Mortality and a bloody mess

I've been feeling rather down emotionally the last few days. I think part of it was because I got some lab tests back that set a new standard for the "oh cripes!" reaction. (more on that toward the end) I have Type I diabetes. I went on an insulin pump last Feb. 28 and generally like it very much. But it's not working as well for me as it is "supposed" to. And last night I may or may not have had a close call.

FYI: The insulin pump does not test your blood sugar for you. It's amazing how many people think it does! I've read a company in CA is working on a pump/continous glucose monitor combo that would do both, but it's not available yet. So I have to prick my fingers many, many times a day and then tell the pump my results. Then it neatly calculates how much insulin I need to "fix" any baddies, and sends it in to my body. Pretty cool. One wears an insulin pump on a belt, or carries it in a pocket. or even tucked inside a bra. I prefer the belt carriers. I found a white lacy garter with a satiny white pocket that you can wear on your thigh (made me laugh when I saw it in a catalog; looks like something a bride would wear and the groom would remove and throw at the guests!). It's allowed me to wear dresses again.

The pump itself sends insulin into my body fat (NOT directly into the bloodstream) via a catheter and a little cannula that I have to insert with a needle into my belly, leave for two days (some folks can leave them for three days, but not me -- it starts to clog up under attack from my body's defense forces), and remove. Then I insert a fresh one in another spot.

So last night, it was time for me to "change insertion site."

( Squeamish? Proceed at your own risk... )