Showing posts with label travel with diabetes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel with diabetes. Show all posts
After Midnight
"Mom?"
"Mom?" My eyes must have opened slightly, or I mumbled something.
"Something's wrong with my pump."
And then I was awake.
"It was beeping when it woke me up … booEEp, booEEp … but now it's dead. Nothing happens when I push the buttons. And it's hot."
It was the wee hours of the morning. We were on vacation in a cottage near the beach.
"Ok- let's see."
I got up and followed her back to her little room where we turned on a light and set to work.
Hoping the simplest explanation was the right one, I took out the battery, using a coin from the pile on her bedside table set aside for an expedition to the penny candy store. The battery was hot.
I inserted a new battery and screwed the cap back on. I prayed, thought good thoughts, and implored the diabetes gods for mercy. The pump would spring back to life. We would not, in the middle of the night, on vacation, have to go back to injecting insulin for the first time in 13 years.
Time stood still for an infinite moment and then, there it was, the familiar alien-like startup beep of the Animas pump. I confirmed, when prompted, the battery type, and the date and time, which were reassuringly still correct. Then, as the pump requires with every battery replacement, I set in motion a full rewind of the cartridge area. Knowing that the full rewind also signals the pump to perform a full system check I once again sent out pleas to the universe that a pump failure would not, please, be among our vacation memories.
The motor whirred. And whirred. And whirred. And then...
"beep!" Just the usual, friendly little 'I'm ready,' beep. I finished the process and my daughter reconnected.
Still more than a little freaked out, and now wide awake, I photographed every pump setting, not sure if my most recent records were recent enough. I tucked my daughter in and returned to bed where I lay; not at all optimistic that the crisis had actually been averted. I considered all of the options for obtaining a replacement pump if need be. I sorted out what I could remember about multiple daily injections. I tried to figure out what had happened in the first place. I got up twice to make sure her blood sugar was staying steady- that the pump was still working correctly.
In the light of day, with the pump working properly again, the explanation seemed fairly logical. The hot battery was familiar from times we've changed it after the 'I'm going to die in half an hour or less' warning. The initial low battery warning, indicating a couple of days' power remaining, had been visible on the pump for at least most of that day, my daughter said, and she'd planned to change it during the next day's site change. But it's possible it had been there longer, since we were in vacation mode and, as is our custom, paying less attention to diabetes than usual while enjoying vacation things. Or maybe the battery died a little faster than usual with all the extra use for vacation food. Maybe the pump alarmed for the full half an hour foretelling its imminent demise, and simply didn't wake my daughter from her vacation-induced deep slumber - we'd been out late and came home tired.
All that really matters is that the new battery continues to work just fine, a couple of weeks later, and we were able to enjoy the rest of our vacation.
Thankful
Unlike last year's expedition, which could have been subtitled, 'airplane flight to 5 days of walking in chaotic environments,' this year's music department trip seemed like a manageable adventure. It was a four hour bus trip to spend 3 days and 2 nights in and around an interesting city. Because of the presence of a great school nurse, concerned chaperones and staff, and friends who have my daughter's back, we decided, with my daughter, that she'd travel without a parent. Here's the note [with awkward edits for privacy] I sent to the band director on the Monday after this year's trip:
I mailed a similarly thankful note to the nurse who accompanied the kids on the trip. My daughter was in touch with her regularly via text, and they always knew where the other was. The nurse carried a little bag (within her giant 'nurse bag') with glucagon, glucose gel, and a spare meter set. Her assistance was never needed.
These notes reflected my acute awareness that my child was fortunate to have such a fun and positive trip. There are other kids who are allowed to have these kinds of experiences but with much less quality support. And there are kids who are told (illegally but indisputably) that they can't participate at all. For three days Dexcom Share was my most-used app. The texts about the frosted flakes for breakfast and the bus full of rice crispy treats were cringe-worthy. But mostly, I'm thankful.
Just a note to say thanks for a great music trip.
What a nice opportunity it was for the kids to attend Thursday's concert. [My daughter] was especially excited to see such an incredible piano concerto performed.
Between the concert, the chance for feedback and work on the concert band's competition pieces, and a fun and interesting collection of places to explore with friends, [my daughter] had a terrific time.
We're always happy to be involved in the life of the band, including chaperoning. But we're also grateful for the steps you and [the high school] as a whole have taken to allow [my daughter] to participate fully and safely without us present, encouraging her growing independence both diabetes-wise and beyond.
Looking forward to hearing tomorrow night's performance!
I mailed a similarly thankful note to the nurse who accompanied the kids on the trip. My daughter was in touch with her regularly via text, and they always knew where the other was. The nurse carried a little bag (within her giant 'nurse bag') with glucagon, glucose gel, and a spare meter set. Her assistance was never needed.
These notes reflected my acute awareness that my child was fortunate to have such a fun and positive trip. There are other kids who are allowed to have these kinds of experiences but with much less quality support. And there are kids who are told (illegally but indisputably) that they can't participate at all. For three days Dexcom Share was my most-used app. The texts about the frosted flakes for breakfast and the bus full of rice crispy treats were cringe-worthy. But mostly, I'm thankful.
