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

I watch as a girl with braces sets down a tower of pizza boxes at lanes 18 and 20. I shift my eyes to Charlie, who has just launched a bowling ball overhand onto the wood floor baseball style, scaring the children in the neighboring lanes. I watch him manipulate the air like a mime; steering the ball off the bumpers to the left then to the right before pumping his fist in victory.
"I got eight!" he yells excitedly from about 15 feet away.
I look over at the pizza again as the other kids start to filter in around the table. I look at Charlie. Charlie looks at the pizza. Charlie looks at me. I look at him. Like a dog at the dinner table, Charlie takes one more look at the kids munching on the pizza. (READ MORE)

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I was in my truck today picking up some fast food from Mickey D's. I typically don't eat fast food. Actually, I never do- but today I was in a hurry and I just wanted to get something fast and not have to put to much thought into it. As I was ordering, I realized that with diabetes there is no such thing as just a "quick little meal". Any time I eat something, I have to put some serious thought and effort into it. Everyday, I put serious energy and brain power towards calculating things in my head.

My life revolves around eating and calculating.
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I started out at 192. I did a correction bolus and a carb bolus. The carb bolus was for four slices of pizza. I used the square bolus over 3 hours, hoping that I wouldn't end up too high.

 

I ate my pizza slices, enjoying every bite. By the time I finished eating, I had about two hours left on my square bolus. That should be perfect, I thought.

 

An hour later, I was 87. I still had almost half the insulin to deliver, so I suspended the bolus and drank a juice. I planned to check my blood sugar again within the next two hours to watch for the peak, then bolus the remaining insulin.

 

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Charlie turns 7 tomorrow. Can you believe it? 7!

 

"So where do you want to go out to eat for your birthday?" I asked him last night.

 

"Surprise me," he answered.

 

"But make sure it's a place where all the waiters sing Happy Birthday to me," he added.

 

It's funny that he wants that. That sort of public revelry would be hell on Earth for Susanne or me if we were the intended target.

 

He looked puzzled.

 

"But how will they know it's my birthday? Do all of the restaurants have a big list of all the kids' birthdays?"

 

"No," I said. "The restaurants don't have Santa-type power. Mom or dad will tell the waiter or waitress that it's your birthday."

 

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Since I often go into grueling detail when Charlie is going through a rough period of high blood sugars, it’s only right that I also share some good news for a change.

 

Charlie’s blood sugars have been near perfect for the last three or four days. To Lucy Van Pelt, happiness may be a warm puppy and to John Lennon, happiness may be a warm gun, but to me, happiness is knowing that Charlie’s blood sugars have been in the low 100s for hours and hours. Just as long periods of highs make me sick to my stomach, long periods of just-rights feels like nirvana. It can completely make my day and get me chirping with the birds.

 

It’s also nice to go into our quarterly endo visit, which is tomorrow, on a good note. I almost said, "on a high note." No way. No high note. I want a good A1c. Big money! No whammies!

 

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I wish a pizza party could be just that. A party with pizza. For a parent of a child with diabetes, it's no party at all. It's a highly strategic military operation.
Charlie went to a birthday party on Sunday where the kids made their own pizza. I would have preferred a make-your-own grilled halibut with asparagus party. But it was not to be. (READ MORE)

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"Who likes pizza???"

 

The exuberant 20-something with red wristbands and blotchy red cheeks ignited the group of 2nd-graders into a frenzy.

 

The arms went up like missiles.

 

Well, almost all of the arms.

 

Charlie’s arm soared straight up and then began to dip half-way before crashing back down to his side as the realization set in that he wasn’t having any.

 

The father of the birthday girl, standing next to me, saw this too. We had just talked about how pizza wreaks havoc on Charlie’s blood sugar.

 

"Poor Charlie," he said compassionately.

 

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It's like I don't even know you anymore.

 

Something strange is happening. Our last two attempts at pizza have not been disastrous. At first, I thought I was on to something when I ordered a white pie with extra-thin crust. I wondered if it was the red sauce that was playing a role in the terror.

 

But then, we tried it again - this time just a regular cheese pizza. Same result. Blood sugars peaked in the mid-200s but then came down nicely.  Three hours postprandial, four hours, five hours, six ... I kept waiting for pizza to rear its ugliness but it never did. We were actually in the clear.

 

Then it occurred to me that perhaps this wasn't a fluke. On both occasions, Charlie was extremely active earlier in the day with hockey. Combined with pizza crust so thin you can see through it, we found a formula for success.  That is, until next time, when all findings get debunked.

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I heart the continuous glucose monitor.

 

I hate putting the damn thing on the kid and I hate how abusive the whole process is, but man, I love it once it's on. A few nights ago, the thing was screaming its blue plastic head off, letting the whole house know that Charlie was low while he slept.  Thank you, CGM. I hear you. Fortunately, it seems Charlie has outgrown the anxiety he once had over the alarms that go off in the middle of the night. Now he sleeps through it.

 

We are now in a low period. This comes after about two weeks of highs. It's hard to say that we are enjoying this low period, though it sure beats the highs. At least with the lows, you can do something about it. With the recent highs, insulin seemed impenetrable.  And the lows allow Charlie to eat more food. This makes him very happy as his appetite is endless. The highs just put all of us in a shit mood.

 

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