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There was the
researching, and the chats with the doc,. There was the mental tug-o-war between my
daily injection comfort zone and my need for more flexibility, and now, like the quickness of a self-inserting cannula, I am pumping insulin by way of the
OmniPod.
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Up until dinner time tonight, I was having a great day. Nothing out of the ordinary. And then I got an incredible shock.
I'd been snacking on some candy all day, but I thought I had been bolusing appropriately. Apparently not. I knew I'd be high going into dinner, but the highest I imagined was still lower than 250. I thought my meter was pulling my leg when I saw 448.
"Holy fffffffffffff..........." I said as I actually jumped as if someone had jumped out of the bushes and scared me.
"What? What? Are you high?" The Mr. wanted to know.
I nodded. I could feel my face getting red with embarassment. I looked at my pump (like it would have the answer!) and then my site. Surely there was something wrong with my site. I had just changed it about six hours ago and hadn't checked my sugar since. My site was obviously the problem.
I checked my sugar again, thinking maybe something was on my fingers and trying to retrace where my hands had been over the last hour.
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The letter C brings us to cannula, by request.
I found an interesting photograph of an insulin pump cannula that said much of what I'd decided to write when I was thinking through this post. Essentially, the photo verbalizes for me the sentiment that my life - the lives of all of us who use an insulin pump - turn (quite literally) on a dime. The cannula that delivers the medicine that keeps us alive is smaller than a coin that, this day and age, won't even pay for a gum ball.
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