Gringotts
One last story from our Universal Studios vacation:
We arrived at Gringotts, the goblin-operated bank frequented by the characters in Harry Potter. We stored our belongings in the lockers provided. No bags were permitted on the ride. Before a similar ride that morning we'd stuffed our pockets with airheads candy before stashing the rest of the supplies in the locker. This time we forgot.
Ten minutes into what was reported to be a 35 minute line to board the ride, the Dexcom alarmed.
"70 with a down arrow," my daughter reported. I had one airhead left in my pocket from the morning, which I handed over.
Three minutes later, the Dexcom alarmed again.
"It's double down now and says I'm 55."
"Do you feel low?"
"Yeah- I can't wait here."
There was a staff member nearby.
"My daughter is having a medical issue," my husband explained." What's the best way to exit?"
"Just walk up this ramp and you'll get out."
"Is there any way we can skip some of the line when we come back- it'll be about 10 minutes we think."
"Yes- absolutely- just tell the person at the entrance that Maya said you can come in through the express pass entrance. It shouldn't be a problem."
"Awesome- thank you so much."
So we went out and emptied our locker. We sat on the ground near a statue of a goblin holding a stack of gold while my daughter checked with her glucometer (55) and drank a juice.
We waited there a few minutes, people-watching.
"You feeling a little better?"
"Yeah- I'm definitely coming up."
A recheck showed 68. She ate another airhead for good measure, and we stuffed our pockets full of them before getting another locker.
The staff member at the entrance allowed our reentry through the express line, and with an elapsed time of under 15 minutes, we were soon standing next to the people who had been ahead of us in line before we exited.
The ride was great.
It's November...Diabetes Awareness Month! My plan for this month involves stories. Simple, everyday, real-life stories about living with diabetes. I plan to tell them here as narratives, like this one, just snippets of a day with diabetes, and I plan to tell them, or stories like them, more often in the 'real world' this month when friends ask, 'How's it going,' or relatives ask what I've been up to.
We arrived at Gringotts, the goblin-operated bank frequented by the characters in Harry Potter. We stored our belongings in the lockers provided. No bags were permitted on the ride. Before a similar ride that morning we'd stuffed our pockets with airheads candy before stashing the rest of the supplies in the locker. This time we forgot.
Ten minutes into what was reported to be a 35 minute line to board the ride, the Dexcom alarmed.
"70 with a down arrow," my daughter reported. I had one airhead left in my pocket from the morning, which I handed over.
Three minutes later, the Dexcom alarmed again.
"It's double down now and says I'm 55."
"Do you feel low?"
"Yeah- I can't wait here."
There was a staff member nearby.
"My daughter is having a medical issue," my husband explained." What's the best way to exit?"
"Just walk up this ramp and you'll get out."
"Is there any way we can skip some of the line when we come back- it'll be about 10 minutes we think."
"Yes- absolutely- just tell the person at the entrance that Maya said you can come in through the express pass entrance. It shouldn't be a problem."
"Awesome- thank you so much."
So we went out and emptied our locker. We sat on the ground near a statue of a goblin holding a stack of gold while my daughter checked with her glucometer (55) and drank a juice.
We waited there a few minutes, people-watching.
"You feeling a little better?"
"Yeah- I'm definitely coming up."
A recheck showed 68. She ate another airhead for good measure, and we stuffed our pockets full of them before getting another locker.
The staff member at the entrance allowed our reentry through the express line, and with an elapsed time of under 15 minutes, we were soon standing next to the people who had been ahead of us in line before we exited.
The ride was great.
It's November...Diabetes Awareness Month! My plan for this month involves stories. Simple, everyday, real-life stories about living with diabetes. I plan to tell them here as narratives, like this one, just snippets of a day with diabetes, and I plan to tell them, or stories like them, more often in the 'real world' this month when friends ask, 'How's it going,' or relatives ask what I've been up to.
A Security Story
As we arrived at the airport security gate on our way to Florida, my daughter disconnected her pump. "This needs to be visually inspected. It can't go through any of the scanners," she informed the TSA agent.
"That's what you'd like to do?" was the reply.
"Yes, please."
We walked through the body scanner and met the agent on the other side. We stood near him as he swabbed the pump to check for explosives and then returned it to my daughter.
Meanwhile I watched our toiletries and my carry-on bag slide into the 'to be inspected' holding area instead of continuing along the conveyor belt to be retrieved.
The first thing I was asked about was the Frio insulin cooling case.
He still had my large backpack. "Anything in here you can think of that would have caused this to be pulled aside?"
"Um- it's got lots of diabetes supplies...syringes, insulin pump infusion sets, glucometers...I'm not sure what might have caused the concern."
So the TSA agent, who was very nice, rummaged through the bag, pulling out every make-up case and Ziploc bag, methodically opening and examining them one at a time. When those were all on the metal table and the only things left in the bag were books and a few other obviously safe items, he sent the backpack through the x-ray machine again.
"Okay- you're good to go," he said upon his return.
