Original Post: Sarahndipity
So I told you yesterday (via my website) about how I am having trouble getting pump supply refills. Last night, I set two alarms on my replacement phone (I am an avid blackberry user, but it broke and I can’t get a new one until June). Needless to say, I was probably in such a deep high blood sugar sleep (even though I was 91 when I fell asleep) that I never woke up until something (I have no idea what, certainly not my alarm) woke me up this morning at 7:20.
I immediately reached for my meter, since my Dexcom sensor was still in the “settling” period (I leave them in overnight before starting – it avoids first-day ???’s and gives better first-24hour readings). 319. Ketones. Check your ketones. It was all I could think. I had absolutely no insulin running through my body. I was expecting something substantial.
Small is good. Well, it’s not good, per say, but it’s manageable. I took the correct amount of humalog in an injection, and decided to take the lantus.
Here’s why I didn’t take the lantus yesterday: After you open the pen, you have to pitch it in 30 days. I am on my very last pen, and I wanted to save it for a rainy day. Why yesterday wasn’t a rainy day, I don’t know. But that was my unsound reasoning.
I am tempted to feel very guilty. A couple more hours and I could have wound up in the hospital, costing me and my family time and money, neither of which I have. I should have done a number of things differently. Ordered the cartridges earlier (More than a week? Okay…). Taken lantus at the start. Not have relied on an alarm I knew didn’t always wake me up.
But, given the situation, I made all the right decisions. I tested as soon as I woke up (the aching stomach prompted that). Checked ketones. Drank water. Dosed accordingly. Am now relaxing on the couch til it comes down. I will stay here til my nausea goes away. Because I am so not a fan.
Avoiding guilt when we have a faux paux in our treatment of ourselves is one of the most difficult things about diabetes. I think sometimes it’s worse than the finger pricks, shots, and frustration.