So yesterday was about the fun part, sans Wilford. Today is about Wilford. Who sucks. Right, I’m preaching to the choir, but seriously, Diabetes is not fun. Add in a mess of self-induced stress and oh my wow, Diabetes is really, really not fun.
I’m not going to elaborate on the stress, but it was there. Lots of it. #bgbeforethemeetup was not pretty. Eating a cupcake was going to be an interesting adventure. I’m going to save the “good part” for the end, it’ll make for a more dramatic ending. So just roll with me, ok?
Hello Cupcake. Or if you speak Animaniacs, Hellooooooooooo Cupcake. Having browsed the menu before I made the trip on the orange line, I knew there was no point in trying to hold back. You don’t go to a cupcake place and only eat half of it. Suck it up, if ever there was something that was bolus worthy, this qualifies. Naturally, I was afraid to wander too far off the reservation so I went with Vanilla on Vanilla. Safe, Sugar, Win. Considering how high I was pre-Metro, 5 units should be fine, I knew there was going to be a little walking and I didn’t want to risk over treating a single cupcake. I was willing to tolerate a little elevation for the sake of a few hours with some strangers.
Side note: this was my first time seeing a CGM in action. Sure, I’ve read plenty of blog posts, seen some videos about how awesome they are to insert but it’s different in action. To anyone doubting the power of these devices, I am a believer. I must say, I did feel rather analog with my insulin pens. Everyone else is whipping out CGM and Pump goodies from their utility belts…I have this pen thing that clicks. I know Your Diabetes May Vary, but it was just interesting to see the contrast in how you can tackle Wilford. To each their own. Now where was I?
Cupcakes then turned to dinner. Sadly the dinner part of dinner was quite miserable. As soon as we sat down my stomach started turning. I assumed it was my nerves lingering and figured I could eat my way through it. Ordered, injected and had a go at it. 3 bites of my burger later I was done. I felt like crap. The best part was that I still had my injected insulin to consider. 6 units with nothing to balance the equation. 11 units total with only a cupcake to show on my end. I wish I had a better explanation for what happened, but this isn’t the place to get into details. It’s done. I’m still alive, so you know the story has a happy ending. Or something like that.
Then the walking. Washington DC is a cool place at night. The monuments carry a lot more weight when you add dramatic lighting or put them up against a dark sky. But there was a lot of walking. By the end of the night we had to make a pit stop at McDonalds for a sugar cookie. I still couldn’t eat anything, but more importantly I didn’t know if I should’ve even tried.
Here’s the kicker.
Remember the #bgbeforethemeetup? That was the only time I had checked my blood sugar during the whole 7-8 hour adventure in the District. I didn’t have my meter with me. What’s worse is that I made a conscious decision to leave Bart Allen in my car. Yes, I flew blind for 8 hours, with 11 units of Humalog and a cupcake and God knows how many foot steps taken because I let my ego get in the way.
I was going to meet up with other people with Diabetes. Who get it, who understand, who wont judge, who will break out jelly beans if you are in a pickle and I was embarrassed to carry Bart Allen with me. I wish I could chalk this up to just being forgetful, but that’s not the case. I didn’t want to feel the burden of being worried about a stupid number for the night. I had enough to worry about, so I thought I could leave Diabetes behind. Shows what I know. I was so locked in my decision that even after openly admitting that I left my meter in my car I declined the offer to use Dayle’s meter. Twice. I’m an idiot.
By the end of the night, after all the insulin, and the walking and the lack of food somehow I got back to my car at 102. Which is a whole other bowl of irony that I wont bother to get in to. But that might put in to context how high I was before hand and how much of a risk I took in not bringing my meter with me.
Even in hanging out with other People with Diabetes, I still felt shame. I still felt embarrassed. I still tried to hide. In front of people who knew exactly what I was going through.
Not my proudest moment.