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

"We can’t have him beeping all day in class," I said.

 

It’s like I’m Anakin Skywalker sending R2D2 to his first day of android school.

 

"Yeah," Maeve mumbled, her mouth full of Cheerios.

 

"It would be distracting to everyone in the class."

 

I fumbled with Charlie’s pump settings, trying to figure out how to turn off the beeping from the low reservoir. I never could figure it out, though I did get it to vibrate momentarily.

 

"Ooh," Charlie said.

 

"Do that again."

 

Did I mention there’s a kid with type 1 who just entered kindergarten at the school?

 

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I haven’t been very good about sharing our CGM experiences so far. Sorry about that. So busy lately. There’s always something going on. Today we celebrated Ben’s fifth birthday with a carnival-themed party in the back yard. I’m still picking whipped cream from my ears and eyeballs from the pie throw game. Seemed like a good idea on paper. Man, those kids launched those pies at me with a vengeance!

 

So, the CGM (continuous glucose monitor).

 

Started off really good. Got a little bad. Then good again. And bad at the moment. Not so much the accuracy of it. That’s been surprisingly on the money for the most part. Just some of the baggage and burdens of it affecting Charlie.

 

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Beep Boop Beep.
My pump tells me it’s been two hours since my last bolus and that I should check my blood glucose level.
Beep. I clear the alarm.
I slip a test strip into my meter.
Beep. It is ready for me to drop blood on it.
Beep. The machine starts the countdown.
Beep. 163.
Press the Bolus Wizard button on my pump and enter the number.
Beep. Beep. Beep. I accept the amount of insulin and get it sent on its way. As soon as the bolus amount is finished being delivered I hear one last sound.
Beep.
From the other side of cubical partition I hear, “What is that beeping?”
“Sorry, that’s me and my stuff.”
“Ugh, I kept hearing all this beeping. I thought I was going crazy.” She replied. (READ MORE)

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As if diabetes wasn’t in the back of my mind enough as it is, the music industry seems to be playing a little joke on me to keep it on my mind even more often. We all know the tools that keep us healthy are filled with wires, and electronics, and batteries, and that has been a stellar improvement on diabetes care over the decades. But with all this technological advancement comes the need for increased safety measures, including alarms that beep to proclaim an insulin pump error, a successful blood test, or a completed phase of setup. The joke becomes less funny when I am driving down the highway with some music going, focused on the road, when an identical tone comes from the stereo that sounds like my insulin pump.

 

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I have two eyes. 

 

I have ten fingers. 

 

I have two legs.  And two thighs. 

 

I have one insulin pump.   

 

I have about fifteen blood glucose meters.  

 

When I was a little kid, my mother used to tell my brothers and me to stop counting.  What she meant was to stop looking at how many cookies someone else got, or how many toys someone else had, or how much money someone else got in their allowance - and comparing it to what we had.  She would say "when you count what others have, and compare, it's easy to forget what YOU DO have."  

 

Sound advice.

 

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Three days, or until the insulin is all used up - that is how long an OmniPod is to be worn for. Before pumping, I was unsure if the scheduled three day replacement interval was going to be a nuisance. I even pondered the idea of trying to sneak in an extra day on the pods- so long as there was enough insulin stowed away in them. Well, that notion, along with a little of my patience, consistently scurries away when I near the end of a pod cycle, and the three day itch sets in. (READ MORE)

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I see kids at the pool sucking on ringpops.

I smell the insulin.

I touch the tiny holes in his wet fingers.

I hear the ripping of tape on skin.

I see a spot of old blood on his underwear.

I smell the alcohol wipe.

I touch his hips in search of buttons.

I hear the air being drained from a juice box.

I see you hiding behind the couch, Charlie.

I smell a temper tantrum coming.

I touch his head when it's over.

I hear him beeping.

I see his sister hiding licorice in her hands. "Shhh! Don’t tell Charlie."

I smell trouble.

I hear this on my voicemail:

 

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Our view of the endocrinologist and the diabetes educator’s role has gone through many peaks and valleys in the last five years. Like the various stages of grief, our emotions have fluctuated.

 

First came a frightened vulnerability.

 

"Oh my God! I can't believe this is happening. What do we do? Help us."

 

Then there was anger.

 

"We've done everything you said to do. It's not getting any better."

 

Then depression.

 

"This absolutely sucks."

 

Then skepticism.

 

"We're wasting our time. What can the doctors possibly tell us that we don't already know? We know our son more than they do."

 

Then acceptance.

 

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So Valentine's Day came and went. You may have heard. Maybe you saw the musical balloons the size of inflatable boats dangling from the supermarket checkout lanes that played "Truly" by Lionel Richie when you lightly tapped them.
My belated apologies to the Genuardi's store manager if you're reading this. It was me. I was the guy who sprinted angrily from balloon to balloon - punching each one and setting off the simultaneous symphony of Lionel Richie before running out of the store screaming "F love!"
In retrospect, maybe I was just mad that they were all out of "I love you even though you're diabetic" cards. (READ MORE)

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