I smell insulin.
Bad.
There's no problem with the pump or my infusion site. I'm definitely getting insulin--in fact, a little too much; my CDE is helping me adjust the basal rate downward a bit because I've had some lows. I seem to also need a lower basal at night, weirdly, as I went to bed at 103 and was at 83 with shaking for my 2 AM test. Ate a glucose tab (just one, didn't want to overtreat) and woke at 76. I get hypo symptoms in the 70s quite commonly, so we'll have to fix that.
Anyhow, the insulin is reaching me for sure. Why the smell if the connection is okay? Is this an evil pumping thing no one told me about? Am I doomed to reek of Eau de Novolog for the rest of my pumping days? Ack. Talk about a body image issue.
I HATE the smell of insulin. It is, imho, a foul, medicinal, diseasey smell. I'm sure that no one else could smell it on me, probably, except my sweetie (and even he can't smell it from 1200 miles away). But I can smell it. It's nasty. I wonder if some insulin oozed out of the tubing when I was disconnected for showering, maybe, and then got on the tape or something when I reconnected? Pumpers, help. Tell me this is a fluke, please.
Other than this and the itty bitty low, I had a better night last night: pinned the pump inside a roomier T-shirt so it wasn't squashed up against me every time I moved. Also, by folding down the top of the baby sock and pinning both layers I fixed the flopping problem.
My life right now is very, very practically focused. This isn't my normal mode of being--though it has become more so since I got diabetes--and I find it interesting to consider in an abstract way. Like it or not, this experience does ground a person in the body. I'm more connected to my physical self than I've ever been.
Since I started pumping, I've not taken 7 shots that I would have otherwise needed. Unbelievable.
February 18, 2005
February 17, 2005
I Become Pumpgirl
You could express it this way: Tonight I ate dinner for the first time in almost 4 months without giving myself a shot.
Or this way: Tonight I went to bed for the first time in almost 4 months without giving myself a shot.
Or this way: I am Pumpgirl. Hear me beep!
It’s happened at last. I’m pumping. I’m a pumper. I pump. (Picture Bill Murray in “What about Bob?” as he braves the waves, bound hand and foot to the mast: “I’m sailing! I SAIL!!!” That’s me.)
It’s surprisingly difficult to put words to the moment, to tell the truth. The reason I’m trying to do so in the middle of the night is that I needed to wake up at 2 a.m. to test—the idea being that it would be good to know if my pump’s basal rate is sending me crashing into nighttime hypoglycemia, which I am pleased to report it is not—and I can’t go back to sleep for the life of me. I’m much too wound up. Everything is new again. Or newish. Still diabetes, of course, but with a twist. Like diet coke with lemon (semi-obscure cultural ref: this is how Marge Simpson describes kissing the Pie Man, who is of course Homer in his superhero costume).
Biggest Fear Unrealized: that I would feel, as articulated in somewhat mortifying detail below, not quite as feminine as I hope to. So far I actually feel—drumroll please—just as I did before. The set and the tubing aren’t gorgeous, it’s true, but they’re also not overwhelming in a visual sense. Nevertheless, I did stop at Global Village to buy myself a girlie (& pump-friendly) outfit on the way home from my pump start appointment. I also did my nails, LOL, which did not turn out well.
Second Biggest Fear Unrealized: that putting in the infusion set would hurt like heck. It actually felt just like a shot, one of the slightly-ouchier-than-average ones. For the technically curious, I’m using the QuickSet, 6 mm, 23 inches—I got a few samples from the CDE based on her thinking that I’m too skinny to be comfortable with the 9 mm. (My current supply from Minimed is 9 mm, which I may exchange, though I’ll probably try one when I change the set.)
Third Biggest Fear Unrealized: that I’d run low at night and not wake up. My sweetie called right on cue and talked to me while I did my test. Yay sweetie! I was at 90. Yay pump!
