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Hypo awareness week

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As the title suggests, it is hypo awareness week this week. Thought I’d be dutiful and make you aware of hypos.
They are the thing I hate most about diabetes. As a bit of a control freak, I can cope with counting carbs, working out insulin ratios and have even surprised myself by being fine with injecting ( despite being ridiculously squeamish).
I hate the unpredictability and quick onset of hypos. You wouldn’t drink 5 vodkas at work at 10am in the morning, but on hypo days I might as well have done. The results are similar, except with the added surprise and fear elements of the hypo.
I get very shaky, I feel very hot and muddled and I can’t get a sentence out. I search frantically through my bag for my blood sugar testing meter and struggle to unzip the bag, open the testing strip pot, pick out a strip and jam it into the meter, prick my finger and get a decent amount of blood onto the testing strip. My hands and legs are so shaky by this time and I have this irrational fear that people in the office might KNOW. I want to hide. I wait for the reading, the five seconds seems to take forever and then search my desk drawer for the jelly babies. They are ridiculously hard to find (thank god I don’t have the additional problem of man looking) and shove around 5 in my mouth. They are incredibly hard to chew and I feel very annoyed that I am not enjoying the one bit of sugar I get to eat without feeling guilty. I feel guilty anyway. I have eaten too many and ten minutes later my sugars are way too high. I am left feeling exhausted like a hangover and have a headache for the rest of the day. Am paranoid that I have said/done something silly (I have had a telephone conversation with a teacher whilst doing this) and generally crap for the rest of the day.
So far, have only had them in the office, at home and one scary one at night, which makes you feel like rubbish for the next day. I am dreading one while teaching, or worse still, driving…

Fading away

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I have been in two minds about whether to moan about this one.  My year-ago self would have found it intensely annoying and I can’t blame her.  I have a new problem, one I would not have thought possible.  I am finding it hard to keep weight on.  Yes, that is me… I know all who know me would be laughing in amazement, if they weren’t too busy being annoyed.  I know, I know, I can here my sarcastic previous-self with the “poor you” face, but weirdly this will soon become a problem. I weighed 8 stone this morning, that is one and a half stone lighter than at diagnosis in September.  Whilst I enjoy casually waving my size 8 clothes in shop changing rooms, I am sure I am starting to resemble a plucked chicken.  I have this whole new mind set of “ooh, better have some extra cheese on that” Which is truly bizarre.  Am trying to come up with food that will keep me my current size, without raising the blood sugar….

feeling like Alice in Wonderland, can I wake up now?

 

The elephant in the room

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I have always loved elephants.  They were my favourite animal alongside cats when I was a girl and just like my daughter today who spends hours drawing foxes, I drew elephants everywhere.  

This elephant however, I am a good deal less keen on.  It sits, dark and brooding in the corner of my living room and invades both my space and my mind.  It cannot be ignored.  The rest of the family are quite oblivious to it’s quiet menace.  The girls play in, on and around it, the husband sees it as another challenge to master. 

i have tried to embrace it, I asked for it after all, giving many of my friends a good laugh in the process, but still I feel it’s malevolence.  

I know I must make it my friend.  My little machine tells me how good it could be for me.  As does the nurse, doctor, the Desmond course  and all the books.  I want to put my hands over my ears and sing loudly over them all.

I HATE MY EXERCISE BIKE!

but thank you sister in law for lending it to me…

sad conclusion…

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Well today is the day I finally accept, after 43 years of denial (probably slight exaggeration as I don’t suppose I gave this much thought for the first 12 years of my life) that, wait for it…

EXERCISE IS GOOD FOR ME.

Today I received irrefutable evidence in the form of my blood glucose testing meter.  For the first time since testing, I managed to get my BG within acceptable levels 2 hours after eating, despite eating mainly carbs (albeit a slow releasing one in the form of porridge).

I should be rejoicing, I should be dancing round the table, but frankly, after running for three quarters of an hour whilst pushing a 6 year old up hills on her bike, I am too knackered and my butt aches.  More to the point, I know where this sad conclusion is going – on lots more runs…..

Next step, practice knitting while running – so far have managed gentle swaying and garter stitch.  How I wish I loved a challenge.

Jealousy

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My eldest daughter often forgets to flush the toilet.  Yesterday I was faced with the largest loo log.  It seemed way too impressive for either of my daughters to have managed, however, I established was indeed daughter 1 (would have been more amusing to write daughter 2, but truth will out).

I then caught myself staring at it in admiration and longing for the time when I could create something of similar proportions.  You would have thought that a diet consisting largely of pulses and fibre would produce the opposite effect, but I seem to have turned into a rabbit in the pooing department.  Am blaming it on the drugs….

A day in the life of my family’s eating tour of Victorian-land

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A day in the life of my family's eating tour of Victorian-land

12.00 Martha and Alice visit yea oldy sweetie shoppie and buy one bag of butter fudge and a large entirely sugar pig. Daddy helps Martha with the fudge
Mummy: nothing
12.30 Fish and chips from yea oldy fishy and chippy shoppie for Alice, Martha and Daddy
Mummy: NOTHING (ok, I lie, I ate an apple I had in my bag
1.30 Yea oldy bakery-y. Daddy enjoys still-warm homemade shortbread. The girls munch their way through more fudge and sugar
Mummy, nothing… again.
2.00 – mummy in desperation tries yea oldy Victorian butchers. Something of a last resort for a diabetic fussy plant eater.
Mummy, nothing – funnily enough.
2.40 – hurrah, yea not-so-oldy Victorian café. The girls head to the ice cream freezer while mummy heads to the food counter.
It shut at 2.30 – you can still have cake though…
Mummy: Nothing (and she made the girls put their ice creams back)
3.45 the modern café back at the beginning of Victorian land. Surprise, they stop serving food at 3.30. Still there are crisps and ice creams for the girls and Daddy can have a nice scone…
Mummy, a lovely cup of coffee and finally some proper Victorian food in the form of porridge.
All is well in Victorian land.