I observed the collection of items spread around the metal table, all of which needed to be fit back into the backpack in a way that would enable us to access the important ones during our flight, and stifled a laugh.
"Easy for me to say," the TSA agent said with a friendly smile as we started to repack.
It's November...Diabetes Awareness Month! My plan for this month involves stories. Simple, everyday, real-life stories about living with diabetes. I plan to tell them here as narratives, like this one, just snippets of a day with diabetes, and I plan to tell them, or stories like them, more often in the 'real world' this month when friends ask, 'How's it going,' or relatives ask what I've been up to.
Vacation is For Fun
We accomplished all of our 'must-do's' on our visit to Universal Studios Orlando for my daughter's 16th birthday.
She used a wand to cast spells around Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade.
We took a wild ride through Gringotts bank.
After touring Hogwarts' interior, we experienced a high flying adventure over the castle and its environs.
We watched the Frog Choir and visited Olivander's Wand Shop.
We met the Knight Bus driver and the conductor of the Hogwarts Express.
She drank Butterbeer in Diagon Alley. Twice. She bought a bag of candy from Honeydukes in Hogsmeade Village.
She carried that bag with her and sampled Sherbet Lemons, Fizzing Whizzbees and Gummy Frogs throughout the day.
Her birthday dinner at Margaritaville included a virgin strawberry daiquiri and a complimentary red velvet cake dessert.
Did we count the carbohydrates in everything perfectly? No.
Did the walking make her blood sugar drop so that Fizzing Whizzbees became not only fun but medicinal? Absolutely.
Did she enjoy every moment, sip and morsel and live to tell the tale? Yup.
It's November...Diabetes Awareness Month! My plan for this month involves stories. Simple, everyday, real-life stories about living with diabetes. I plan to tell them here as narratives, like this one, just snippets of a day with diabetes, and I plan to tell them, or stories like them, more often in the 'real world' this month when friends ask, 'How's it going,' or relatives ask what I've been up to.
It's November...Diabetes Awareness Month! My plan for this month involves stories. Simple, everyday, real-life stories about living with diabetes. I plan to tell them here as narratives, like this one, just snippets of a day with diabetes, and I plan to tell them, or stories like them, more often in the 'real world' this month when friends ask, 'How's it going,' or relatives ask what I've been up to.
Glucagon Training
A couple of weeks before my daughter went on the five night youth group trip I met with the chaperones to train them in glucagon use, and to talk about diabetes concerns for the trip. These are people I know well, which has a great deal to do with why my daughter went on this trip without a parent in the first place. They were eager to learn how to help my daughter have a successful first trip away, and how to react should an emergency arise.
We gathered at a table.
"Epi pens make me a little nervous," my first chaperone friend said.
"Well, wait until you see this thing," I replied with a wry smile.
He was, indeed, humbled by the sight of the glucagon kit.
"Here's the deal," I said once it was open in front of us on the table, "We've never needed to use this. We've never come close to needing to use this. You guys know her. She's responsible about her diabetes and she's self-aware. She's got the continuous glucose monitor which alarms when her blood sugar goes low. But because diabetes can be unpredictable, there's an infinitesimal chance you'll need this, so it's important to us that you know how to use it. And besides, once you see this, I'm certain you'll listen even more carefully to the rest of the ways I'd like you to look out for her." Cautious smiles had returned.
I walked them through step by step with an expired kit, and then one chaperone physically set up my second expired kit while the other gave verbal directions. They seemed to get the gist, and learned to look for the pictographs inside the packaging for clues. In the end, I reminded them that the first step would be to call 911 and that if they were flummoxed by the kit, the fact that they knew what it was and where it was would be key for the EMS workers.
After striking a healthy fear of glucagon into their hearts, we went over the very simple things a 15 year old kid who's out of her element might need their help with in order to avoid disastrous low blood sugar:
-Someone to hang back with her if she needs to wait out a low.
-Someone to ask her if she's okay if she's spacey or uncharacteristically emotional, which are the primary signs of low blood sugar for her.
-Someone to stand up for her if someone gives her a hard time about stepping aside when she should be doing her volunteer job, or eating when she "shouldn't be," or looking at an electronic device when the kids have been told not to.
-Someone to get up and nudge her if a dexcom alarm is going off in the middle of the night.
-Help getting supplies should she somehow blow through the snacks, juice and glucose tabs we packed.
-Support if (when?) diabetes causes missed opportunities or unpleasant experiences along the way.
In the end they didn't use the glucagon. In the end, it may not have been necessary to show them how to use it at all. But in the end the glucagon training led to a much more important conversation about ways to keep her safe. Which made all of us more comfortable.
The Trip I Never Thought Could Happen
My daughter is currently in a city 4 hours from here without a parent.
This is it: the moment I thought would never come. No way. No how. She would NEVER grow up. At least not diabetes-wise.
I'm stunned that it's happening and even more stunned that I'm completely okay with it.
I was welcome to go on this trip- a service trip with the church's youth group. But this seemed, for several reasons, like the ideal opportunity for her to spread her wings.
Why now?