Biggest Fear Realized: that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. The darn pump-in-the-baby-sock contraption, currently pinned inside my nightshirt, is a bit annoying. The pump stretches out the sock and dangles down and flops around, for one thing. But that can be fixed by putting the pump in something less stretchy, such as the cute pump pockets I’ve seen online. Or I’ll try a nightshirt with a pocket & cut a hole on the inside for the tubing to run through. Actually I’m guessing the sleep problem is more emotional than physical tonight; I’ll just need to experiment with different ways of handling this.
Biggest Fears Untested (well, the rated-PG ones): Will I remember how to change the set? I’ve already gotten fuzzy on the details. Thank goodness there are videos on the online Pump School. How will I do at the business lunch I have to attend (why, oh why) later today? Also, will I retain poise in explaining the pump to coworkers? It’s not going to be visible, generally, but I know it will come up sooner or later. A topic for another post.
Thing I Haven’t Done Yet: picked the name. I need to spend a little more time with the pump first. I feel that the right name will soon become clear.
Rating for First 12 Hours of Pumping: 9.2 out of 10. It rocks. I’m so glad I did it.
Or this way: Tonight I went to bed for the first time in almost 4 months without giving myself a shot.
Or this way: I am Pumpgirl. Hear me beep!
It’s happened at last. I’m pumping. I’m a pumper. I pump. (Picture Bill Murray in “What about Bob?” as he braves the waves, bound hand and foot to the mast: “I’m sailing! I SAIL!!!” That’s me.)
It’s surprisingly difficult to put words to the moment, to tell the truth. The reason I’m trying to do so in the middle of the night is that I needed to wake up at 2 a.m. to test—the idea being that it would be good to know if my pump’s basal rate is sending me crashing into nighttime hypoglycemia, which I am pleased to report it is not—and I can’t go back to sleep for the life of me. I’m much too wound up. Everything is new again. Or newish. Still diabetes, of course, but with a twist. Like diet coke with lemon (semi-obscure cultural ref: this is how Marge Simpson describes kissing the Pie Man, who is of course Homer in his superhero costume).
Biggest Fear Unrealized: that I would feel, as articulated in somewhat mortifying detail below, not quite as feminine as I hope to. So far I actually feel—drumroll please—just as I did before. The set and the tubing aren’t gorgeous, it’s true, but they’re also not overwhelming in a visual sense. Nevertheless, I did stop at Global Village to buy myself a girlie (& pump-friendly) outfit on the way home from my pump start appointment. I also did my nails, LOL, which did not turn out well.
Second Biggest Fear Unrealized: that putting in the infusion set would hurt like heck. It actually felt just like a shot, one of the slightly-ouchier-than-average ones. For the technically curious, I’m using the QuickSet, 6 mm, 23 inches—I got a few samples from the CDE based on her thinking that I’m too skinny to be comfortable with the 9 mm. (My current supply from Minimed is 9 mm, which I may exchange, though I’ll probably try one when I change the set.)
Third Biggest Fear Unrealized: that I’d run low at night and not wake up. My sweetie called right on cue and talked to me while I did my test. Yay sweetie! I was at 90. Yay pump!
Biggest Fear Realized: that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. The darn pump-in-the-baby-sock contraption, currently pinned inside my nightshirt, is a bit annoying. The pump stretches out the sock and dangles down and flops around, for one thing. But that can be fixed by putting the pump in something less stretchy, such as the cute pump pockets I’ve seen online. Or I’ll try a nightshirt with a pocket & cut a hole on the inside for the tubing to run through. Actually I’m guessing the sleep problem is more emotional than physical tonight; I’ll just need to experiment with different ways of handling this.
Biggest Fears Untested (well, the rated-PG ones): Will I remember how to change the set? I’ve already gotten fuzzy on the details. Thank goodness there are videos on the online Pump School. How will I do at the business lunch I have to attend (why, oh why) later today? Also, will I retain poise in explaining the pump to coworkers? It’s not going to be visible, generally, but I know it will come up sooner or later. A topic for another post.
Thing I Haven’t Done Yet: picked the name. I need to spend a little more time with the pump first. I feel that the right name will soon become clear.
