Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Pump, Pump, Pump, Pump it UP!

Monday morning, I woke up and got ready for my day. I wanted to get as much done as possible before I had to go in for my pump training at 1:00. After I ran to Ace Hardware, I decided to stop in to Panera for a late breakfast. I was very excited to get something delicious in my belly before everything I knew would change.

After I ordered, I sat down, by myself, and started my pre-eating routine. I took my blood sugar, I prepped my stomach with an alcohol pad, and I took my before meal shot of Humalog. As I began to take my first bite, a gentleman with a very warm smile wheeled his wheel chair over to me. I noticed he was missing his right foot. He looked at me and said, "Diabetes sucks, doesn't it?" "Yes it does, sir. Yes it does."

Panic set in. Tears started rolling. Although he was gentle, and very nice, that statement, accompanied with a missing limb, scared the living shit out of me.

Naturally, I started over-thinking. What if I can't get the pump in? What if my body doesn't take it? What if I hate it? Why am I doing this? Why am I doing this alone? I'm all alone. I'll always be all alone. I'm never going to be able to manage this. I'm never going to be able to do anything. I'm failing. Once again.

I spent the better part of the morning crying. I called my cousin. She helped a bit. But my mind was racing that while I was talking to her, I just drove around in circles for about ten minutes. Talked to my mom. She just basically told me I was fixing the problem not causing another one. (Rational Charli knew this already, but she wasn't all that present for the conversation.) Talked to Christine. She was the biggest help because she knew I knew I was being silly, but just needed to freak out a bit. Called Tim. Made him get out of work to come with me. He all but fell asleep in the doctors office as I sat quietly, trying to listen to every word I was being told.

The lady that was doing my pump training was very sweet. But of course, I nitpicked everything she said because she bashed Omnipod a little--another pump company that I tried this weekend via the JDRF and saline. She told too many stories. I get that in her many years of working with this company, she probably would know someone who could relate to every possible situation. But I didn't care to hear it.

My heartbeat was growing more rapidly as she went over all the things I went over in my online training tutorials. I just kept thinking about the needle and the tubing and being connected to something that wasn't waterproof. I thought about the pain and the inconvenience and having a battery die on me or my tubing get bubbles or my tube in my skin popping out. I thought about doing it wrong and not getting the insulin I needed. I thought about forgetting everything she said because I was thinking about everything else. I thought about giving Tim the stank eye for falling asleep in the corner. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to kick Tim. I wanted to hold his hand. I wanted a Diet Coke.

As she pulled my first set out of the box, my palms started sweating. I looked at it. As she gave me further instructions, I just wanted to skip past it and get it done. She made me stand up and sit down and stand up again. I just wanted this stupid thing done before I psyched myself out for all the pain and discomfort.

As I held the quickset against my skin, and pushed in the inserter, I took a deep breath. And exhaled. It was done. It was so easy and it didn't hurt at all! I was relieved, but annoyed for getting myself so worked up.

We left the office and got something to eat. I couldn't believe how convenient it was! I just pressed a few buttons and it was done. DONE. No prepping, no putting the needle on. No shot. No taking the needle off. No disposing properly of the needle. No putting away my quick pen. Although my anxiety was still high, I was so relieved.

I went to bed last night, exhausted and worn out. I slept until 4:30. Oops. I slept through the alarm at 2:30 when i was supposed to check my BSL. Oh well. Could be worse. My BSL was high. But not that high. And when I checked again at 6:30, it was lower than it has been at 6:30 am in weeks. My ten am BSL was even better.

I got to the kids this morning. I explained it to the two year old, who said, "Your medsin talks like my Mickey phone!" and "I want to help you!" When I was giving the girls their bath, I explained to Aubrey my medicine couldn't get wet, so she didn't splash this bath time. She's very sweet. The baby didn't rip out my tubing. I'm not sure she even realizes it was there. The dog sniffed my pump and walked away.

My BSL has been pretty much within range all day. And now my new little electronic borg is telling me I need to check again. Better do what it says!

112! Two hours after eating! I might still have some crazy times the next couple days getting used to it, but right now, it's pretty damn good.

I did it. I got a pump. And, now, I have better control over my health. I can do this.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Cause you make me feel...

If you've been reading this, see my Facebook, are following me on Twitter, or know me even just a little bit, you know that I am getting an insulin pump. Actually, I already have it. It's just not connected to me yet. That happens Monday. I still have not watched tutorials and I am fairly in the dark here. So everything that is going on, I have little to no knowledge about. I plan on re-blogging after I watch the tutorials tonight.

I am having a lot of mixed feelings about this bad boy. (That's pretty much what I've been calling that thing--bad boy. I will probably give it  human name once it is attached because I'm incredibly weird like that and if it has to be my pancreas, then dammit I'm going to treat it like a siamese twin.) Everyone keeps telling me I'm getting ready to have a better quality of life with it. And I believe them. But that doesn't change the fact I'm about to have something be attached to me for the rest of my life.

Scared: I'm frightened as all get out because it's a whole new lifestyle. What if I pass out trying to put it in? What if I do it wrong and end up horrible infected? What if I roll over on it at night and can't sleep? What if the baby pulls it out and it hurts? What if I look disgusting with it in that my husband won't want to touch me? What happens when I go on a float trip and have marks all over my body from it? What happens if I can't handle it?

Angry: I shouldn't have this disease. I definitely shouldn't have to deal with a pump that makes sure I can digest and break down food properly. I see a lot of people out there that I feel like are more deserving and who hurt themselves consistently, but they don't have these issues. I am pissed that people think I did this to myself. I am angry there is no cure.

Guilt: I feel crazy guilty about even considering wishing someone else had this besides me. I feel guilty when my blood sugars are too high or too low. I feel guilty that I am irritable to the people I care about the most. I feel guilt when I eat potatoes. Any kind. I feel guilt when I drink. I feel guilty the only reason I quit smoking is so I am less likely to lose a limb. I feel guilty that people think I gave myself this and then I get angry at their ignorance instead of kindly trying to educate them.

Sad: I am sad it takes me five minutes to start eating my food. I am sad my husband has to watch this disease destroy me some days. I am sad I have to ask for help some times. I am sad that there are so many wonderful people around me feeling helpless.

Happy: I am happy I have awesome support. Timmy-my loving husband, my parents, my sibs, my business partner/bff, my close friends, my lifelong friends and the DOC. I am happy I live in an age where there is advancing technology EVERY DAY! I am happy I don't have six inch needles and a vial to give me insulin. I'm happy no one put a sign around my neck that said "Don't feed me, I'm diabetic." (Funny, but I know someone who had this done to them, by a parent, in grade school.) I'm happy that I have a great Endocrinologist. I'm happy that I have a decent job. I am happy that I have pretty good insurance-even though we pay out the a$$ for it. I am happy I have tutorials, and online question forums, ask-a-nurse, an on-call doctor and a team of diabetes education experts who will help me when I have questions.

Worried: I am worried I'm never going to be able to pay for all this. I am worried my support system will fail. I am worried I will fail.

Excited: My life is about to change. And I made this change. I have come a long way since I have been diagnosed, both as a Type 2 (WRONG!) and then eventually a 1.5. I worked my butt off to be okay with this pump and now that I am emotionally ready, I think I'll be physically ready too.

I've been accused of having too many feelings. And that was before I was diagnosed. Now they are always there. Oh, well. Could be worse.