Lots of Chocolate

Birds for the Chocolate Bath

After I was diagnosed, my mom almost drove herself nuts trying to manage my diet for a while. Today, as the dedicated user of a nutrition scale, I can vouch that measuring, weighing and counting food can be a chore. I don’t measure everything I eat, just a few staples like cereal, crackers, fruit, and rice, because when I was measuring everything right after I got my pump 6 years ago, it started to totally frazzle me. For my mom, a single mom with a regular full-time job on top of her other full-time job as my substitute surrogate pancreas starting when I was 5 years old, it’s no wonder she was wearing herself thin trying to replicate what my bum pancreas should have been doing on its own.

She told me that at some point pretty early in our lives with diabetes, the doctor realized that at the rate she was going, she was headed for burn-out. He wisely advised her to relax a little, and just do the best she could without going too cuckoo. It should be said that this was during the time of urine testing, Regular and NPH insulins, and exchange diets, so at the end of the day, there really was only so much anyone could do to be exact anyway. A piece of cake or a couple of cookies were really no more dangerous than going swimming using those rudimentary diabetes management tools. I don’t actually recall exactly how my mom managed sweets and treats during the first couple of years, but it seemed that once the doctor gave her permission to be less regimented about my diet, she figured out how to let me have occasional goodies without compromising my overall diabetes management.

I have distinct memories of occasions when my mom let me have the foods that non-diabetic kids take for granted. In 3rd grade, I had a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese, complete with cake, the obligatory ice cream sundae bar, and pizza, of course. Although at that time, we didn’t realize that the pizza was probably no better for my BG than the cake and ice cream. It might have been that same year that she took me to get a birthday banana split too, completely taking me off-guard. I knew a little ice cream was a treat, so a lot of ice cream with whipped cream and hot fudge was beyond my imagination. When I was in 5th grade, I made my first birthday cake, and did so for many years after that because when you buy a cake, you don’t get to lick the batter out of the bowl. Then there were many occasions during my tweens and early teens when my mom and I would bake cookies – and eat cookie dough. My mom really did try to make food and eating as normal as possible, and while it wasn’t quite enough to oppose everything that contributed to the unhealthy relationship I had with food for so long, I think it helped me develop the healthy approach to diabetes dietary management that I have today.

The Main Event and Accoutrements

Occasionally, I see diabetics or their caretakers expressing concern about partaking in the sugary things in life. My feeling is that unless there are extenuating circumstances, there really isn’t any reason why we shouldn’t be able to have a serving. I can’t speak for T2’s since their regimens can vary greatly, but for T1’s, take some extra insulin and indulge a little. If we don’t deserve a few bites of sweet, delicious decadence, no one does. Plus, the contrarian in me would be lying if I denied relishing the symbolic middle finger to diabetes that comes with eating a Milky Way.

In light of what I learned from my mom as I ate that banana split 30 years ago, when I got the evite a few weeks ago to the chocolate party that my friends were hosting, it should be no surprise that I was all over it like whipped cream on a sundae. As far as I was concerned, it would be totally dishonorable of me to forfeit an invitation such as this simply because I have diabetes. (Not that diabetes can’t be a good excuse for stuff, if used strategically, but that’s another blog post, and you didn’t hear it from me.) Our always gracious hosts, Scott and Kristen, would supply the chocolate fountain, and their guests were to supply goodies for dipping or other chocolate-infused delicacies. I responded that I’d be there, but I’d have to get back to them about what I’d bring since I had too many other unsavory items on my plate at that time.

I got the evite reminder late last week, and remembered I had never decided what to bring. By Saturday, although I’d been contemplating some options, I’d still not made a decision. I looked at what others were bringing, and some of the basics were covered – strawberries, marshmallows, and pound cake. I thought about bananas, but worried about them turning brown if they sat too long. I thought about nuts, but thought they might be too messy since they can’t be skewered. I thought about coconut, which led me to macaroons, but if I went that route, I’d want homemade, and I wasn’t about to start making macaroons hours before the event, especially since I had never made them before and I’d have to go to the supermarket on the morning before Easter Sunday when I was sure everyone and their Aunt Myrtle would be hunting for ham.

It seemed the perfect time to turn to Twitter because I was certain the tweeting masses would have the answer I was seeking. Suggestions ranged from bananas and nuts, which as I said, I was considering, to things like Oreos, pineapple, oranges, gummibears, and chocolate chip cookies. Then there were some more exotic ideas such as coffee beans, potato chips, and mild chili peppers. Two people even swore by chocolate-covered bacon. My beloved friend, Tina, whose culinary advice I covet since she was a pastry chef once upon a time, recommended cheesecake, balled with a melon baller, and slightly frozen. That sounded delicious and easy, which is a testament to just how unambitious I was feeling since as much as I wanted to try it, I wasn’t motivated enough to do it.

In the end, I took the easy way out. On the way to the party, we stopped at the supermarket, and I grabbed two bunches of bananas. I thought I could slice them as needed to keep them from sitting and getting brown. With all the carb-errific stuff that I knew awaited me, at least the bananas had some nutritional merit. Plus, if there were leftovers to take home, I’d be in far better shape with bananas than cheesecake since Jason doesn’t like cheesecake, and it would be wasteful to not eat it.