-She's as ready as she'll ever be. She proves it every day. She especially proved it on the high school's spring music department trip which I, of my own free will, volunteered to chaperone so that I could be there 'just in case.' There was no 'just in case.' She did it all by herself while I shared a room with a (as it turned out, perfectly nice) stranger and worried endlessly about the whereabouts and safety of the rest of the kids.
-This trip is relatively close, just a four hour drive should I need to get there. And it's in the middle of a major city so there are hospitals, ambulances and pharmacies readily available should she need them.
-It's a small group: 6 kids and 2 adults. One of the kids is one of my daughter's closest friends. These kids genuinely like and care about each other. The chaperone to kid ratio is pretty great too.
-Speaking of chaperones, if I had to pick two people to send my kid away with for the first time, these two adults would be at the top of my list. Their willingness to take this on was, of course, one of the essential criteria. They're also responsible, concerned, and willing to learn everything necessary to support my daughter. And, probably most importantly, my daughter trusts them and likes them and will therefore include them in any issues she's having- diabetes-wise, and otherwise too.
-Lastly, and probably most importantly, my daughter was willing to go without me. That's been the bottom line for every big step towards diabetes independence we've made thus far. This decision was no different.
So far so good, considering the fact that diabetes does not travel well. One HIGH with double up arrows on the Dexcom required an emergency site change. An 82 at bedtime required some thinking about what to eat in order to make it until morning (a cherry Nutrigrain bar with no insulin- and yes, she made to morning). Otherwise she's guessing carbs as well as I could, remembering to carry her sack of dia-stuff, and keeping an eye on the Dexcom. I'm grateful to have the Dexcom share so I can check in when I'm worried, but I'm checking less than I thought I might.
Meanwhile she's having a huge adventure, both with the volunteer projects they're doing and with the sightseeing opportunities they're squeezing in whenever they can.
It's hard to wrap my head around how we got from a teeny, tiny person with diabetes who was totally dependent on me for every aspect of her care to this particular moment. It wasn't one giant step. It was a million teeny, tiny steps and suddenly, stunningly, here I sit over 200 miles away. And, inexplicably, I'm really pretty okay with it.
Lost in the Dark
I chose the 'wildcard' option for my Diabetes Blog Week day 3 post:
Whether you or your loved one are newly diagnosed or have been dealing with diabetes for a while, you probably realize that things can (and will) go wrong. But sometimes the things that go wrong aren’t stressful - instead sometimes they are downright funny! Go ahead and share your Diabetes Blooper - your “I can’t believe I did that" moment - your big “D-oh” - and let’s all have a good laugh together!!
Okay- a caveat- this one was stressful for my daughter. But because I didn't hear about it until everything was resolved, I'm able to laugh about it:
She boarded the dark roller coaster and discovered the seat was cramped. Before using the safety harness, she decided she'd be more comfortable if she removed her Dexcom receiver which was clipped to her waistband. She stashed the receiver in her string backpack and put the bag in the pouch area in front of her.
The ride was scarier than she'd hoped. She got off, grabbed her bag, and quickly headed for the exit.
Once outside, she opened her bag to grab the Dexcom. It wasn't at the top where she'd put it. She frantically removed every item from the bag. It wasn't in there. She had her friends double-check. No Dexi.
She approached the attendant at the ride entrance. "I lost my medical device on the ride."
She described the device, an electronic item in a black case with a belt clip. She answered questions about which seat she'd been in and how long ago she rode.
The attendant checked his station first since all lost and found items ultimately ended up there. He didn't have it. He called the person at the stand next to the ride, where any lost items would be turned in by riders who found them in their cars, and was told it wasn't there either.
"We may have to shut down the ride and turn on all the lights if it doesn't show up."
My daughter was horrified. Her mistake could potentially shut down one of the most popular rides at the amusement park.
"We'll wait a few more minutes and see if anyone turns it in."
At that point, it was time for the ride attendants to rotate stations or take their breaks. The guy helping my daughter left and was replaced by the person who had been at the stand next to the ride.
"Describe it to me again?" he asked.
She did.
"OH ... Yup. I have it. I thought it was an I-Pod."
It was a scary 15 minutes.
Lessons were learned about securing valuable items.
Ultimately everybody lived happily ever after, and now we can laugh about it.
Want to read more stories about 'Diabetes Oops Moments?' Click here!
Stuff Happens
Today's topic is: Diabetes can sometimes seem to play by a rulebook that makes no sense, tossing out unexpected challenges at random. What are your best tips for being prepared when the unexpected happens? Or, take this topic another way and tell us about some good things diabetes has brought into your, or your loved one’s, life that you never could have expected?
I try to maintain a family-friendly blog here, so I'll put it this way: Diabetes stuff happens. Like sitting down to lunch only to discover there's only a unit of insulin left in the pump. Or being so low all day that you run out of glucose tabs. Or discovering the meter battery is dead while you're on a sleepover. The stuff is not always preventable. So we try to be prepared for as many eventualities as possible.
At home or at school there are plenty of supplies to address any diabetes disaster. When we're out but close to home I can run over to a friend's house with a battery or we can stop home between errands for a new infusion set if we need to.