Rating for First 12 Hours of Pumping: 9.2 out of 10. It rocks. I’m so glad I did it.
February 3, 2005
Arrival!
It’s here! Yay yay yay! Quite a sensation to open the box at last; felt like I was lifting the lid on my future. The pump is quite purply, much darker than the color shown on the Minimed website (well, darker than my monitor indicated, anyway). It’s very pretty, plumlike. I am inundated also with supplies and reading material. The BG meter is back-ordered though, booooo hisssss. Haven’t these people caught on yet that I am Not Patient?
Naturally I’ve been practicing all night—I’m not hooked up yet, of course, and there’s no insulin in the pump, but the functions work. I loved the drama of putting in the battery and watching the pump come to life. A mildly Frankensteinian moment, if you will. Also I was surprised by the appearance of the backlight, which is beautifully eerie. (Am I romanticizing? Uh-huh. But honestly, how often does UPS bring me a truly life-changing present?) The menus are simple and intuitive; so far I’ve learned to do simple boluses and basal settings, check the history, suspend and resume delivery—the easy stuff. The pump makes a very pleasant beeping sound, friendly in tone and not terribly loud.
Figuring out how it works is all well and good, but my preoccupation is—no surprise here—how to wear the gizmo. I tested the Thigh Thing, which is a spandexy band with a pocket to hold the pump. Not bad. Requires a garter belt to hold it up, ooh la la. Currently I have the pump in a sock, safety-pinned to the inside of my pajama top. I experimented with lying down on it; seemed okay. There are several places online where one can order nightshirts and jammies with sewn-in pockets to hold the pump, but for now I’m holding off until I have a more practical understanding of what I want.
Pump name is still pending. But I’ve already started talking to it…
Naturally I’ve been practicing all night—I’m not hooked up yet, of course, and there’s no insulin in the pump, but the functions work. I loved the drama of putting in the battery and watching the pump come to life. A mildly Frankensteinian moment, if you will. Also I was surprised by the appearance of the backlight, which is beautifully eerie. (Am I romanticizing? Uh-huh. But honestly, how often does UPS bring me a truly life-changing present?) The menus are simple and intuitive; so far I’ve learned to do simple boluses and basal settings, check the history, suspend and resume delivery—the easy stuff. The pump makes a very pleasant beeping sound, friendly in tone and not terribly loud.
Figuring out how it works is all well and good, but my preoccupation is—no surprise here—how to wear the gizmo. I tested the Thigh Thing, which is a spandexy band with a pocket to hold the pump. Not bad. Requires a garter belt to hold it up, ooh la la. Currently I have the pump in a sock, safety-pinned to the inside of my pajama top. I experimented with lying down on it; seemed okay. There are several places online where one can order nightshirts and jammies with sewn-in pockets to hold the pump, but for now I’m holding off until I have a more practical understanding of what I want.
Pump name is still pending. But I’ve already started talking to it…
February 2, 2005
Pumper's Remorse?
Okay, I'm not a pumper yet, so I guess I can't have pumper's remorse. Pre-pumper's remorse? I'm terrible at waiting for big changes, very fretful and anxious. What if what if what if. Whatever. Ack.
One of the things I'm nervous about is that I live alone--my boyfriend is waaaay across the country--and I'll be starting the pump without someone here to help me. This has been a difficult aspect of my diabetes management all along--e.g., I worry about going severely low when I'm alone, though it hasn't happened yet. I'm sure the pump start won't be as scary as I imagine, right? It ain't brain surgery. Today it seems daunting, but I learned MDI quickly, and I'll learn this as well.
One of the things I'm nervous about is that I live alone--my boyfriend is waaaay across the country--and I'll be starting the pump without someone here to help me. This has been a difficult aspect of my diabetes management all along--e.g., I worry about going severely low when I'm alone, though it hasn't happened yet. I'm sure the pump start won't be as scary as I imagine, right? It ain't brain surgery. Today it seems daunting, but I learned MDI quickly, and I'll learn this as well.
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