September will mark 25 years for me with type 1 diabetes, but I still haven’t learned that an afternoon of lazy 200+ mg/dl’s that won’t budge, even after multiple boluses (and one really solid rage bolus where I actually grunted “You. Frigging. Diabetes.” as my fingers mashed the buttons), after repeated tests that showed climbing numbers … wouldn’t you think I’d inspect that infusion set? Maybe just give it a peek? See how things are doing there, on the back of my hip, where that 6 mm cannula is resting (hopefully) comfortably?
Oh, you mean I shouldn’t have waited until I smelled that distinct scent? The one that smells like a cross between bandaids and the dentist’s office? And then, when I dabbed at the gauze patch around my site and felt the dampness, I still didn’t really hone in on it because I was so high that everything was on like a 20 minute delay? Read more »
*This blog post was originally published at Six Until Me.*