But sometimes we travel further afield. For day trips, excursions while on vacation and school field trips, we throw this Ziploc bag (or a facsimile thereof from school) in the backpack:
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THE CONTENTS INCLUDE:
A spare vial of test strips
Spare batteries for both the meter and the pump
Glucagon (even though there's usually one in my purse)
The current open vial of insulin
Long-acting insulin for pump failure - at least if we'll be more than an hour or so away
A couple of syringes
Everything needed for a site change including 2 insertion sets
Dexcom tape
Extra glucose tabs |
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If it's hot, we put the contents in this insulated zipper bag. |
It's a lot to carry around. We usually also carry extra juice boxes and water. But it beats the possibility of having to return home (or to our home away from home) if the infusion set rips out, or the pump battery dies, or somebody accidentally dumps all the test strips on the ground.
Nobody ever said having diabetes was predictable. Stuff happens. That stuff is less likely to stop us if we're prepared for it.
Want to read more posts about the Unexpected? Click here!
Want to read more posts about the Unexpected? Click here!
The Trip
I chaperoned a five day, four night, 120 kid high school field trip last month.
While there was a school nurse traveling with the group, and while my kid does most of her diabetes management alone at this point, I wasn't completely comfortable letting her take this trip on her own. And, perhaps more importantly, she didn't feel completely comfortable either. Our concerns included:
-The farthest my kid has ever travelled for a sleepover is 5 blocks from home. She's never been away for more than about 18 hours. Going from that level of overnight diabetes self-care to a 4 night trip over a thousand miles from home felt to both of us like way too big of a leap.
-The trip involved air travel. My arrival for an emergency (gastrointestinal illness, first-ever glucagon use, other unforeseeable situation) would be both significantly delayed and extraordinarily expensive. Also, while I'm sure someone could have walked her through airport security, the TSA checkpoint is a minefield for people with diabetes and we were concerned about her potential need for a strong advocate should she get pulled aside.
-The trip involved five days of dining out. My daughter has never managed more than two restaurant meals in a row on her own and was nervous about not having someone there to eyeball the carb counts with her and/or help her pick up the pieces after a bad guess.
-The trip's itinerary was intense. And the itinerary didn't lie. My Fitbit tells me I walked 10 miles a day with lots of 'active' time. We rose by 6:30, earlier some days, and the kids were not required to be in their rooms until 11 p.m. There were regular transitions from place to place with few moments to stop and regroup. Amusement park rides, swimming pools, and several performances including marching in a parade were all on the agenda. We were concerned that the level of activity combined with the lack of time to stop and think about diabetes could lead to problems significant enough to slow my kid down or derail her participation. It felt important to have someone there both to remind and support her as she took the time to care for her diabetes, and to stay behind with her should she need to stop and wait out a low or trouble-shoot a high.
We decided that sending her on this trip without a parent was too much to ask of my child, the nurse, and the staff. Also, spending 5 days flipping between the Dexcom app and the 'Find My Friends' app on my phone while simultaneously trying to remember to breathe didn't really appeal. After a couple of conversations with the teacher in charge of the trip I was, despite a certain level of anxiety about chaperoning a group of high school kids, grateful to be given the opportunity to go.
On the trip I performed a variety of general chaperone duties, got to know some great kids and adults, and got to be part of a unique adventure. As far as my mom-of-a-kid-with-diabetes role, I mostly watched from a safe distance while my kid did her own thing. She talked to the TSA people on her own. She kept the Dexcom with her overnight and woke to respond to its alarms. She did her own site change in her hotel room. She counted her own carbs, asked questions at restaurants, and, on more than one occasion, sent back sweetened iced tea for the unsweetened she'd ordered. She made decisions about dosing and snacking based on her activity level. She carried her own supplies. Her blood sugars weren't perfect, but given the food and schedule they were good enough. She spent the days with her friends and I spent them with the other chaperones.
As it turned out my presence was more of a convenience than a necessity. I provided some in-line coaching and moral support as we went through airport security. I handed her extra water to combat the effect of heat on her blood sugars. I helped her with an unanticipated Dexcom sensor change when the one we put in the day before the trip inexplicably conked out. I met her at a water flume ride to hold her diabetes stuff so it didn't get soaked. I carried the glucagon, a spare infusion set and some extra glucose tabs, always close enough to jump in to assist if needed. When the large group divided and headed to different destinations I stuck with my kid, making the division of chaperones a non-issue. My presence allowed the nurse traveling with us to focus on other kids without worrying about keeping track of mine.
But now that I've seen how well she handled most everything without my help, I'm excited for her to have an opportunity to travel without me. Just maybe on a trip that's a little closer, and a little slower-paced.
The Great Lancet Quest
Every time we travel, I restock the diabetes box. This time was no different. I counted out the site change items, threw in an extra 50 test strips and added a new 8 pack of juice boxes. The flashlight was there for overnight checks and the spare glucagon was still good.
Off we went for a weekend exploring a city my daughter had never visited. On the first morning in the hotel, my husband (our household's official lancet changer) went to swap it out. "Where are the lancets?"
