This year I reach my quarter century with Type 1 Diabetes. I'm twenty-eight years old. Diabetes isn't simply a part of my life. It is my life. I don't remember any other way. When I was three years old, I don't suppose I even had a grasp of the concept of 'forever'. Or 'for life'. Or, more simply, that this would never go away. That everywhere I went in my life diabetes would be along for the ride. That every achievement I made would be made with diabetes in the background. But I've known for a long time now that...
The steady line on my CGM is very pretty. It's very, very flat. It's just a shame it isn't 14mmol/l (250mg/dL) lower down. My blood sugar has been sitting steadfastly at 19mmol/l (342mg/dL) for the last nine hours. Nineteen for nine hours. The recipe for (attempted) correction has included: Two correction boluses - a rational 3.7 units (as per Bolus Wizard suggestion) and a rageful additional 5 units when I hadn't budged 90 minutes later. Another 5 units via a syringe, plunged angrily into the fleshy bit of my backside where infusion sets never go, as I don't relish sitting...
I feel a need to write this post, because six weeks on, I don't want heartbreak to be at the top of the page anymore. And it's also about time I thanked everyone for all your comments and support on my last entry. Your comments, as always, really meant a lot to me and brought light in to a dark place. I've spent the last six weeks in that strange post-relationship landscape that anyone who's ever had a relationship end will surely always remember. I've certainly walked this street before. Looking back and sorting through tangled emotions whilst getting on...
This is a difficult post to write, especially on Valentine's Day. The day after we arrived back from Italy, Rob stayed down in London with me. I had to get up and go to work the following morning. I left Rob in bed, still half asleep, giving him a kiss and a cuddle and reminding him I much I love him. I didn't know that would be it. The end of the road. Last Saturday, Rob reached inside my chest, grabbed out my heart and squeezed it until it broke. Or at least he may as well have done. I've...
I'm back in England after my week on the Italian slopes, and have finally crawled out from beneath the mountain of dirty ski clothes that needed laundering! Fortunately I'm all in one piece, if only just! I was pleased to discover that I can still ski, although my leg strength isn't quite what it was prior to my ankle injuries, which has clearly had some effect on my technique and ability. I also earned a reputation as a cautious skier, since fear of further injury dented my confidence somewhat and I wasn't quite as keen as they guys in the...
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