Today, was a day to be documented in history for a multiple reason. So, may I make you wait no longer. God speed.
First of all, I had my first class regarding teaching today. HELLLLLOOOO FUTURE! It was amazing, I laughed some, I learned some, joyous, joyous day. My instructor, I learned within the first 4 minutes, loves knocking on the window of the classroom, loudly I might add, and yelling at the people who look at him. Pretty hilarious. I kind of wanted to get up and do it, too. Anyway, at one point, he brought in another instructor, and she taught us this extremely valuable lesson beginning with this quote, "I got measles from a third grader." Yes, this is what she said. Why? Because apparently, it's very, VERY important that teachers be completely up to date on immunizations. What a well learned lesson. Okay, forgive some of the sarcasm. I really am beginning to fall more deeply in love with my chosen profession with one class. Yesss...=)
Now, let me explain to you the most exciting thing I have experienced in diabetic history.
Background knowledge: I'm currently participating in a study at my local doctor's office. Therefore, I seem like a bit of a blood sugar control freak at this current point in my 16 year walk with this deficient pancreas of mine. Anyway, for part of this study, I get to use a...wait for it....wait for it...CONTINUOUS GLUCOSE MONITOR (CGM)! For those of you who have no idea what that is, and trust me, you're probably in the majority, it is a little needle permanently injected in my abdomen that is calibrated with a little machine that must be within at least five feet of my body (pictured below). Whew! This little machine then monitors my blood sugar levels...ALL OF THE TIME! So cool, my friends.
However, this is the part where I disappoint you. Or mostly me, I suppose, since I doubt this truly bothers you. This study is a blind study, so I don't get the glory of knowing what the CGM actually reads. The people running the study are constantly monitoring it, but I am simply left in the dark, unknowing presence. When I was informed of this little detail, I politely stood up, picked up the chair I had previously been sitting in, and threw it across the 4ft by 4ft room I was sitting in. Joke. Well, joke about throwing the chair, not the little room. However, I was so very disappointed. Why? Yes, I get to keep the monitor eventually, and I could potentially use this little leach of a machine if I so choose. However, this you need to know: I'm pretty far from patient. It's definitely my number character flaw, and I know. I do work to control this one small flaw (definitely a joke), but it doesn't change the fact that I want this stinkin' thing to be used to my benefit. Shove it to the back of my mind, yeah? NO. It will forever be within five feet of me. By forever, I mean a few months with the feeling of forever. To make this more enjoyable, I simply named it--Dexter (the brand is Dexcome, so Dexter was just appropriate). THough I was caught between extreme joy and depression due to this little event, I was quickly snapped out of it.
On my way out of the doctor's office, I was given some diabetic supplies for free: test strips, lantus pens, and a giant box of beautiful, sharp syringes. Of course these objects of my body's surviving affection had no storage bag because that would be unnecessary, so into the dorms I walked, supplies in hand. No problem. I walk in past those two doors, push the elevator, and immediately step on...and two others join me. I politely asked them what floor, pushed the buttons, and slumped back against the wall as I always do. Then I noticed the girl next to me glance over at my box. Her expression immediately went from nice and polite to shocked and...frightened as she read "syringes". Not only did she look frightened once, but this girl took a triple take. Yes, a triple take. As I stepped off the elevator, a sly smile came over my face, and I began to laugh. Out loud. This is the moral of this story: Diabetic intimidation is priceless.
So there was my joyous, tragic, hilarious day in a nutshell.
Love and insulin to all,
The Lone Woolf
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