She was a perfect 129 an hour ago, with no food insulin working, or so I thought. But now she's 82, and it's kind of funny because I'm probably around 82 and that's completely and perfectly healthy. I check the meter to see the amount of extra insulin she has; i.e. the amount that would have brought her from 129 to 82 for no apparent reason. 0.46 units.
Okay. Math time...
She gets .65 per hour this time of night to keep her blood sugar stable, through that lovely blue insulin pump that both keeps her alive and constantly reminds me that my baby girl's life is in my hands.
I'm her personal physician. I should get a degree, a white coat, a little black bag (do they still carry those?).
Is there any other disease that turns ordinary moms into doctors overnight? Is there any other disease where parents are handed a drug (technically insulin is a hormone, but whatever) that is so potent it can kill? Seriously, what's up with that?
Of course, what's our other choice.
And so I get hooked on one show after another so I have something to keep me from falling asleep so soundly I won't hear the incredibly annoying alarm I installed on my phone.
And I do math at 12:37am.
.45/.65 = .70.
And so I reduce her basal insulin to -.70 for one hour.
And then I blog because watching another episode of Grey's anatomy while I wait seems like gluttony. Am I rambling? I think I might be.
Eh, it's all good. I got to hold my teenagers hand at 12:37am. Okay, so I made it bleed, but still. How many parents of teens get to hold their child's hands while they sleep? So I guess I'm a lucky doctor, er mama.
Sleep is for weenies anyway...
