Prior to the birth of my son, I'd never been in the hospital before. I know the nurses have experience treating diabetes, but I was still worried about how my blood sugar would be managed.

Every diabetic reacts differently to the same situations. And living with the disease day in and day out for a few years-and managing to keep my a1c under 6 the whole time-really makes me an expert in what works for me and what doesn't.

What doesn't work for me is white flour, white rice, white potatoes, sugar or corn syrup. What does work is lean protein, healthy fats, whole grains, vegetables and fresh fruit, and, most importantly, food combining.

Know what else doesn't work for me? The standard American Dietetic Association exchange diet. It's too high in carbs and too low in fat and protein for me. Guess what the doctor ordered. And guess what came on the tray: white bread, potatoes, juice (made with corn syrup), starchy veggies and a salad, alongside about 2 ounces of meat and a pouch of fat-free salad dressing (made with corn syrup).

My diet wasn't the only thing out of my control. I'd packed my own insulin and meter, as my doctor said I should be allowed to manage my blood sugar myself, but the nurse on duty wouldn't let me use my insulin. Instead, she followed some standard protocol based on my premeal blood sugar and not the carb counting dosing method I'd used at home.

To top it off, on more than one occasion, a nurse would take my postmeal reading to find it was higher than the premeal protocol and go to give me insulin. If I didn't speak up, who knows what would have happened.

While I certainly didn't want any highs-I'd been so vigilant about my blood sugar for the previous nine months, I wasn't about to ruin it in the critical final days-I was also worried about lows. I had a stash of juice boxes and glucose tabs just in case.

The nurse who wouldn't let me take my own insulin also didn't want me taking my own blood sugar. I could prick my finger myself, but I couldn't use my meter. They needed to use the hospital meter for safety purposes, she said.

The hospital meter, however, is slow. And when you're low there isn't time to waste. There's no time to push the call button, wait for a nurse to find a glucose monitor, then code the machine, scan my ID bracelet, scan her ID badge and then take my blood sugar and wait for the results. The process takes a good 10 minutes.

I tried my best to humor them, but a few times I was feeling too funky to wait. Once, I used my own meter and my blood sugar was 54. A minor problem. The major problem: my juice box was across the room and I was tethered to monitors and trapped in bed.

When the nurse came in, I asked her to pass me some juice from my bag. She did, and as my shaky hands fumbled with the straw, I explained my blood sugar was low. Instead of helping me, she lashed out at me. By drinking a juice box I had brought from home, I was "self-medicating" and that was very dangerous. I could have had a reaction to the juice, she said, and no one would know what was wrong with me.

Hello??? First off, the only reaction I'm going to have from juice is a possible rebound high, during which I would be completely conscious. Second, juicy-juice is not self-medicating. Maybe if it was mixed with vodka in a tumbler of ice you could call it self-medicating.

I sucked back the juice and my hands soon stopped shaking from the low, but as the nurse continued to lecture me, my hands started shaking from anger. By being vigilant about my blood sugar and actively caring about treating highs and lows, the nurse said I was a control freak. She really used those words.

And like Elaine in Seinfeld, I'm pretty sure she put those words in my chart. From that moment on, every nurse I encountered made a comment about my "control." Some were nice and praised me for having good control, while others said I needed to let go and go with the flow.

The sad part is people with diabetes are often scolded for not having good control, yet when we take control and do our best to take care of our disease, we're too controlling.