If you are reading this and I have not yet whined to you about this in real life, please know that I have not slept for three nights. I have seen all of the Parenthoods and all of the Mad Men and so this sleeplessness absolutely must end today. Unless that book Orphan Train is really, REALLY engaging, I am officially sad.
New this week is high blood sugar (at the enchanting time of night from midnight – 5AM) (x3) that does not yield to any of the traditional measures:
“stacked” correction bolus
temp basal +20% for one hour <—how cute that I thought that would do something!
temp basal +50% for one hour
temp basal +90% for four hours <—this still seems extreme/borderline parento-medical negligence to me, but it didn’t cause a low or even a not-high
syringed insulin in the arm (aren’t arms faster than sleeping bottoms?)
a site change
a new vial of insulin
And now the Dexcom is freaking out. It is vibrating zzt-zzt-zzt with a blank screen, and the vibration is approx. one set of three per seven seconds, like the rhythm of the most annoying kind of hiccups. This continuous loop of zzzt-zzt-zzt began after an unbent paperclip/secret hole maneuver which was employed following a dead screen. Initially following paperclip-secret hole, a brilliant green check mark bounced on to the screen: System Check Passed! Or some other celebratory thing. Then black. Then an ominous, long buzz. Then discordant music—LOUD and kind of churchy. Next came a screen so obscure, no one bothered with a spell check. Error Occured! Please contact customer support.
“Come on Daniel, you don’t need to proofread that screen. No one’s ever going to see it. Now. How about we go get some buritos?”
I called. Of course I called. There are. Forty-three. Callers ahead of you in line. 43! I’ve never heard of more than even seven callers being ahead of me in line. And what kind of line is this, in grocery terms? My multi-region experience at Whole Foods has taught me there’s a big difference between forty-three ahead of me in one line for one cashier, or forty-three ahead of me in one line for forty cashiers.
It’s still going zzt-zzt-zzt, and it’s fully charged. And yet I can’t turn it on to choose to turn it off. If this were Pacman, this situation would be way beyond pretzel, peach, or cheeseburger, all the way to a short video like the one when Pacman and the Ms. make out and have a baby and the song plays while you wipe and stretch your hands. But in this video it would be Ms. Pacman & spouse go for a moonlight stroll (where’s the baby?) and one of them steps in dog poo and cries and the Pacman Dying music plays: bahhw-wouhn-wouhn-wouhn. Pok-pok!
That was so hard for me to spell, and it’s not even close to what I mean.
It’s still going. Zzt-zzt-zzt and with vigor! It could be used as a marital aid by a couple with more energy. I would put it outside, but I know I’ll need it when Dexcom calls #43 back. I would hit it with a mallet, but that might void the warranty.