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

Is it so much to ask for to want to wake up every hour from midnight to 7 am and take small drops of blood from my 5-year-old son all night long? I'm sure this is every dad's fantasy. Insane, the things I wish for now.
We have been trying to do overnight basal testing for Charlie now for thirteen days straight. We just can't do it. It's absolutely ridiculous. Every single night we're forced to abort our mission before we can even get started. What's most frustrating is that all we need as a prerequisite is to have him somewhere in the 120 to 220 area at about 9 pm-10 pm, when the dinner insulin has run its course. Amazingly, we can't do it. Night after night. (READ MORE)

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I was just sitting at my desk working on an extremely important project (FDL standings) when a co-worker stopped in his tracks as he walked by my desk, squinting into my eyes.
"Whoa! What happened to you?"
"Huh?"
"Did you get beat up?"
"What? No." I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.
"The purple under your eyes. Looks like you got beat up," he continued.
"Oh, that?" I said, touching the corner of my eye near the bridge of my nose. "No, that's just lack of sleep, I guess. That's what getting up every night at two or three in the morning will do to you." (READ MORE)

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His knees are bent.

 

Like a frog.

 

His nostril whistles.

 

He sleeps peacefully.

 

He's 56.

 

"Charlie," I whisper into the dead of night, giving him a slight nudge.

 

The ceiling fan hums.

 

"Charlie, you're low. Have some juice."

 

"Charlie!"

 

So many nights I've whispered these words into his sleeping ears. So many nights for four-and-a-half years. So many nights Susanne has. So many nights other moms and dads around the world whisper the very same words to their children in the darkness. We need a cure.

 

He keeps his eyes closed.

 

He just nods and opens his mouth when he feels the straw poking at his lips.

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No, not an unpublished picture book from Eric Carle's darker days. This very hungry vampire is full-bellied and satisfied after "pigging out" on Charlie's blood all night; his fingertips unknowingly served buffet style while he slept.
The mood was ripe for basal testing. It wasn't a site-change day. There wasn't a cold brewing. He didn't have pizza or any other type of slow-digesting fatty foods. He didn't have an excessive amount of physical activity during the day. He wasn't ovulating (that's certainly good news). He wasn't on steroids (yet). Baseball doesn't start until Spring. He didn't have a meltdown just prior to bedtime because he thought his sister was being "sartastic" when she said his victory over the whomping willow tree in the Harry Potter Chamber of Secrets video game was "fascinating." Yes, the mood was ripe. (READ MORE)

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When Charlie's numbers are within range, you won't see Susanne and I high-fiving each other, slamming bellies or moon-walking. To use a baseball analogy, it's like a home run hitting catcher. He hits a homerun, rounds the bases, crosses home plate and then sits right back down and gets back to business - buckling and fastening his catcher's equipment with very little time to bask in the moment.

 

When Charlie's in range, there's an unspoken attitude that says "damn right, he's 104" but a reluctance to gloat so that the greater forces of diabetes are not offended.

 

If he's in range, well that's where he should be anyway. Let's move on.

 

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When Olivia was first diagnosed, I was told to check her four times a day. That didn't seem very often, but for the first 6 months or so, that's what I did. She was not quite 3 at diagnosis, so she was still going to bed quite early; probably around 7 p.m.. She'd get up at 7 or 8 in the morning. That was 12 hours without a blood sugar check. The thought of doing that now makes my skin crawl.
I started doing overnight checks for two reasons: She'd come to me in the middle of the night, complaining of not feeling well. She was invariably low. Or, when she'd wake up in the morning and would have wet her bed. I knew that she'd been high during the night. I decided to start doing a blood sugar check around midnight. I'd correct if she was over 200 or below 80. Her morning numbers improved immediately. (READ MORE)

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Oh, diabetes. You're so predictably unpredictable. I see what you're doing. You're just hysterical, aren't you? We're expecting high blood sugars after the site change, so you decide to go low all night. Whoa! Caught us off balance there, didn't ya? Zany diabetes up to his usual hijinks! You're so unoriginal. Why not grow a mullet and dance the Macarena while you're at it. Pathetic.
Here's a recap of last night.
8 pm - Charlie is 343 and not coming down after being high all afternoon. We decide a site change is in order. Charlie is unusually good during the site change. Why? He negotiated a $10 Lego toy if he didn't behave like a crocodile. (READ MORE)

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This Saturday will mark my fourth week of boxing training.   I'm pretty pleased with my progress.  I've been running 4-5 days a week for 40 minutes.  I'm getting faster, and stronger with my runs, pushing myself harder and harder.  I also take 3 60-90 minute classes a week, primarily kickboxing classes.  My power is growing by the day,  even though I'm shrinking.  I've lost 8 pounds since January 1st.  But moreover, my muscular definition is changing for the better.  I feel excellent.

 

I've pumped up my eating a bit, going from 1,400 to 1,600 calories a day and consuming more protein. 

 

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At 10 p.m. I lie in bed wondering if I was ever going to fall asleep. The Mr. had gone to bed an hour ago after a long day. His breathing was soft and soothing. I thought about turning on the news or reading on the computer.

 

At 12:10 a.m. I woke up in a fog. I couldn't tell if I was dreaming. I was lethargic and nauseated. I was so sweaty that I was sticking to the sheets. Luna, a tea cup chihuahua, was tangled in my feet as I tried to get out from under the sheets.

 

Panic began to set in. I knew I was low, but what seemed like hours passed before I had enough energy and mental powers to pull myself up to test.

 

I turned on my light and reached delicately for my meter. I was shaking badly and still horribly hot. Something woke The Mr.

 

"Are you OK?" he asked.

 

"I'm low."

 

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My blood sugars have been pretty decent lately. I had one evening/overnight of highs this past week, but otherwise I seem to be running in the low 100 range. I'm even still dealing with those pesky lows despite cutting my Lantus down by another unit.

 

I need to sit down with the logbook again for the last few days and see what makes sense. I know that part of the good numbers are because I'm taking pretty lengthy walks most nights. But even that isn't consistent, which means that the insulin might not be consistent either. The rest of the good blood sugars are probably from a mix of things: just being back home, eating out less, and the Accutane continuing to wear off.

 

So right now, my Lantus is at 24 units in the morning and 14 units in the evening. I'm trying my hardest not to forget either of them, but this week seems to be one of those amnesia weeks and I just can't seem to get it right.

 

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