Voodoo dolls show how hunger and lack of self-control go hand in hand/. Interesting. So essentially, diabetics might be better partners, since it’s tough as hell to keep that glucose level all that low, which would correlate with being nicer to people.
On the flip side, I am super fucking cranky when my blood sugar drops. At least I know it, and that becomes time for ice cream and giving the world a break from my mess.
Perhaps the best thing I can say about living with diabetes is that it’s a transformative experience to have the same event go from excruciatingly frightening to become boring by way of countless, daily repetition.
A diabetic child spurs a race for a bionic pancreas. Great article about some really impressive technology. Two pumps, one with insulin and one with glucagon, a continuous glucose monitor, and the iPhone is the target set of equipment, and it looks like it’ll all get working together soon. Respect.
I had a great time at the Northeast PHP conference this past weekend, with two rather full days of technical talks. With the schedule as it was, I didn’t get in my normal amount of exercise. I increased my dosage a bit, knowing that I’d be sitting all day, yet I was still about 60 to 80 mg/dL higher than normal.
As a baseline, I generally get in at least a 30 minute walk or an equivalent exercise each day. It may not seem like much, though in those two days I needed more than twice my normal dose of insulin. I’m also in a rather different circumstance in that my pancreas is still rather high functioning; doubling what I usually take isn’t all that much more in the grand scheme.
Still, the point stands: get out of your chair and move around when you can. It’s good for you.
The Bionic Pancreas: Test Drive. Great write-up. It’s also a big deal that Boston University, my alma mater and employer, is at the head of this. 2017 is the goal, so we’re still years away, though it’s very promising. It’s an alogorithm, a continuos glucose monitor, and two pumps; or in other words, two turntables and a microphone. Respect.
I eat diabetes for lunch; and breakfast, and dinner, and snacks in between. Diabetes eats a bit of me, too, surely, but it’s less a leech and more a part of me that tags along most minutes of the day.
It’s taken me a while to think like this. We think of a self as being something pure, idealized, and outside of the reality of foreign bodies. Our mind, defying the rest of much physicality, tends to shy away from thinking in wholly integrated terms.
A lot of days, too, it’s not even us versus them. Some aspects fight other aspects without me being all that conscious of it. Other times, when the body fights an infection full-on, we suffer the consequences of hosting this battleground.
It’s not about us. We’re just the scenery to a myriad of tiny, invisible forces.
It’s not even juice; tonight it’s regular cola that’s been sitting in my fridge for the past ten months. It tastes strange, and the measured milliliters are a task more than an experience. Then there’s the need to try and not piss yourself on the train as it works its magic and the sugar is infused in your blood. The Instagram type filter that brings nostalgia and blurriness also starts to take hold; that would be your tiny blood vessels withering away towards eventual blindness.
.. I wrote that weeks ago after a particularly rough night. Everything worked out alright in the end, despite a high blood sugar at the end of the night when everything decided to eventually take hold. Even now I recognize that there’s not much more I could have done in that case. Emulating what nature does automatically is just incredibly tough and complex, and despite the more temporary reaction (above), my eventual salvation is in respecting all of the work a fully functional pancreas does on a daily basis. Shit is crazy.