The Struggle

I'm having a day that consists of endless wishing for Skin-Tac and Tegaderm.

Why are wishing for these item, Sarah?

Well, my Dexcom sensor is falling off. It's at the point where if I lift the white adhesive part of the sensor, I can see some of the sensor wire and I have to push it back in.

For a while, the wire hurt my arm, but I haven't taken it off yet because I only have one sensor left and I don't want this to happen again.

Are you reminded of this or this?

Now I've resorted to using penguin duct tape to hold my sensor in place until we can order some necessary supplies.

Moral of the Story: Duct tape really does fix anything.

Speaking of the caption, I got a new popcorn popper two days ago and I need another new pump clip. (!)

Middle School

Back story: I actually wrote most of this a while ago; I found it in my drafts a few days ago and decided I should post it.
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I have been thinking about writing about this for a while, and reading this post from D-Mom Blog finally convinced me to do it. I've had plenty of school nurses to deal with, after all, I have been diabetic since I was five years old. There is one, not-so-lovely nurse that I began to grow a disliking for during middle school. (Middle school is pretty bad, anyways, but this nurse was the icing on the cake.) Now, I'm going to share some stories about my wonderful time (sarcasm) in middle school with this nurse. (I'm leaving the nurse unnamed to protect the guilty party.)

During standardized testing in middle school, I had to test my blood and check in with the nurse before I started taking the test. One time I tested my blood before I ate breakfast at school, (I used to buy breakfast from the school. I don't anymore.) and I was in the 500's.  I covered my blood sugar, then the nurse made me walk around the school's gym 15 times. (Or whatever was equivalent to a mile.) That doesn't sound too bad, except for the fact that I had a headache, felt sick, and hadn't eaten since about 7:00 PM the night before. I tried to tell her beforehand that exercising with very high blood sugar can make your blood sugar go up or do nothing, but she didn't listen. She thought that I was trying to get out of exercising because I was lazy. I didn't want to exercise because I felt like crap; after all, I had extremely high blood sugar. After that, I went back to the nurse's office and after a plethora of complaints, I finally convinced her to let me buy some food from the cafeteria. I got one cheese stick. I wanted to eat something more filling, since I hadn't eaten in sixteen hours, but she made me sit in the nurse's office and test my blood every hour. I finally got sick of doing nothing in the nurse's office, so I went to get something to do from my locker. I ended up walking into the counselor's office, crying because I just wanted to eat something more than a cheese stick (My blood sugar was going down.) and go home because I was tired, felt bad because of my blood sugar, and was hungry. The counselors let me call my mom; she took me home, and got me food. Since then, I pretty much hated the lady. All of this was treacherous, but the worst part was that she never contacted either of my parents to tell them what was going on or ask what she should do. It was written on my school health plan that if I had high blood sugar, she needed to call my parents, but she never did.

Another time, I walked into the front office to get to the nurse's office. (It was behind the front office.) I had low blood sugar and the ladies in the front office asked me how I was doing. I incoherently mumbled something, then those ladies proceeded to whisper about me and laugh. Way to make me feel better.

We also had to threaten to implement a 504 plan (which we really should have had anyways), because they didn't believe my mother when she said my late check-ins/ absences were diabetes related. (They didn't believe us because I had over 10 absences, the school's "limit.") Every time I was out because of diabetes, we had to have the doctor e-mail the school an excuse note, even if we didn't go to the doctor.

Recently found out: The worst part of this whole mess is that this lady is becoming a CDE and is apparently using her work as a school nurse as credit for working with diabetics. I pity the people that are going to come in contact with her for medical help with their diabetes.

Moral of the Story: There is too much irony for me to handle right now.

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Tales of Travel from Yours Truly

Back story: I wrote this on June 14 while sitting on a four hour flight and had lots of time on my hands. 
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As I write this, I am sitting on a Southwest Airlines flight to Portland, Oregon. I've already waited 3 hours for a delayed flight from Atlanta to Chicago, spent two hours on the said flight, waited an hour and a half at Midway Airport, and now I am on a plane to Portland with an hour and 52 minutes left of flight. After this flight, I get to sit in a car for three hours to get to our final destination. Needless to say, I hate travel.

I especially hate it because here is so much uncertainty when it comes to travelling with diabetes.

Here are some of the questions I ask myself every time I travel:

Did I pack enough sites?

(I packed ten site changes for 8 days.)

Did I pack enough insulin?

(I packed my half full vial in use and another vial. I also have my sister's insulin pens for back up.)

Did I pack enough test strips?

(I packed 100.)

Did I pack enough Dexcom sensors?

(That's a joke. I completely forgot an extra. Hopefully it can lest an extra 5 days; it has before.)

Just keep in mind that all of these questions simply pertain to packing, not the actual trip.

My dexcom on a festively themed background.

Once you get to the airport, you have to deal with the TSA, my favorite thing!

More questions mentally asked:

Will my pump accidentally test positive for explosives?

Do I have to get a pat down?

Will the metal detector ruin my Dexcom or pump?

