May 15th, 2011 by KerriSparling in True Stories
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September will mark 25 years for me with type 1 diabetes, but I still haven’t learned that an afternoon of lazy 200+ mg/dl’s that won’t budge, even after multiple boluses (and one really solid rage bolus where I actually grunted “You. Frigging. Diabetes.” as my fingers mashed the buttons), after repeated tests that showed climbing numbers … wouldn’t you think I’d inspect that infusion set? Maybe just give it a peek? See how things are doing there, on the back of my hip, where that 6 mm cannula is resting (hopefully) comfortably?
Oh, you mean I shouldn’t have waited until I smelled that distinct scent? The one that smells like a cross between bandaids and the dentist’s office? And then, when I dabbed at the gauze patch around my site and felt the dampness, I still didn’t really hone in on it because I was so high that everything was on like a 20 minute delay? Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
January 3rd, 2010 by KerriSparling in Better Health Network, True Stories
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You know you’re a diabetic when …
… a few blood stains on the computer power button are almost expected.
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
November 28th, 2009 by KerriSparling in Better Health Network, True Stories
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Last week, on Twitter, Elizabeth Arnold posted a link to a photo that made my whole body cringe and I instinctively said, “Oh crap, THAT thing?” (I’m stealing and reposting this photo here, but the original photo credit belongs to Cardinal Health.)
Behold – The Guillotine:
This photo made me shudder because I remember this lancing device clearly. It was the first one I ever used, outside of having my finger pricked by the nurses with the lancet alone, and I remember the shunk sound it made as it came careening towards my fingertip. It wasn’t the standard shunk we know now – this sucker would have to be cocked back like a rifle, and once it clicked loudly into place, you had to hit that button on the back to release the spring-loaded lancet. And it wasn’t just spring-loaded – The Guillotine had an agenda. It would come screaming over the top of the curve and embed itself into your fingertip, and it was all my mother could do to keep my hand pressed against that little plastic circle at the bottom there.
I hated it. It scared the crap out of me, and even though more humane lancing devices were introduced soon after my diagnosis, The Guillotine lived in our house much longer than I’d care to admit. Even the lancets looked like little harpoons. Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*
