It takes me somewhere between 12 and 25 minutes to drive to work in the mornings. I drive down a terribly busy road which carries trams, cars, trucks and bikes. People dash across the road whenever they can. It is hectic!
Yesterday morning, I was sitting in traffic, mentally counting down how long it would be before I got to my morning café for my take away coffee.
I yawned. ‘Need coffee,’ I thought. I yawned again. And again. ‘Oh, shit,’ I thought. Even though I felt fine, the incessant yawning gave it away. I was low.
I reached into my handbag and pulled out the pink and red Marimekko purse and, taking advantage of the banked up traffic, pushed a strip into the bottom of the meter, pricked my finger and wiped the drop of blood across the strip.
2.8mmol/l.
I swore. Loudly. So loudly that the woman in the car next to me looked over at me. We both had our windows closed.
The road is a clearway in the mornings; I couldn’t pull over. I put on my indicator, silently begging the traffic to move so I could turn left into the street ahead.
I grabbed a handful of jellybeans from my bag, and shoved them down my throat, chewing furiously as the cars in front of me inched forward.
Finally I could turn left. I pulled into the side street and parked. Turning off the engine, I sat there chewing and gulping.
How had this happened? I scrolled back through my meter and saw that less than 20 minutes earlier, just before I left the house to drop the kidlet at school, my BGL was 5.9mmol/l.
My eyes filled with tears at this point – typical response when I think about how diabetes impacts on those I love. I swiped my hand across my eyes, cursing (again) as I saw my mascara had run.
Involuntarily, my hand moved to my stomach where my CGM was fastened. As I was rushing around getting ready that morning, my pump pulsed and squealed, telling me that the sensor was dead after having been in for seven days. I knew I just needed to reset it – it was still reading beautifully.
But I didn’t. I didn’t restart it. I just shoved my pump away, thinking that I’d maybe, maybe, not sure, perhaps start it later in the day. If I felt like it.
I swore again – this time at myself.
I need this. At the moment, I need this. I am already feeling so lousy at diabetes – second guessing everything – I need whatever help I can to help me.
I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror. ‘I need this,’ I told myself, tears welling again.
After about ten minutes, I rechecked my BGL and it was back up over five. I was good to drive and make my way to work.
I went to start the car and stopped. I pulled my pump out from my bra and scrolled through the menu until I found what I was looking for. ‘Start CGM Sensor Session’.
I pressed start.
3 comments
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March 24, 2015 at 6:34 pm
Andrew
Could’ve been worse. Thankfully you were at near standstill in bumper-to-bumper traffic, and not traveling at 80 to 100 km/h on the freeway. Could’ve been worse.
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March 24, 2015 at 11:49 pm
Scott E
The incessant yawning… that’s something that’s been new for me over the past year. The traditional low symptoms no longer seem to apply, but instead I just get really sleepy. It takes a rational thought-process, not intuition or instinct, to realize that I’m low. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one…. though in this life of diabetes, I know that I never am.
Quietly ending sensors are the devil. Are we really expected to stop what we’re doing, then and there, to replace it? We aren’t allocated enough supplies to replace it early, and can run into trouble (as you’ve shown) if we wait. That forbidden “restart” is really a requirement.
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March 25, 2015 at 7:12 am
StephenS
I’m glad everything is okay (and you’re okay) now. You need this.
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