"They should be in the diabetes supply box in a snack-sized zippy bag. It's probably in the big Ziploc with the site change stuff?"
By the time every one of us had rummaged through the stash of supplies, we knew there were no spare lancets to be found.
The initial thought was, 'maybe we could make it- it'll only be 2 more days.' But what if we dropped the lancing device and it popped open? And certainly it would be better for my daughter's fingers to have a new, very sharp lancet at least every morning. Knowing that there was a CVS a block from our hotel, and that lancets were the least expensive of our supplies to replace, we decided to stop on the way to our morning destination.
We wended our way to the pharmacy department, at the back of the store, where the diabetes things have been kept on nearby shelves in every drug store I've ever visited, and there they were. Locked in a case in front of the pharmacy counter. Our usual lancets. I got the pharmacist's attention. "Can I get a box of lancets, please?"
"Well, here's the thing: the key broke off in that case and I can't open it anymore. What kind do you need?"
"One touch ultra soft?"
He looked in pharmacy area, hoping he had some stocked for a prescription purchase. No such luck. "There's another pharmacy on the next corner, and one on the corner after that," he said pointing. "I'm sure you can get some there."
On to Rite Aid we went, and back to the pharmacy area. There were unlocked, but there were none of our usual brand. After a careful assessment of the boxes of Rite Aid brand lancets, we learned that they would fit our lancing device, and that there was a size which would (allegedly) prick the finger with a similar impact. My daughter was extremely apprehensive. She wasn't convinced that these new ones wouldn't hurt more or be less effective in drawing blood. But after weighing the options of buying these and continuing on to our fun tourist destination, or finding another pharmacy, we bought the lancets. They worked just fine. And the best part (and probably the ultimate selling point to an anxious kid)?
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| Colors! |
The Airport
We arrived at the airport two and a half hours before our flight to Las Vegas. When we received our boarding passes, they indicated we were headed to the TSA prescreened line. I do not know how this happened, perhaps it had to do with having a child and a senior citizen in our traveling group, but I'm very happy about it. The line was short, we kept our shoes on and we didn't have to remove our quart sized ziplocs from our bags.
I informed the person at the head of the line that my child was wearing an insulin pump and that the backpack I had placed on the belt to go through the x-ray machine had diabetes supplies in it including juice boxes.
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| Danger! Danger! |
We've flown twice before with diabetes, and every time my daughter and her pump have been thoroughly examined for explosives while the backpack full of juice boxes and sharp objects has glided through security without a second glance.
When the insulin pump had been visually examined but not swabbed for explosives, and my daughter had not been subjected to a wanding or a pat down, I thought this was going to go down as our easiest TSA experience yet. Until the backpack was taken aside for inspection.
"There are juice boxes in there for diabetes management," I quickly repeated in hopes of quelling any concerns. "I mentioned that as we entered the line."
"You're allowed to have these items in here, but you should tell the bag screener they're there," the bag checker admonished us.
When I repeated that I told the person at the head of the line, the bag checker pointed to a man behind the 8 foot high bag x-ray machine, and said I should also have told him. Which seemed challenging in any circumstance, but particularly since I would have had to speak with him at the same time I had to explain to the metal detector screener that my child was wearing an insulin pump and stay with my child while it was examined.
In the end, the Clifford juice boxes were carefully scrutinized and swabbed. They did not contain any liquid explosives, so we were permitted to continue on to begin our vacation.
We'll keep that in mind, of course, but I'm guessing that by the next time we fly they'll be questioning the syringes and lancets instead...just to keep us on our toes.
Wordless Wednesday: Airplane Tricks
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| A +50% basal rate was just the thing for last week's 5 hour airplane trip west. We did the same thing on the way home and fought lows. I'll take a half success over none. |
One Of Us Is Happy To Be Home
To celebrate my daughter's 13th (ack!) birthday, we spent a long weekend in Washington D.C.
We stayed in a lovely downtown hotel. We walked everywhere and once we got to our destinations, walked some more. We toured the Capitol and visited countless monuments and statues including a trip to the top of the Washington Monument. We enjoyed a few Smithsonian museums and got pictures of the White House from every allowable angle. Our only Metro train trip was to the National Zoo where Bau Bau, the baby panda was adorable. We ate in a couple of incredible restaurants, and on the actual birthday we ordered room service breakfast as a very special treat. We had an amazing time.
Except...
She was low at the Library of Congress, the Jefferson Memorial, the National Archives, the panda exhibit, and on many street corners. She was high, and drinking contraband water, in the Capitol building and at the top of the Washington Monument. And here's a hint: don't eat a room service continental breakfast complete with a yummy cinnamon roll and then get in the car for several hours. Your birthday morning will be spent in a haze of dexcom alarms, people handing you bottles of water, and highway rest stops.
I can't remember a vacation Diabetes hated more than this one. The Dexcom graph looked like a never-ending roller coaster. High right after breakfast. Low by 10. Creeping up by lunch, then high-ish by 2. Crashing by 4. High after an incalculable restaurant dinner (with dessert!!!) but coming down alarmingly quickly during the walk back to the hotel. Or the complete opposite, depending on the day.
