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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "Active insulin":

What you don't want to hear from your diabetes educator is "hmm, good question." That is, unless it's immediately followed by a good answer.
There has been a burning question of ours since Charlie started on the pump back in September of 2006. During that time, we posed the question to several different people along the way, but never really got a clear answer.
So I present this burning question to you - the true gurus of diabetes.
How can Charlie skip a meal if he wanted to? Is this a mythical notion or do people out there actually achieve this? If Charlie didn't eat something two to three hours after a bolus, he would most certainly go low. I'll ask you exactly what I asked the doctor and nurse practitioner the other day. (READ MORE)

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All throughout my childhood I was extremely active. I was heavily involved in many sports. I continued to be active even after getting diabetes. Except having diabetes made things much more difficult. I would get so mad when people reacted negatively towards me. I would be playing in a tournament and someone would ask, "What are you eating that for"? It was very depressing seeing how they reacted when I told them why. Having to explain myself time after time got old quick. After I told them I was diabetic they never treated me the same. This type of treatment was exactly what I needed to kick my butt in gear. I was ready for a change. I didn't want to be treated differently any more. I was ready for something that I could do on my own time and feel good about. I wanted some respect!
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Where were you! We waited all night for you and you never showed up! Did you forget you had plans with Charlie?  Time and time again I trust you'll be there and time and time again you disappoint him. I feel like such a fool for believing you.

You say you're active. But, are you? Actively absent, maybe. When was the last time you spent some real quality time with him? When was the last time you spent the whole time with him that you said you would? I honestly can't remember. It's been that long.  How can you abandon him at a time when he needs you most?

You say you're "on board," but I don't think so. Sometimes I don't think you were ever on board. It's like you're not even there at all. Like you're invisible.

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"I feel so lost," Susanne says, her voice crestfallen.
She calls me at work to give me the 10:15 am blood sugar report.
Great, I think to myself, she's going to say that he's really high or really low.
My desk is at the base of a winding staircase that has translucent neon green panels. I sit here, watching people climb up and down steps all day. Up and down. Up and down. Some climb slow and steady. Others descend quick and reckless, reaching the floor level with a thump.
I watch flickering stock market numbers and a cerulean blue mountain range of line charts on my computer screen. Always changing. Never at rest. The FTSE 100 Index up 94. The Nikkei down 74. Mexican Bolsa Index down 312. But I just see blood sugars.
"Why are you lost?" (READ MORE)

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A bedtime number of 91 with 1.9 units active? Are you insane? We both know I can’t send him to bed with 1.9 units of active insulin. Am I the mouse to your cheese? The fish to your worm? You want me to give him carbs, don’t you? You leave me no choice and we both know it. This is why I hate you!

 

 "Here, Charlie. Eat this."

 

45 minutes later:

 

88 with over a unit active??? You do know it’s the season premier of Heroes tonight, right? What am I supposed to do with 88? You know I have to give him another slight boost. You’re setting me up, aren’t you? Or are you? No, you are. Damn it! This is why I hate you!

 

"Charlie, drink some of this juice."

 

Two hours later:

 

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I went to bed early enough to get eight hours of sleep the night before surgery. Before I fell asleep, my blood sugar was 168. I lowered by bolus by about 20%. I set an alarm for 3:45 am (9 hours pre-op) and an alarm for eight (to call the doctor's office). Not too long after, I was fast asleep (thankfully!)

 

At 3:45am, my blood sugar was 185. I ate 45 grams of carbs and bolused for both the correction and food. I decreased the bolus by 15%. I set my basals to decrease by 30% at 8am, since that would put me at 5 hours pre-op and awake (and nervous!).

 

When I woke up at 8am though, my blood sugar was 233. I bolused, lowering it by 40%. I called the doctor's office to confirm my pre-op instructions and ask about my basal rates before I came in for surgery. The nurse told me that the oral surgeon wanted me to keep my basal rates at a normal level. If my blood sugar dropped, I was only to treat with Sprite.

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There has been much heat in the diabetes online community concerning the new Medicaid/Medicare restrictions on paying for blood glucose testing supplies for people with diabetes, including the belief that these limitations will quickly replace current private-insurance coverage policies. We're seeing some of those repercussions here as The Other Half has just been informed that instead of covering testing supplies ad libitum (as many as his doctor writes for, for whichever brand she writes for), they will only cover OneTouch or Accu-Chek strips, to a maximum of 51 strips per month for people with diabetes who do not require injectable insulin, and 204 strips per month for those who do require it. (READ MORE)

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Whether or not we recognize it explicitly, we are all caregivers (aka, T3s). Whether we serve a family member, someone in our neighborhood or church, or just others on the dLife forums and in the dLife community, we are each part of someone else's diabetes support team.

 

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There was a time when I was almost ninety pounds heavier than I am today.  Ninety pounds.  That's a whole other person.  When I think back to heavier days, I don't remember being miserable - not exactly.  What I remember is this very heavy sense of inertia.  This sense that the world was pretty heavy all of the time and I think that my weight reflected that feeling. 

 

I would often binge, I was not terribly active (read: I didn't sit on the couch all of the time, but the thought of seeking out activity didn't appeal to me either), I made poor food choices and paid little attention as over about five years, my weight climbed and climbed. 

 

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From the bleachers, my father and I watched Charlie play ice hockey. I squeezed my cup of tea to warm my hands and closely watched him through the puck-scuffed glass.

 

"He looks gassed," I said.

 

Charlie was playing fine but he certainly didn't have his usual sizzle. He skated hard in spurts but mostly coasted around in soft pursuit of opposing players.  A couple times he took a knee while the game went on around him and a few times he stayed down for a little too long, his body fully extended as if taking a nap.

 

"C'mon Charlie, get up," I said to myself.

 

I told my father about the prior day, when Charlie was 35 while at a friend's house.

 

"Scary stuff."

 

But this was different.

 

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