Ian B. Line

Diabetes is hard work. Everyday I use my brain to survive and thrive. Every day I'm a mathematician, nutritionist and doctor.

I add carbs together, often so naturally I never give it a second thought (until three hours later when my levels leap up to 250). I subtract and add boluses to achieve an accurate dose. I figure percentages of basal rates to achieve a better A1c. I find the averages of blood sugars, insulin totals and daily carb counts (or let my high tech meter and pump do it for me). My brain is full of numbers and levels just waiting to be added, divided and analyzed.

I know the carb amounts to nearly every food (or look it up in a handy carb counting book to learn). I can recite the protein, fiber and fat content to all my favorite meals. I know the way certain proteins and fats increase my blood sugars after the meal bolus runs out (still haven't quite figured out what to do with this info though). I understand the affect of caffeine on my body and my levels. I know how even a slight increase or decrease in weight can either increase or decrease my need for insulin. I know there are significant carb differences in the same foods based on different brands and restaurant chains.

I assess every blood sugar to find a cause. I look at the trends of exercise and diet on my averages. I figure the steps needed to lower cholesterol, A1c levels and total daily insulin. I thoroughly know an endocrine disorder (often better than the actual doctors out there!). I watch for symptoms of high and low blood sugars. I am constantly aware of every change in my body (and the hypochondriac side of me thinks every change is a diabetic complication). I take measures to prevent heart disease, kidney failure and glaucoma.

Everyday I do these things. Everyday I think about numbers and food effects. Everyday I practice medicine on myself. Everyday I deal with my thinking disease.