Most frustrating was that we were actively trying to prevent these swings. She checked often. Dexi was a constant companion. There were temp basals and calorie king app checks and taste tests of foods to judge their contents. Yet we were left wondering if the end result would have been just the same if we'd put in much less work.
We kept going, with our usual 'diabetes isn't going to stop us' attitude and enjoyed the capitol to its fullest. My daughter was a trooper and despite feeling the effects of those highs and lows, kept enjoying everything she was seeing. The only thing I wish we hadn't seen so much of were the city's benches and stone walls.
Dexi's Vacation
Dexi survived the first few salt water laden days of our vacation. Initially, we were checking and reinforcing tape regularly. They we got sidetracked by swimming and beach walking. As we prepared for the outdoor shower after a long beach day, she was discovered to be slightly dislodged. A delicate operation to attempt to resuscitate her failed and she was removed.
Our deal when we first started the Dexcom was that breaks were o.k. The request was to take one at this point, so we did. I must say there were plusses.
It was hard enough to remember the meter kit every time we left the cottage. The constant transferring of the meter and other necessities between my purse, a small string bag and the beach bag was challenge enough. The Dexcom receiver would have been just one more thing to track down - or forget.
While the alarming is, of course, helpful to alert us to high blood sugars, there were a few frozen treats and fried seafood meals I'm glad Dexi never became aware of. We didn't ignore the highs - we tested and corrected regularly. But there's at least one night I'm sure Dexi would have ended up sleeping in the car so she didn't keep us up all night.
Wearing the sensor in the ocean makes me just a smidge nervous. No- it's never fallen completely off, and I don't expect it will. But were it to do so, I'm certain we'd never see it again. It would turn into a mysterious item for someone's beachcombing bucket some day.
I think my daughter was happy to have her belly free. It felt nice to swim and boogie board and dig around in the sand without a protrusion. Also, nobody was looking at it or asking questions about it. The tankinis cover it when she's standing still, but it becomes exposed with movement, and certainly when the bathing suit ruffles float up in the water. The pump site is invisible under her suit, and when she's walking or playing, she wears terry cloth shorts with big pockets to put the pump in. She's willing to answer questions - but a vacation from doing so is nice too.
Dexi's back up and running, and alarming, and being forgotten when we go to the library. We missed her information, and are finding her graphs helpful as we transition from an active vacation to a quiet week at home. There was no objection to starting her up again, and my daughter's glad to have her around on days like today when she's at the pool with a friend.
But the break wasn't bad.
What If?
This is a story about something that happened last weekend. It is not advice, medical or otherwise. Except maybe to be extra-careful when walking on frozen lakes.
'Does your daughter have any medical conditions?'
I mumbled a little. "Nothing that's relevant here."
'Too young to have much of a medical history, huh?'
'Mmm,' I said with a tight smile.
The EMT continued to treat the facial injury.
We were at a family resort for a girl scout troop overnight. Our last outdoor stop of the day was to explore the frozen lake. I saw it happen in super slow-mo from about 30 feet away. My daughter was walking towards her friends when her feet went out from under her and her face hit the ice. We're unable to reconstruct where her arms went, but they were of no help to her mouth.
She bit deeply into her left outer lower lip. The left side of her mouth was swollen and riddled with abrasions and braces marks inside and out. There was a lot of blood. We took her inside, got ice, washed up her face and rinsed out her mouth. The bleeding wouldn't subside. We were told there was an EMT on site. I decided, particularly being far from home, that it would be smart to have it looked at carefully so I wouldn't wonder later if more should have been done.
My daughter later described our time with the EMT eloquently. "He had trouble finishing his sentences. And he kept repeating himself." He was perfectly kind, and gentle, and competent. But 20 minutes into his work, he was still cleaning the cut. He had reassured us that she didn't need stitches and that her teeth seemed fine. He was finally getting out antibiotic ointment and bandages. Then he asked the question. "Does your daughter have any medical conditions?"
I looked over at the rest of my daughter's girl scout troop, so patiently and lovingly gathered with the other parents, waiting for her. I thought about bumper cars, and dinner, and the evening fun to come.
I ran through the diabetes-related possibilities in my head. I knew I should be honest. But could anything either he or I would gain from the potential conversation be worth the 20 minutes it would take to have it? I mumbled my answer.
It felt really weird. As I denied the diabetes, her life flashed before my eyes: the traumatic events of diagnosis, the countless endocrinology visits, the pump and CGM stashed under her winter layers. What if none of that had happened? What if this lip injury was one of the most significant medical events of her young life?
Eventually we were walking towards the bumper cars with an adorable stuffed lion her friends chose for her from the gift shop (conveniently located adjacent to where we met up with the EMT) when my coat pocket vibrated and beeped. A glance confirmed the inevitable: 240, double arrows up. The adrenaline was at work. Diabetes was, indeed, relevant to this situation just as it is to just about every other one.
But I refuse to let it slow us down.
Do We Need The Diabetes Box?
It was to be a fun, though driving intensive, round-trip weekend to northern New England for our nephews' baptisms.
