Danger: Sweet Potato Casserole

This Thanksgiving was a swiftly ticking time bomb, destined to be ominous...!

My very first with Diabetes.

The week did not start out well. Monday after the last day of classes I headed up to Forsyth for Thanksgiving break with the Kuckuck's. Tuesday my Blood Sugar was sort of spiky. I ate mostly protein all day - very few carbs at all. Yet, when I checked my blood sugar at 9PM, my blood sugar was 420. Yes, 420. I hadn't been that high since I was just out of the hospital. I hadn't seen an endo since June, and I was still unsure of what my correction bolus would be. Basically, this meant that I'd been taking wild stabs in the dark at trying to manage my Diabetes, and lately I was on the losing side of a nasty blood sugar battle between my broken pancreas and I. Managing blood sugar does not always have to be this difficult. But this is my first year with this disease, and my insulin needs change often. So every time I seem to find the correct ratio it changes again. The danger of nighttime corrections is that you run the risk of over correction and getting low - especially in my case, when I'm basically having to wildly guess my dosage. My previous correction had been 1 unit for every 100 mg over my blood sugar target was, and since my insulin needs seemed to have doubled over the past month, I doubled what normally would have been 3 to receive my magic number, 6. 

I woke up sweating, and I didn't know why. 2:30 AM. Josh came and checked on me. He forced me to sit up and tested my blood sugar. It was 258. Why was it still so high? I was so frustrated. I started crying into his shoulder. "This----issupposed--to-happen-to-to-to---to people that don't care! I do care! Why is it happening to me? What--did-did---I do--to deserve this?" I blubbered. I woke up the next morning and Josh stood over me as I tested again. 251. Not even a dent in my blood sugar had been made. Usually it would at least go down in my sleep. He called Laurie, who works at an assisted living facility. They reasoned that perhaps I wasn't actually eating enough carbs. I wasn't sure if that had anything to do with it. Either way I poured myself a bowl of cereal into a measuring cup that morning, and then carefully did the same with my milk. I counted all the carbs like the perfect Diabetes poster child I am and bolused 10 minutes beforehand before pouring in the milk and setting down to breakfast. I was confident that my good behavior would warrant fabulous blood sugar.

I ate nothing else the rest of the morning and went to test at noon. 384. What.in.the.hell? I stormed into Josh's room. You said my blood sugar might be bad because I'm not eating enough carbs, but now it's even higher! I started crying again. I was a failure at life. I was going to go blind. My feet were going to fall off. I was going to die. All of the worst possible scenarios rushed through my head as I sobbed huge tears of angry frustration. I hated this disease! I stabbed myself with my Novolog pen and gave myself 8 units. Josh called Laurie again. Josh stuck me in the car and we drove to see Laurie down the street, where I met all of the friendly nurses and tried to seem semi-put together. I doubted I was fooling anybody, and at any rate I still couldn't hold back some of my tears. Everyone comforted me, and one of the nurses checked my temperature and blood pressure, which were both perfectly fine. Everything was fine, really. Except for the fact that my blood sugars were insanely high. I felt like I'd been run over a bus. My mouth was parched, I'd had to pee like 5 times since that morning, and I felt like falling over and going to sleep that very second. In my groggy stupor I was handed a fistful of alcohol swabs and my blood sugar was tested in 15 minute intervals to determine that it was, in fact, going down. So, we could rule out the possibility that my Novolog wasn't working. Laurie bought me a bottle of water and Josh and I drove back home. Josh made me a comfy spot in his bed and ordered me to lie down, dragged some fans into the room to circulate air, covered me in a blanket and got me a bottle of water. I meekly thanked him and he turned on my favorite channel, HGTV. 

We checked again at 2PM. My blood sugar was better, 180. I felt a little more consoled. Josh cut me celery sticks and spread them with peanut butter as I made a giant omelet. 2 units of insulin for the small amount of carbs were given. I was still upset and wary about my blood sugars but felt much improved physically.

The next day was Thanksgiving. Eek! My blood sugar was 151 in the morning which was swell. But, mistakenly, this caused me to let my guard down. For dinner I had only turkey and green beans, with a little bit of sweet potato casserole, but all of the sampling in between had wreaked havoc on me. My blood sugar was 460 at the end of the day. I felt defeated once again as I gave myself 8 units and waited for it to go down.

The next morning, I was better. Woke up at 160. Spikey but... okay. Had low-carb jello for breakfast, bolused 3 units. Today was the start of a new day, a good day where my numbers were picture-perfect and I was the Queen of good blood sugar. Checked my blood sugar at noon. 515. 515?! That was high enough to hospitalized, for God's sake. What was wrong? I angrily gave myself 11 units of insulin and settled down for the long haul, checking my blood sugar all day. It did finally go down and was back to 160 by the start of the evening. 

I texted my mom later. My mom totally freaked out when I told her, and soon my old endo back in Florida was on the phone. He changed up my insulin dosages - 1 unit of Novo for every 7 units of carbs vs. my old ratio of 1:10. I was waking up fine, and my Lantus was kept the same.

So far my blood sugars have held pretty steady with the new ratio; I think it's been just what I needed. I've had to watch over my Diabetes with an iron fist, and it's been rough. My first Thanksgiving with Diabetes got off to a rocky start, and even though I know it's only my first year it's hard not to be hard on myself as I'm adjusting to this new life. I hope that things will get better and that I can reconcile with this disease in time. In a world where every bite and nibble counts, who knew that sweet potato casserole could be so dangerous?