This week has been Tricky. That’s right, with a capital and everything. It’s maybe part of the reason I’ve been a bit quiet – internet issues and hectic week aside. I need a good “kick in the pants” (as said by the legendary Grandpa Joe, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory – the original and best) to sort me out. I’ve got Dr Bernstein sat next to me to get me back on track. Not literally. But literary. See what I did there?
After being perfectly fine being a bit naughty at V for a few days, I guess I thought I could carry on and continue getting away with it. FYI, I couldn’t. I quickly made up for 72 hours of not eating very much by going a solid 12 hours eating pretty much everything in sight, carbs included. Hello high doses of insulin, hello shit night’s sleep, hello too-high blood sugars on Wednesday. As far as I was concerned it was the horrible shock I needed to help me remember why keeping on track is so important. I really couldn’t function that AM. So, with the best of intentions I picked myself up and dusted myself off, not exactly raring to go on Wednesday but very ready to get back on track and say farewell to the flour once more. Oh crap, hello life. Hello training day at work – lunch provided.
The problem here is that it’s generally the law in life to score as many free meals in a week as possible. Me and Miss C like to keep tabs on each other with a congratulatory high-five every time we succeed. Sad but true story.
So, legal training day at work. Designed to make sure the news I write doesn’t get the station shut down, which I’d say is pretty important. It was very interesting but you could tell everyone was there for the free food. Out it comes, all very delicious looking… and completely carb based. There was not one item that wasn’t at least 60% bread. A vast array of fillings, but all well, sandwiched between slices of bread, bap, wrap. I suppose I could have picked out the middle. But I work with these people; it’s not great for the professional image. And there’s also the small point that doing that kind of thing makes you look like a complete asshole. Excuse my French.
So I munched. I had the insulin. And despite getting the inevitable carb lull about half an hour later, I just felt really crap that I’d done it at all. And that’s not right – diabetes should not be about guilt! But I felt really guilty for just going along with it and not figuring myself out an alternative, which I probably could have done quite discreetly with a little bit of planning. Ah, there it is again. Bastard planning. Gets me every time.
And so it continues. I felt shit, I ploughed on, yesterday was better… and then today had the small obstacle of a four hour car journey. Which turned into a five and a half hour car journey thanks to the bank holiday traffic. I was kind of asking for it, I guess. I felt a bit low about half an hour before I set off, probably due to it being nearly two and I hadn’t eaten anything so far. So, rationalising that there was a long journey ahead without food, plus the fact that my blood was low, I had a little less insulin. A little too much less insulin, it turned out. Got about an hour down the road and welcomed that glorious thick furry mouth feeling that can only mean high blood sugars. That, or going to bed after a night out without cleaning the pearly whites. The latter was not a possibility given that I’d been awake a fair few hours by this point. You’d hope, given that I was driving and all. At this point I considered trying to inject while zooming down the motorway, but I reasoned this would end in almost certain death. So I pulled over and had a couple units.
No biggie really, but just another reason to feel shit about the fact that I clearly cannot control my diabetes at all! Haha, overdramatic much? THEN I finally reach my final destination and dearly beloved Mr G and, knowing the nightmare journey I’ve had, he’s cooked the most yummy and delicious looking stir fry ever seen. How do you tell your dear old Pa you’re turning your nose up at his food? You don’t. And I was starving, and very very up for the stir fry. I had Dr Bernstein on my left shoulder whispering “say no, just leave the noodles” and Mr Potato Head on my right whispering “eeeat me, you’ve already blown it today”. Arghhhhhhhhhh. Of course I ate it. Crying inside. (Don’t be concerned, I’m joking!)
I know it’s only a couple of days and I’m ready to sort it and put a bad week behind me, but for some reason I’m being quite hard on myself about it all. Like a school teacher – must try harder Jenny Grieves (full name and all). So this is where the “good kick in the pants” comes in. Although thinking about it, that’s just going to hurt, and possibly prevent me bearing children. It might be more effective to watch the film and sing “Oompa, Loompa”, “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket” and other songs very loudly out loud. Shame the movie’s about chocolate…