On Saturday afternoon we arrived in the freezing rain at the bottom of a long dirt road to find a police officer stationed there. "We're trying to get to my sister's house at the end of this road," my husband explained.
"I wouldn't recommend it," the officer replied in a thick New Zealand accent, lending an unexpected and exotic angle to the conversation. "You see that steep hill there?" We did. It was at least a hundred yards long at least a 60 degree angle up. "I just watched someone come back down that hill sideways. I tried and got halfway up and slid back down. We've called in a sander truck, but I'm not sure how long it will be. I'd say head back into town for a bit and check back later."
When we returned, no progress had been made. "Sorry, mate," the officer said, "I don't know when he'll be here. They've broken two trucks already today. The whole town's a sheet of ice."
So that's when we made the decision to hike in. We were just under a mile from our destination. Our hosts couldn't make it up their steep driveway to meet us partway, so we would need to carry in everything we needed for the night.
Fortunately I had packed all of our clothes for the next day in one suitcase, and our toiletry kits in a backpack. We put on our heavy boots and all of our snow clothes. I packed all of our electronics and chargers into my purse and wrapped it in a plastic grocery bag. If we left the air mattress, the house gifts, and some other non-essential items in the car, we'd be o.k.
"What about the diabetes box?" my husband asked. I had debated bringing a slimmed down ziploc to begin with, with just a few essentials but decided that we'd be far enough from home that I should just throw the whole box in. I debated it again. Could we get by with putting just a few emergency supplies in the backpack?
Then I looked back up at that icy hill and thought about how the police car could't get up it. Could an ambulance? Would we be able to get back down it? Worst case scenarios streamed through my mind. "Yup. We need to bring it."
My daughter even agreed to carry it for while, since it provided waterproof shelter for her stuffed rabbit.
Climbing that hill with all of our gear was a challenge, particularly since we had to go through fairly deep snow to avoid the ice. This wasn't the situation I had imagined when I purchased the waterproof box with a handle for the diabetes gear, but being able to set it down in the snow once in a while was ideal. We were met at the top of the hill with extra hands so that my husband and sister-in-law could go back down to find a neighbor's driveway to park the car in overnight. On their way back to the house they watched the sander truck arrive and promptly go off the road halfway up the hill.
We had a great night, complete with a warm family meal, a cousin pillow fight and board games. As the sun came out the next morning, my sister-in-law got us back down the hill with her studded snow tires. The boys were baptized during a lovely mass. We enjoyed lunch in the church hall with extended family and had an uneventful trip home.
The only thing we needed out of the diabetes box? The stuffed rabbit.
On Saturday afternoon we arrived in the freezing rain at the bottom of a long dirt road to find a police officer stationed there. "We're trying to get to my sister's house at the end of this road," my husband explained.
"I wouldn't recommend it," the officer replied in a thick New Zealand accent, lending an unexpected and exotic angle to the conversation. "You see that steep hill there?" We did. It was at least a hundred yards long at least a 60 degree angle up. "I just watched someone come back down that hill sideways. I tried and got halfway up and slid back down. We've called in a sander truck, but I'm not sure how long it will be. I'd say head back into town for a bit and check back later."
When we returned, no progress had been made. "Sorry, mate," the officer said, "I don't know when he'll be here. They've broken two trucks already today. The whole town's a sheet of ice."
So that's when we made the decision to hike in. We were just under a mile from our destination. Our hosts couldn't make it up their steep driveway to meet us partway, so we would need to carry in everything we needed for the night.
Fortunately I had packed all of our clothes for the next day in one suitcase, and our toiletry kits in a backpack. We put on our heavy boots and all of our snow clothes. I packed all of our electronics and chargers into my purse and wrapped it in a plastic grocery bag. If we left the air mattress, the house gifts, and some other non-essential items in the car, we'd be o.k.
"What about the diabetes box?" my husband asked. I had debated bringing a slimmed down ziploc to begin with, with just a few essentials but decided that we'd be far enough from home that I should just throw the whole box in. I debated it again. Could we get by with putting just a few emergency supplies in the backpack?
Then I looked back up at that icy hill and thought about how the police car could't get up it. Could an ambulance? Would we be able to get back down it? Worst case scenarios streamed through my mind. "Yup. We need to bring it."
My daughter even agreed to carry it for while, since it provided waterproof shelter for her stuffed rabbit.
Climbing that hill with all of our gear was a challenge, particularly since we had to go through fairly deep snow to avoid the ice. This wasn't the situation I had imagined when I purchased the waterproof box with a handle for the diabetes gear, but being able to set it down in the snow once in a while was ideal. We were met at the top of the hill with extra hands so that my husband and sister-in-law could go back down to find a neighbor's driveway to park the car in overnight. On their way back to the house they watched the sander truck arrive and promptly go off the road halfway up the hill.
We had a great night, complete with a warm family meal, a cousin pillow fight and board games. As the sun came out the next morning, my sister-in-law got us back down the hill with her studded snow tires. The boys were baptized during a lovely mass. We enjoyed lunch in the church hall with extended family and had an uneventful trip home.
The only thing we needed out of the diabetes box? The stuffed rabbit.
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