A Small Mention

Earlier in the morning he had played a hockey game.

Then he swam.

As he approached me from the hotel pool, I knew.  The stumbles in his gait gave me the heads-up before the quickly whispered "I feel low" was uttered into my ear, while I stood in the hotel lobby.

I tried to get him to sit and check.  He wouldn't.  He immediately headed up a flight of stairs to our room.  This act gave me some peace of mind, his ability to climb the stairs.  As he entered our room, he crumpled.  I checked.  He was 24.  Smarties were dispensed.  Time was waited out.  Another blood sugar of 45...juice...more time...another blood glucose of 36...another juice....  He had trouble lifting his arm to man the juice; his extremities were useless, weighted down from the lack of glucose.

This past weekend, Joe and I traveled to the Montreal area with his hockey team.  Traveling in itself  can present some challenges in managing t1d.  Add in hockey games and a swimming pool ... and ... well ... jabbing my eyes with fiery hot pokers sounds like a more pleasant experience.  Joe's blood sugars usually climb to the low 300s during hockey games, due to the adrenaline rush.  I  partially correct those highs and don't cover about 20-30 grams, or so, of post-game carbohydrates.  The swimming and the scant IOB from the small correction did him in.

A few hours after the BG of 24 incident:

"Joe, did you feel low while you were swimming?"

"yes..slipped...on the pool deck...my legs weren't working right."

"Why didn't you stop?  .... for sugar?"

"I thought I had more time." (before it got bad)

"Joe, you can't do that.  You need to stop when you feel that way and eat sugar.  It's dangerous.  You could die from a low."

"I could?"

"Yes, potentially.  You didn't know that?"

"No."

"You should treat the low right when you notice it."

A few hours after the 24/He played another hockey game.

I thought he knew lows could be lethal.  I don't know why I thought this.  I never really told him that.  I just assumed he knew.  Thinking back over the years, I realize I've avoided telling him that little tid bit.  There was no reason to when he was 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, or maybe even 10 years old.  Now there is.  He is a 12 year old boy developing quite typically.  He wants his independence.  I want him to have it.  It all scares me sometimes..though.

A small mention of death during our day-in-the-life.

Drowning Out The Beep

"Just crank up the radio Mom ... you know ... to drown it out."

Dear Lord the BEEPING.



The Lumineers' Stubborn Love was cranked up a few levels.  The beeping was still piercing my tympanic membranes as we headed home from Joe's first day of Tim Thomas Hockey Camp...yesterday.

The POD, according to the alarm history, had stopped delivering insulin for about an hour and a half prior.  Joe could not hear the alarm, as his elbow pads and shoulder pads and helmet all must have muffled the sound.

Once we arrived home, I placed a new POD.  It was filled with about 100 units of Apidra.  Joe then headed for his All Star baseball practice.  He came to me during practice.  He felt the adhesive pulling as he threw.  I slapped some IV 3000 over the dressing edges of the POD.  About an hour later, he lost POD #2 at the pool.  UGH.

I dropped Joe home and headed to the pharmacy.  I could not bear to put in another one of those things without a different plan.  So, at the pharmacy, I didn't find much help.  I bought some "waterproof" tape.  So Joe's current POD is in and secured with waterproof tape all around the edges.  So much for "fitting in" between the freakish beeping and his mummified arm ...this thing is requiring a lot of extra support right now.

I texted our Omnipod Rep.  She recommended Skin Tac; samples are on the way. 

Despite site issues, Joe's numbers have been steady (like 70 to 171 kind~a~steady) even with 3+ hours on the ice and dry land training.  His basal has been decreased by 40% for the 6 hours he attends camp.  Breakfast is lightly bolused for (10-15 grams of it given for "free").  20 grams of Lunch is "free".  And an extra 60 grams of carbohydrates are consumed throughout his 6 hour camp day in the form of Kashi bars and Gatorade. 

Joe calls me with each blood sugar and we discuss the bolus amount.  He has to call me from the warm room as there is no cell service in the rink locker rooms or ice-side.

A day-in-the-life of drowning out the beep and taking diabetes to yet another hockey camp.

Socially Acceptable?

I think in the past I...and not Joe ... have done the blood sugar checking in potentially bio-hazard-y situations. 

Yesterday...

The checker~outer~bagger~guy was eye-ing Joe.  Joe had found me in checkout lane #8.  "Mom...I feeeEEEL LOw." I know that climbing and descending octave voice.  It is Joe's low voice.  I could not reach Joe, as I was pinned-in my lane by the shopping cart.  I tossed Woodchuck (Joe's diabetes supply bag) over to checkout lane #7 and instructed Joe to do a check.

