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I made a note on my calendar to call Dr. S today about the bloodwork I had done last week. His nurse told me it may be a week or two before I got results and that I could call any time to see if they were in.

I got impatient (go figure!) and called yesterday. After going through automated phone Hell, I got to the voice mail of the nurse. Her mailbox said feel free to leave a message, but be aware that it may take me 72 hours to get back to you. *sigh*

So I left a message fully expecting NOT to hear from her any time soon. I considered calling again today, but even though I'm impatient I'm not a pest. Well, maybe sometimes.

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I knew he was high when I walked in the door;

His body was twitching, there was nary a snore.

His complexion was rosy, his hair dampened black;

I knew he was high before the pricker went "clack!"

The horrible number stayed like a tattoo,

Spitefully showcasing 392.

With insulin active, we gave it an hour

And whispered a prayer to a higher power.

I awoke from a dream that Obama had won

When Susanne said, "Carey! He's 421!"

I stumbled to his bedside, my wits on the fringe;

Susanne poured juice and loaded a syringe.

I pinched some plump flesh on the back of his arm,

Inserted the needle, then set my alarm.

2:30 am - I walked through a fog,

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Here I sit wearily, just my favorite meter and me. Staring at a blood sugar of two hundred and thirty three.

I was happily rolling smooth, and on track all day today. But now am confusedly flustered and in the grips of dismay.

How did my glucose get to be so darn high?

I know my tubeless pump is secured firmly to my thigh.

It wasn't the early lunch of carb free salad with chicken. Guess I should have just had water or stuck to lime wedge lickin'.

Time to punch in a bolus and get some more insulin to flow.

Oh hell, I don't have my pump's controller- where oh where did it go!?

It is not in my bag, there's no bulge in my front pant pocket,

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It's my time...to have the best of both worlds.

The last week has been filled with high numbers. Consistent results in the 300's. Morning numbers in the 170's and higher. Only two lows, brought on by extensive Humalog use. 217 is not a pleasant average to look at.

I'm positive that I know exactly why these numbers are all so high. Which frustrates me (the reason, not the knowing). A bad mix of birth control pills and Accutane. Both have side effects like high blood sugar or blood sugar changes.

I'd definitely say these were high and definitely changed. And I'm very annoyed. I've raised my Lantus to 31 units in the evening, which has brought lower numbers for today. So I'll leave it at 31 units for the next day or two in order to see how it's working long term.

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Last week, I spent several days in Mexico on vacation and on a business trip. With the extra carbs and the change in normal routine, my averages went from the 140's to the high 150's. I had one or two severe lows and a handful of minor lows. I also had one day where my pump site went sour and sent me soaring into the 300's for several hours.

Coming back from Mexico has been interesting on my blood sugars. I've had a few lows, of course. But at the same time, I've decided not to try so hard to keep my numbers down. I'm not completely blowing it, but I'm just not stressing myself out over highs and off numbers.

So Monday night, I decided to order a pizza while working on a research paper. It was nice to eat the pizza, do a fairly normal bolus, but not stress about what my blood sugar might be in the next 12 hours. I didn't even freak out when I saw consistent 200's on my meter screen.

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"Hold your pump," the tall twenty-something dude with multiple piercings in both ears said prosaically to Charlie as he helped him out of his rock-climbing harness.

Lurking nearby, I was amazed by a couple things. First - how did the guy working the rock-climbing birthday party know it was a pump? Second – how is it that he had no reaction to it other than to move it out of the way? Like it was just another appendage getting tangled in rope and buckles.

When he walked away, I asked Charlie, "Did you tell him it was a pump?"

"No."

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So I sit down at my desk and my co-worker is all like, [clap, clap, clap] "congratulations!"

And I'm all like, "excuse me?"

And she's all like, "for being a finalist."

And I'm all like, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

And she's all like, "the employee recognition awards. You're a finalist."

And I'm all like, "I didn't even know I was nominated."

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At 1 a.m. I woke up to go potty. It was weirdly dark and I was really in a stupor. It was almost like I was drunk. I can chalk part of that up to it being 1 a.m. and part of it to one of the meds I take for bipolar having a “sedating effect.” In other words, I sleep reeeeeeaaaallllyy well now.

I drank lots of water. And then went back to bed. It wasn’t until I woke up at 3 a.m. to go potty again and drink tons more water that I figured I was high. My One Touch Ultra Smart showed “HIGH GLUCOSE.” I had no clue what that meant, but I knew it was super duper ultra high, so I bolused for a blood sugar of 500 mg/dL. Then I tested again. Got the same “HIGH GLUCOSE” reading.

The light woke The Mr. He asked if I was OK and then we talked a little about why we thought I might be high. He thought it was weirdly dark, too. (Usually there is light from the computer, but he had turned it off before bed.)

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Thirty-three years ago this semester, the frequent repetition of those words (or others to that effect) by high school classmates led me to take an extra semester of English in the spring term of my senior year. Anyone stepping onto my school bus and smelling the pungent odor of marijuana burning would have easily understood the reasons behind their lack of preparedness to study.

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