rakka

In the hours after Charlie eats pizza, I can't help like feeling as if diabetes is stringing us along. Like it has set the bait and is waiting for us to take it.

When Charlie's blood sugar is 90 (as it was recently) five hours after eating pizza, I'd like to believe that we're out of the woods, but I can't. I can see the smirky face of diabetes grinning and hoping that I take the bait and pump Charlie up with some more carbs only to get burnt from the pizza in the sixth or seventh hour. It's a game of chicken. It takes much patience and many test strips.

At times like this I feel like Vizzini from the movie The Princess Bride, engaging diabetes in a "battle of wits."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you!!?" I want to scream at diabetes when it thinks I'm about to cave in and give Charlie a snack.

"Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!"

Usually it's not much of a battle of wits. Pizza wins. Hands down. 

But we tried something different this last time we ordered pizza. I ordered the pie and requested extra-thin crust. We also didn't program the usual square-wave bolus. We decided to just test often and adjust Charlie's insulin levels as needed. But he never went high as he always does.

Was it the extra-thin crust? Did we unlock the great mystery of pizza? Could it be that simple? Or was his low-ish blood sugar attributed to the miles of walking we did at the Philadelphia Zoo earlier in the day?

I'd like to try the extra-thin crust again on a day that Charlie is not so active.

I can already hear diabetes snickering.