It suddenly made perfect sense.
Well, if not perfect sense, it was at least a bit more understandable.
My frustration with wacky blood sugars and unsteady diabetes management had built to a head and I was on the verge of committing to some basal rate testing to straighten it out. I felt very unsure of myself, with ratios and settings that just didn’t seem to work anymore! What the heck was going on?!!
With each and every high or low blood sugar my confidence was being sucked right out of me.
The only time/place that I felt any semblance (which means “an erroneous mental representation”) of control was during basketball. Which in its own strange way didn’t make any sense either! See, I recently learned that the “sweetspot” for athletes with type 1 diabetes during exercise is around 150 mg/dl. Previously my target had been closer to 100 mg/dl. Guess where my blood sugar was during basketball for the past few weeks? Yup, right there at around 150 mg/dl. I hadn’t made any adjustments or changes, I just decided where I wanted to be, and it was done! Dumb luck as it turned out (but it felt awesome).
The light bulb “popped” on at exactly 6:30 PM one night, when my 6:30 AM site change pump alert went off…
Dammit! This is not the first time I’ve done this. I had the time on my pump set exactly 12 hours off. AM/PM, Day/Night, High Basals/Low Basals. No wonder my blood sugars had been all goofy.
I tried to think back to the last time I was messing with my pump clock. Business trip, September 30th, flying back home through a time zone or two.
So what if it took me 15+ days and nights to figure it out? If I was paying any kind of attention to a number of clues (wonky BG’s, lack of alerts) I might have noticed sooner. Instead I just wrote off all the weirdness to diabetes not following the rules and a whole bunch of coincidences (there’s no such thing).
So now I’m doing better, except that I need to tweak my basketball stuff. I have learned (again) to check the simple stuff first. Here I was all ready to do some basal rate testing (read “Pain In The Arse”), when all I had to do was fix the clock.