Will the TSA officer be nice to me?

Will the TSA take away our medical supplies?

And that's only during the security checkpoint. Yay! < sarcasm

When I get on the plane, it gets worse.

What if my pump site messes up and I have to change it on the plane?

What if my blood sugar goes too low or too high?

What if my CGM fails on the plane?

Also, add in all other what if questions normal people ask while on planes.

Side Note: I hate turbulence and apparently we're going to have it for the next hundred miles. Whee!

Morals of the Story: (Yes, there are two today!)

1. Travel messes with the homeostasis of my life, and I don't like it.
2. I don't understand how flight attendants do this for a living.

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After Note: Nothing too bad happened with the TSA. The TSA was crappy, as usual. 

In Atlanta, the TSA got mad at me because I left my CGM in my pocket. I left it in there because people have said they don't make the metal detectors go off. They told me that I need to give it to them and tell an officer to hand inspect it. And before she gave it to the officer to inspect it, she tried to put through the x-ray multiple times, even though I told her it couldn't go through the metal detector. She thought it was an iPod. I also walked through the stupid metal detector about 10 times before she decided I would need a pat down. 

In Portland, one officer tried to convince me five times (!) that I should go through the millimeter wave scanner, even though I was sure that Animas said that it couldn't go through it. He told me that other people with pumps and pacemakers have gone through it and said I should go through it. I firmly told him, "No."  every time. Then I had to wait awkwardly to the side of the security line for probably 10 minutes. (It also confused them when I gave them my CGM for hand inspection, even though the TSA officers in Atlanta told me to do that. Way to be consistent, TSA.) The lady that gave me a pat down was actually pretty nice.

And my dexcom totally failed the whole time and was extremely unhelpful, but I never took it off because I didn't want to repeat this. 

Air Travel

Back Story: I'm going on two airplanes tomorrow to get to Oregon.
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Going through airport security always makes me cringe a little beforehand.

I've only had problems with the TSA once (which I'll talk about later), but so many other people have had horrible experiences with the TSA and it makes me worry every time I have to go through airport security.

Let's count the occasions that people have had bad experiences with the TSA!

1. Kelly at the Philadelphia International Airport
2. Kerri at Green Airport
3. Kelly actually has a tag with eight (!) posts about the wonders of airport security.
4. Google it and you will finds tons of other "lovely" stories about air travel.

I've also had a bad run-in with the TSA before. At the Atlanta Airport, I took off my pump and my dad gave it to the security officer (SO for short) and told him that it couldn't go through the x-ray machine or the metal detector. (It actually can, but I didn't know it at the time.) 

Guess what the SO did right after my dad told him not to put it through the metal detector.

If you guessed: put it through the metal detector, you are correct!

Nothing happened to my pump, but that made me extremely angry. (They could have permanently ruined my pump or voided the warranty, I thought.) Usually I ask for a pat-down, but I just didn't want one that time because they take up a lot of time and I would appreciate feeling somewhat normal in an airport full of other people that are awkwardly standing in line behind me. 

Do you see why I often get nervous when I go through airport security?

Moral of the Story: The TSA should get their act together, so 15 year old diabetic girls aren't nervous when flying.

Thoughts While Low

I've seen people do this before, so here are my completely arbitrary thoughts while being low:

Why did the glucose tabs get smaller?

It is really hard to type; my fingers are shaky and I can't type quickly or accurately 

How am I supposed to get inspiration to type up blog posts?

Why did I just hear a large "thud?" I better turn off my music

I can't believe my CGM hasn't beeped to tell me I'm low yet; then again I'm 78.

I'm tired.

Maybe I should go to sleep.

 Moral of the Story: Low people make no sense.

Back From Camp

Well, I am officially back from Camp Kudzu, and I already miss it; I woke up this morning feeling sad because I was in my full sized bed, not the tiny, uncomfortable twin sized bed in my cabin.
Camp was an amazing experience, as always, and I'm already counting down the days to camp for next year.

I had the absolute best counselors ever and the best campers in my cabin, as well. We had tons of fun doing all of our activities. We had tons of fun on the zip line, playing reverse volleyball (you try to keep the ball in the air as long as possible), geocaching, and doing so many other things.

Here is the least embarrassing picture of moi at camp, making a shrinky dink.

For dimensions (which is an after dinner program for teens), I chose to participate in canoeing and kayaking. I ended up having dimensions with two of my counselors and another camper in my cabin and two counselors from the 16 year old boy's cabin (we were friends with them), plus a few other people from other cabins. We all ended up being pretty close and we were always making fun of each other. (In a friendly way, of course.)

Before meals, when we had some extra time to wait, my cabin and Cabin 29 (the previously mentioned boy's cabin) played some fun games of Ninja. I fell on the ground a few times and was beaten most times, but it was so much fun and totally worth the scrapes.

I also learned the movements to the cup song, which is tons of fun to do.

Moral of the Story: 359 days until camp.

P.S: I'm pretty sure Abby was partially my clinician. That was pretty cool, too.