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December 1st, 2008
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Ah! It's a new day and my fasting blood sugar comes in at a sweet 103 mg/dl. "Not too shabby," I think, maybe feeling a bit arrogant.
I go about the business of the day - exercise, hop in the shower, dry the hair, feed the cat - get in the car for work. Drive 30 of the 45 minutes it takes to get there.
And then I think - caught in a wave of abject panic, "Where is my pump?"
I do the pat down, you know the one. I pat with flat, frantic hands at my bra, my hip, my waistband. And I know then exactly where my pump is. On the shelf in the bathroom, pumping insulin into oblivion instead of into me.
"Man." I think. I also think. Alright, maybe I say aloud - a number of colorful words not suitable for a family website.
And I head back toward home, calling the office to let them know that I've been delayed. (READ MORE)


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Olivia told me the other day that she had a motor error on her pump. I didn't think much of it - she said it exited out automatically. The pump seemed to be delivering insulin ok - she had some highs and some lows, but no more than usual.

Tonight it did it again, so I called MiniMed. Turns out, I should have called the first time it happened because MiniMed doesn't like motor errors.

They are shipping her a new pump and it will be here on Monday morning, when, of course, I should be at preschool with the little girls. It's too bad I can't drop them off and come back, but with my luck, the UPS guy would show up while I was driving them to or fro.
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I guess I spoke too soon a few days ago when I declared my love of pumping, claiming it was so simple and my blood sugars were perfect.

 

While the machinery (and all the cool things it does) is still quite awesome, I forgot about good old human errors. Just a few hours after I posted about loving pumping, my blood sugar was high. Not terrible, 180, but still higher than my two hour goal of 120. I figured it was the meal--pepperoni bread made with whole wheat dough, which is essentially pizza--so I corrected and went along my business for the afternoon.

 

(READ MORE)


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Carey Potash
Carey is a full-time hater of diabetes. The benefits stink. His 6-year-old son, Charlie, was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was 22 months old. Carey's parenting humor has appeared in various websites and print magazines. He resides in the suburbs of Philadelphia with his wife and three children. (Read More)

Latest Posts: Thankful | Diabetic in the Mist | The Adventures of Gleevec and Sutent

Julia
Julia lives behind the Tofu Curtain, in the Pioneer Valley, in Western Massachusetts. It's a nice place. She likes it there. Her eldest daughter, Olivia, has type 1 diabetes. She's also 13. It's a real toss-up as to which is more difficult -- the diabetes or the teen-age drama. (Read More)

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