to wear the CGM once a month.

"A lot of people say that, but then they love it," she says.

I can see why. Yesterday I tested my blood sugar twice. Just twice. Do you know how long it's been since I tested my blood sugar just twice? I don't.

I love the trend chart, the arrows, and the fact that I can more or less have a grip on my blood sugar at any time.

I also love that I might finally get a grip on my carb counting.

"You don't use the bolus wizard?" the education lady asks in confusion as we program my pump.
"No."
"Why not?"
I lower my voice to a stage whisper, glancing at the other two nurses in the room who are watching and learning along with me--one of whom trained me on carb counting 4 years ago--"because I don't know my carb ratio."

They all laugh. I leave with an appointment card in hand for a refresher course.

I really do like the CGM. I like how it tells me when I am going up or coming down, and how I can stave off a low because of those nifty little double arrows. But I am also finding it disorienting. Part of this is humorous--it's disorienting because I am always checking it and it's hard not to bump into things when fiddling with the pump. But the fact that it's 10-15 minutes behind my actual blood sugar is proving frustrating. I felt my afternoon plummet--heat waves, shakes, and all--long before the double arrows clued me in. And those arrows and the "68" flashing on my screen 20 minutes after I had treated had be second guessing--do I need more juice? Am I still falling?

This, I guess, is just something to get used to. And I am looking forward to it. Merry Christmas to me!

Today, in an effort to escape the oppression of blood sugars, grief, and rain, I picked up a Lady's Home Journal. No holiday cheer there. I found an excerpt by Mrs. Edwards, former presidential candidate John Edward's wife, recounting life after the death of their 16 year-old son, Wade. In it, Edwards quotes a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay. Called "Dirge Without Music," part of it reads:

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

I opened Lady's Home Journal trying to forget, for a moment, the holidays and the memories that for the last two days...last two weeks...last two months...have engulfed me. Of...decorating the Christmas tree with my brother. Of seeing every James Bond movie with him. Of giving each other thinly-veiled clues about what we'd gotten each other for Christmas. Of his inability to keep secrets. Of getting the giggles every Christmas Eve when an elderly woman would sing O Holy Night, straining to reach the high notes with a voice that must have once been beautiful. But in Lady's Home Journal, in that excerpt by Mrs. Edwards, were truth that I cannot escape.

I know God has a plan in taking my brother early. I know He is working. And I can approve--to a point--but I am not resigned. I am not resigned to the fact that each year means one more year without him, means that I must add another number onto the phrase "the last time I saw him was so many years ago." Three is too many--what will it be like when it is 30? I am not resigned to the fact that I cannot say that my brother "passed away." He didn't pass away--he died when he chose to inhale a lethal combination of chemicals, just one more time. I am not resigned to the fact that my parents are broken, that my cousin, a 9-year old red-headed pixie, grieves for his fun-loving cousin so hard. That when we go to Christmas Eve services, there is a space that cannot be filled no matter how closely we scrunch together.

My brother was smart--smarter than me--he was an adorable red-head with a heart that bled for anything hurting or anyone hurt. He brought home injured animals. He bought flowers for friends-who-were-girls because no one had given them flowers before. He had a contagious laugh. He was witty--a fisherman--more Irish than our heritage implies. He was braver than anyone I know, taking a stand when it was hard, and living with depression and addiction and making it through each day with a smile on his face and love on his heart. And he is dead.

I am not resigned.

I am not resigned.

6:30 am. The alarm goes off and I start. Is it time already?

I stumble to the shower. Luxuriate in very hot water. Begin the pain-staking interview preperation. I eat breakfast in my robe so as not to spill on my "professional" black suit. I stand in my "foundations" as I put on make-up and blowdry my hair. I force myself into nylons and clip my pump to the elastic before finally putting on the suit.

7:30 am. I leave the house, more worried about spilling on my suit, getting chalk on my suit, getting blood on my suit than anything else.

8:30 am-11:30 am. Rolling right along. No suit disasters, nor have I scuffed up my "comfortable but professional leather pumps". My blood sugar is 76 at 10:30, and I sip half a coke. I would rather be on the high end than on the low end when 12:30 rolls around.

11:30 am. My morning's work is done, and panic hits. I have an interview in one hour. And I need to eat. But if I eat, I will spill on my suit and have to dry clean it, again. (Yes, obsessive, I know.) But now the panic is less about my suit than the interview itself. For calm, I eat. But the menu at the coffee shop poses a challenge: grilled cheese--greesy, out. Tuna--er, tuna breath, bad idea. A wrap with onion? I don't think so. I settle on the soup, deciding that chicken noodle is a fairly safe choice. Certainly better than the chili. I burn my tongue. Badly. But then I settle into the rhythms of dipping the spoon, cradling the broth, savoring its flavor. Chicken soup is good for the soul.

I corner a noodle with my spoon, noting that broth won't do me much good if my blood sugar nosedives during the "tell us about your dissertation" questions.

The noodle...
falls off the spoon...
plops into the soup...
and the soup...
jumps out the bowl...
onto my suit!

I set the soup aside.

Buy a Hershey's with almonds to solace my quaking soul.

And gum, just in case.

Arrive at my interview at a steady 136 and my mind and nerves in tact, and chicken noodle soup that has dried invisibly--bless that chicken's heart.

The interview goes just fine.

This is an S.O.S. Can anyone suggest a cookbook for singles? This query is for a newly diagnosed friend working on portion control and wanting to make recipes that serve one or two people. Tasty recipes would be nice.

Thanks for the help.

Out like a light at 10:30. A respectable 178 in my blood. Shouldn't have to worry about going low.

One hour later I sit bolt up right, fighting the dry heaves and waves of nauseau. I squint for my meter and realize I left it downstairs. Will I make it?

402.

402? Here are the moments when WTF come to mind.

I change out my pump, feeling miserable. Searching for a tell-tale air bubble in my tubing, or a bent canula, anything to explain how I would shoot up over 200 points in an hour.

Nothing.

My Ketostick is dark purple, a "large" among of keytones. I haven't had a purple stick in years.

I go back to bed; mumble at my husband, who rubs my back and distracts me from the violent nausea. I role over too quickly and rush to the toilet--just in case. I never threw up from a high blood sugar until I got my pump.

Two hours later, I am 278. Still purple. I drink a lot of water.

This morning, 136, and the nagging question: what went wrong?