Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Full Blown Type 1 Sook

Just so's you know. I'm sitting in Michel's Patisserie in Brunswick. I'm having a moderate sook.

Why? Because Type 1 Diabetes is a bastard to live with. All that ordinary stuff that people take for granted, like plating up with over 100g of carb without recrimination, other than perhaps a little weight on the hips.

Well, I've got the weight anyway & I've just had a remarkably ordinary wholemeal ham & cheese toastie with an Earl Grey tea & skinny milk. So pure of me given I'm surrounded by sweets & pastries.

But I'm really sulking cos I'm in the middle of a bike ride & I can't control my blood sugar. Prepared for the ride. 30g of breakfast carbs - Special K & skinny soy milky. Reduced basal insulin - see below - pre an easy ride - about 10 k anticipated. Bg -blood glucose - 12.7 at start of ride. 4 k down the track it's 7. I have 10 mins of feeling smug as I swan around K Mart buying a couple of copies of Perks of Being a Wallflower & the latest Diary of a Whimpy Kid for my middle school kids.

But my bg had dropped to 5.7. Wasn't hungry but thought I'd better carb up, hence aforementioned sandwich. I still have to cycle back to Coburg against a fierce wind. But by the time my food arrives I've checked my bg again. 4.8. Dropping quickly. So I have a 4 jelly bean starter pre lunch. Hate that.

So here I am hanging around in a very un-French pastry shop, waiting for my bg to settle itself.

Just pisses me off. It is a bother. Nearly said 'handicap' - after all I am a 'full blown Type 1 diabetic'. OMG! Hide!

However blogging is cheaper than therapy & I feel better now. Hope I haven't made anyone feel the need to hug a tree.

Bg 10.4. I can pedal off now, having bolused .15 units of insulin to cope with the 14 g of carbs - half of the total amount - I've eaten.

Hope it works. No longer sulking.

(Bg 14.7 after 11 k ride. Bummer.
However, the good news: the wind changed direction while I was in sook mode. Had it at my back all the way up the Upfield bike track.)

Note: basal insulin is background insulin that is regularly pumped in tiny doses into my body through a cannula inserted under my skin. Bolus insulin is extra insulin I pump in to metabolise additional carbs I eat. I check my blood glucose by pricking a finger & squeezing a drop of blood onto a test strip in a small blood glucose monitor that I carry.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Happy coincidence

Period 1 today, I was at the front of my year 10 class, all eyes on me. Suppose I was striding around a bit, waving my arms as I tried to make some point about the film The Sixth Sense, which we're studying at the moment. I had everyone's attention, and then I heard the computerised tones of Fur Elise, coming, I supposed, from between my breasts. (My insulin pump, wearing its baby sock, fits very snugly between the girls.)

Anyone who wears an Animas 2020 insulin pump will no doubt be familiar with this tune.  It's a warning that you're getting low on insulin or it's a reminder that you've suspended your pump.

I also seemed to be contravening the 'switch off your mobiles in class' rule, much to the amusement of 25 students.

I did the only thing possible. I reached inside my shirt front to press the button to stop the sound. As I did so, cos you've got to admit it would look funny to see your old teacher grovelling between her tits in the middle of a lecture on a film, I explained that I wear an insulin pump and that it was warning me my insulin was running low.

At the same time a boy in the back row interrupted.

"Actually, miss," he said, "I think it's mine."

And it was.


It was a unique and strangely joyous experience for me finding a fellow Type 1 in such close proximity. Let's face it, unless you work in the industry, or you're at a special conference or some-such, you're unlikely to find two insulin pumps - let alone Animas pumps - in the one small room. What are the odds?

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Pleb TV and me

Do you think I'm a bit strange for saving up last night's episode of Packed to the Rafters to enjoy on my day off?  Surely it's light-weight and beneath the dignity of me, an Expert Teacher - well, that's my official designation. And that's an Expert Teacher of English.  Would you think I'd have less plebeian tastes?

Well, my tastes vary.  I'll happily engage with low brow popular programs, like Big Brother.  I'm also extremely partial to a talent competition - The Voice, X-factor, Australia's Got Talent. Whatever. Have to admit to passing on American Idol though. I got bored with the auditions and the almost generic vocal gymnastics of the wannabes. The formula palls and I don't understand the appeal of that Nicki Menaj.  Getting old.

I'm a sucker for a good series.  I've made Al promise to watch, should he outlive me, Six Feet Under, The Wire, Boardwalk Empire and Mad Men amongst other things.  He rarely watches a series with me; says he can't be bothered. He prefers to read whatever SF novel has taken his fancy. Given that I read all day as part of my job, and often into the evening, I prefer to watch something. It really is easier, more relaxing than reading.

The thing with that white-bread Rafters, though, is it occasionally mirrors what's happening in my own life. (I'm taking a punt here, that son Pete's girlfriend, the one who unfriended me on Facebook, and unfollowed me on Twitter, is not reading this. If you are, Mel, hiyee! At least you're getting a pseudonym in my blog.)

Last night's episode saw the return of the second youngest Rafter, Nathan.  He's been a bit of a ne'er do well throughout the series. He arrived back at the Rafter's modest home with news of a new wife - he'd been divorced from the first beauty. It became hilarious, and close to home, when Julie and Dave Rafter met their new daughter-in-law - who looked considerably older than their son, Nathan.  Because she was.

The expressions on Julie Rafter's face - props to your acting skills, Rebecca Gibney - looked pretty much like mine would have when Pete turned up with Mel a couple of years ago. That combo of trying to look accepting and pleased while masking your disappointment that your son has fallen in love with someone half a generation older than himself.  Like Al, at our own terribly interesting meeting, Dave Rafter was much more tolerant and composed; possibly proud of his son snaring such an attractive older woman.

Happily, Mel didn't reveal, unlike Saskia, Nathan's wife at that meeting, that she was pregnant.

Rafters is also dabbling in dementia, given Julie's dad, Ted, is suffering memory loss. This is very close to home for me, given what my elderly mum's experiencing. Not hilarious at all.

So I took an hour out of my busy day - well, I've done a load of washing, cycled 8 k in the heat and made a banana cake for Al - to LOL on my own and shed some tears over Packed to the Rafters. Some episodes are a bit lame, but last night's hit the spot.

BTW, Pete and Mel are still going strong three years down the track and the age diff has ceased to concern me.