Joe had just spent the last four hours swimming and biking on a pump track.  Swimming rarely causes Joe blood sugar issues.  He keeps his Ping on.  No decrease in basal...bolus as normal for food...minimal free carbs are needed to keep him euglycemic.  Pump track riding may be a different story though, as we battled many lows yesterday afternoon, evening, and on through the night and into this morning.

Enough about numbers, let's get back to the checker~outer~bagger~guy and the grocery store blood sugar check...and the blood...oh yeah, the blood....

So, checkout lane #7 was vacant.  Joe walked up to the "conveyor part" of the lane and started unzipping Woodchuck.  Now ... I don't give the whole blood sugar procedure a lot of thought.  You know, the blood borne pathogen business.  I don't really think about the "biohazardness" of our day-in-the-life.  With Joe's Woodchuck splayed out all over lane #7, I started dreading a "gusher" (yes, at times Joe's finger can spew like a volcano..now no one is gonna come over for dinner).  The thought of blood splatter on the conveyor belt and the sequella of that splatter ... blood droplets smeared all over not only the black belt but being smeared all over the hard~to~reach~to~sanitize conveyor parts underneath the checkout counter ... and the possible tainting of fresh produce ... the thought of the blood on the belt and the look of the checker~outer~bagger~guy taking in Joe's predicament had me take pause and instruct Joe to move his procedure to a less traffic-ed spot.  He did it by the checkout lane #7 bagging station.  Not sure if that was much better.

His number?  It was 59.

A day-in-the-life of trying to manage diabetes in the checkout line in a "socially acceptable" manner.

"Rodent-like" MacGyver-ing

Sometimes, in this life, I feel the rules don't apply to me. Like the Rule of 15's... sometimes I tweak that a bit. Or, like a month ago ... when I was going 32mph in a 25mph zone and I got pulled over by the Fuzz, I immediately asked the officer for a reason as to why I was being detained. He gave me a little guff and then let me know. I was internally eye-rolling my Lancome fringed eyeballs and internally muttering a "For goodness Sake isn't there like a 10mph grace-speed with the whole speeding thing?".
Well...

Yesterday...

I found out why, the hard way, you are supposed to use that little plug-cap that is enclosed with the box of Animas Insets. Now, don't get me wrong. I did, at one time, use them. I used them for every bath. I "plugged Joe off" for every dip in the pool or the lake. I did...years ago. Truly, I did.

When you are dealing with diabetes and the non-stop routine and management you start to cut corners a bit. Or... *ahemm*... at least I do. I count carbs down to the gram, I pop sites into Joe as sterile-y as possible, I mother bird like a pro... but apparently I cannot be bothered with this cap-thingy. Frankly, I haven't used it in years. We have never had an issue due to my plugging exclusion. No infections. No clogs. No anything. It was a corner I was fine with cutting in the grand scheme of things.

So...

Back to the story...

We are vacationing. We are visiting Cape Cod.

Yesterday was the first time Bridget and Joe have ever played on an ocean beach. There was digging. There was castle making. There was crab saving. There was a pump~site~clogged~with~beach~sand. And. Once again, managing Type 1 in Joe's life provided us with adventure and the ability to effortless-ly entertain any on-lookers ... and trust me...there were a few.

Here is how it went down:

Joe emerged from making "low~tide~crab~sanctuaries" for a blood sugar check. 5~4~3~2~1. A 156 was obtained. He wanted to munch on a few potato chips. Fine. I am not a carb~tight~wad, as many of you know. I figured I would let him have a few chips for "free", but would plug him in and crank in a couple of hours of basal before he went back to wave-jumping and crab-saving. I go to plug in the pump tubing to his site. I line it up and start to insert it...it falls short of the "click". I flip it around...try to cram it in again...no "click".

The Removed Site (note the tan color in the set)

The pump insertion site was filled with sand. Joe calls for a site change and exposed his cheek. Dave was my assistant. I needed one. Slapping in a site in the middle of a wind-swept, sandy beach requires some mad pancreating skillz. IV 3000s were blowing in the breeze...IV Prep was precariously placed on a towel ... We used the old cartridge. It still held about 36 units of insulin. And, we used the old tubing too to avoid the whole unloading, re-loading, and priming steps that the pump would require.

Once the site was in and 2 hours of basal were given, I looked in Woodchuck #2 to see if we had a plug. I did have a plug, but it was for the Contact-Detach system. It didn't fit the Inset. Dave then MacGyvered the system by using the connector off of the new set. He went all "rodent~like" and chewed off the tubing. We then plugged the new site with the connector and covered the whole set~up with the IV 3000.

The Chewed-Off Tubing MacGyvered Plug

It worked like a charm.

A day-in-the-life of realizing the rules are there for a reason... sometimes.