I’m just being honest. No pity required. This whole diabetes thing is not fun. I’m dealing. I’m doing. But it’s not fun.
Here’s the thing. I’m scatter-brained. I’m unorganized. I’m awful at math. Three very bad traits for a diabetic. The worst is probably my math skills. They are so scary sad. I had to have Matt check my checking of Belle’s math homework last week. AND SHE’S IN FIRST GRADE!! See, for every meal I eat, I have to figure out the amount of carbs I’ll be consuming. Once I figure that out (as if restaurants are so awesome at providing such information), I then have to dial up my shot/insulin pen accordingly. For every 15 carbs, I dial one unit of insulin. That may be super easy for you, but for me, my brain just shuts down. Sometimes I just get extremely frustrated and guess, and the consequences of a bad guess are just no fun.
I have also been known to give myself the correct shot and then forget to eat or get distracted long enough for the insulin to do a number on me. Either way–too high or too low–I just can’t describe how it can affect you. The balance has to be considered constantly. I have to check my blood sugars/prick my fingers at least 6 times a day, which is also no fun, especially for someone who is always tapping at a keyboard. But I think my frustrations are the greatest simply about life not being simple. I can’t just pick up a bagel and eat it. I can’t run out the door without remembering my ‘supplies.’ I can’t eat a little snack in the middle of the day if it has too many carbs without first taking a shot. I can’t run through Starbucks without pulling over to take a shot. I miss simple.
And when I shared my frustrations with Matt, this is what he said, “I had to take a little girl to the nurse’s office today at school. She was wearing an insulin pump, and her sugars got too low. Her little hands shook the entire way. She was in second grade.” A second grader. That means she was probably seven years old.
And in an instant, my self-pity turned to me wanting to paint “JERK” across my forehead. There I was complaining about my four months with the disease, being blessed enough to have not even contracted it until age 34, while this precious little child had a lifetime of dealing with it ahead of her. It shut me up. And brought some needed perspective.
I won’t sugarcoat it. It sucks. It takes effort to be well. It’s life changing. But it has a purpose in my life. And I believe that.
Currently, I am trying to decide about an insulin pump. I am sold on the idea. But I can’t decide between the wireless pump (Omnipod) or a pump with wires. Both have their strengths and weaknesses. I’ll let you know when I pick which little accessory will work best for me. I mean, if Nick Jonas can sport one in style, I know I can rock it.
If you have any suggestions or experience with these pumps, I would love to hear from you. I want to hear the tried and tested stories. I mean, I’m not going to be truly happy with either until they come in pink, but I’m willing to deal….