I get crazed sometimes. Hard to believe, I know. But every so often I get into a tizzy and run around herding children this way and that, and... things go missing. Important things. Like, Eric's diabetes bag. Lemme tell y'all about the most recent dance: the Missing Meter Mambo.
Last night was jukado night, which usually goes like this:
1. Children are brought home by Dad.
2. Nate runs into the bathroom to change into his uniform while
3. I gather up Eric's bag & make sure meter & snacks are in it, OR make sure he's fed and parked with his sister or father for the evening, if one or the other is going to be home.
4. We hustle out the door by 5:30 so I can drive like a bat out of hell to get us there in time for a 6:00 class.
But, into this mix went the following wrinkles:
Nate was in a funk. He told me he wanted to quit jukado. Then, before I could convince him otherwise, he started to cry because quitting jukado meant he'd miss Doshu Allen, the dojo's Grandmaster, whom Nate adores. I had to calm him down, point out that he'd worked so hard to get where he is, it made no sense for him to quit, particularly if not seeing Doshu Allen would make him sad, and then tell him that I'd already ordered him new sparring gear as incentive to get him turned in another direction. By which time, we were already running late.
Mark was going to Massachusetts for the evening, and Kayla was going to be babysitting. Thus, Eric needed to come with me. Only, I'd spent 15 precious minutes sorting Nate out. So I flew downstairs, jammed the meter into Eric's bag, threw winter clothing on myself and the boy, and started for the door... only to be called back by Nate, who couldn't get his belt tied and was threatening to have a meltdown again. I set down the bag... Yes! You can see what comes next! ... helped him with his belt, and charged out the door. We were 15 minutes late and I was going to have to drive Mark's big 1-ton pickup as if it were Lightning McQueen.
It wasn't until I got to the dojo that I discovered that I'd left the bag in the kitchen. I nearly always test Eric when we get to the dojo, because the class starts right about the time he usually has dinner, so if he's going to go low, he'll be going low right at 6:00. Realizing the bag was at home, I called Mark on the cell phone...but to no avail; he was already on the highway heading south. Well... the CGM said, and I remembered Mark remarking as well, that Eric had been high all day. I also had some lollipops in my purse. I could live without a meter for a few hours, I told myself. THe CGM might not be as accurate as I'd like, but it could at least tell me whether he was dropping or not. And I'd just dose his carbs.
A glance at his CGM, though, showed he was at ~280, and had been up there much of the afternoon. WAY too high! If it really was that high. The last BG value showed 265 at 3:30 PM. I figured the 280 was probably accurate. OK, well... I took a chance and bumped up his basal rate a notch, hoping to bring him down somewhat before the class ended and we headed off to dinner at Burger King. (Yeah, I know. But it's fast, and I try to limit it to once a month.) Wished I had a meter. But wait! I had an idea. There's a Rite Aid right next to the Burger King. They have those little OneTouch Mini meters there, only 20 bucks, and I've been meaning to get one to keep in my purse anyway, for just this sort of occasion. That's the solution, then, I told myself. I'd stop at RiteAid, buy a mini meter, and then I could set my mind at ease by actually taking his blood sugar.
An hour-long class plus time spent getting boots, gloves, & hats back on, plus a 10 minute drive to RiteAid plus 10 minutes at the counter got us into Burger King at around 7:35. We ordered, and I opened the new meter. Which... didn't have any test strips. Ay ay ay.
The CGM said Eric's BG was now 145. Sheesh... a tenth of a unit extra, and it had dropped that fast? My doubts about the CGM redoubled. OH, how I wished I had some test strips. There were test strips galore in the meter case at home. Test strips, also, in the backpack we carried the supplies in. Had I been smart or paranoid enough to put some test strips in my purse? Yes, I was obsessing... but I checked. Found a couple of syringes, a few alcohol wipes, but no test strips. Fudge.
I dosed Eric for the carbs in his meal and let him eat. He ate unusually slowly. Even stopped for a bathroom break midway through. I took him home, and even though it had been almost an hour since I'd given him his insulin, I got out some test strips and used the new meter to check his BG. WTF -- 56? That couldn't be right. I used his old meter and checked again: 66. Damn you, CGM.
Impulse would have me treat that 66 with juice. But, he'd finished a chocolate chip cookie in the car not 10 minutes earlier. I waited. I checked his BG at bedtime. 81 and rising. Looked good to me; he went to bed. And so did I. The Missing Meter Mambo is exhausting!