My BG was OK before we went to the party, but even though I never ate any real dinner, it decided to climb. Then I ate some chocolate, and it continued to climb. And climb. I think I hit about 340mg/dL and had stopped grazing for the night before my boluses started to register. By the time I went to bed, my boluses had caught up with me – I checked in at 61mg/dL a little after 1AM. I drank some juice, went to bed, and woke up around 4:30AM at 50mg/dL. It was a bit of a rollercoaster, but, as always, the BG rollercoaster eventually comes to a stop, even though it’s invariably a brief stop. I could hardly complain when I finally awoke at 133mg/dL after the previous night’s chocolate onslaught. I could have done without the wildly fluctuating BG’s, but it wasn’t as horrible as it could have been since I ended up wearing almost as much chocolate as I ate.

I'm Messy

Don't Go Breaking My Heart

Last week, I really meant to try to get back to a semi-regular posting routine. Between getting ready for the big birthday party, trying to get a conference proposal ready, and some other miscellaneous crappola, it didn’t happen. Looking ahead, since I anticipate leaving for Texas again at the end of the week, give or take, being there for a couple of weeks in order to pack up the house and remove its contents, attend a hearing on my father’s estate, etc., etc., it looks like it could be towards the end of the month before I’m really present again.

I’m here today though, and delighted to report that I had a spectacular birthday! Friday night, we had a soiree at the VFW of which one of our friends is a member and graciously hooked us up with a big room complete with pool tables and a bar with a bartender and super-cheap drinks. We had tons of food, of course – sandwiches from my favorite sandwich place, coleslaw I made, and lots of side dishes and finger foods that my friends brought like spinach dip, macaroni salad, wings, a veggie tray, and the like.

RAWR!! cake

I had been to one of the renowned area bakeries a couple of days earlier to order not just one, but two glorious cakes – a quarter sheet cake that was half chocolate and half vanilla, and a round chocolate layer cake with banana cream filling and chocolate whipped cream frosting. This is a summary of the exchange I had with the man at the bakery who took my order:

Baker: What do you want the writing to say?
Me: Happy Birthday Lee Ann
Baker: So you want girl colors?
Me: Well, I was wondering if you could do snakes and lizards?

The baker raised an eyebrow, and looked up at me from his order form with a suspicious expression.

Baker: We don’t do intricate icing decorations.

It was something about the kind of icing they use. So no fancy icing art, but they have a ridiculous selection of plastic toy decorations, and he thought they had some decorative toy reptiles. My face lit up when he mentioned this, so the baker proceeded to sift through a series of drawers for the decorations in question. After a brief search, he came back.

Baker: That’s more of a summer item in a package with bugs, so we don’t have it.

Bugs? Why would anyone ruin beautiful reptiles with icky, crunchy bugs? I wear my heart on my sleeve, and my disappointment must have been apparent.

Baker: What else would she like?

I sheepishly admitted that “she” was me, and got another raised eyebrow. I scanned the wall of decorations before I was struck by the oh-so-obvious compromise.

Me: What about dinosaurs??
Baker: Yes, we can do that.

So dinosaurs it was! I’ve had a thing for dinosaurs since I was in maybe 1st grade. I would have preferred snakes and lizards, but dinosaurs were a cool second best option.

Jason and I… well, mostly Jason had worked tirelessly to prepare karaoke for the party. The details would bore you, but we had multiple issues trying to put something together, mostly technical issues. He thought he’d unsnagged all the snags since it had worked fine with our TV, speakers, mics, and laptops at home, but the final snag occurred at the VFW, and was without a resolution despite Jason’s efforts. We had to work around the snafu, but overall, the karaoke went well and offered too many hilarious moments to count. (This is the part where I give mad props to my hubby.)

The Birthday Girl

So great fun was had, much food was eaten, the cake was scrumptious, the candles were many as were the jokes about setting fire to the VFW, the drinks were cold, my tiara was sparkly, the company was fabulous, the entertainment was memorable for sure, and it was an awesome party.

Saturday, initially, I wasn’t going to do anything. Many of our friends were going to a seafood restaurant Saturday night, but Jason doesn’t like seafood, so we hadn’t gotten on board (see what I did there?). I knew that one of the attendees wasn’t feeling well though. Jason, tired from the party, wanted to stay home and play Star Trek, so he encouraged me to see if I could still go. An email and a couple of phone calls later, and I had a reserved seat and a ride to the dinner.

The food was delicious. It was a big group of us, and we were seated in smaller groups at several tables. Those of us at the table where I sat shared a basket of corn nuggets, little balls of creamed corn, battered and deep-fried. They were pure decadent evil in the best way. Then I had buffalo garlic scallops, also sinfully delicious. As is my M.O., especially after such indulgent appetizers, I ate half my entrée, and brought the rest home in a doggie bag – broiled scallops and shrimp, a crab cake, onion rings, and homemade macaroni and cheese. Oh, and I’d be remiss to exclude the chocolate cake I shared with my buddy, Allison. It was all very carb-erific, and I underbolused (darn you, breading!) so I had a BG spike with which to contend, but I managed to reign that in within a couple of hours. Battered deep-fried anything presents a BG management challenge, but I like to think I’m up for that tete-a-tete every now and again.

Sunday, which was actually my birthday, I decided that brunch and a movie was my celebration of choice. I could tell Jason would have been perfectly happy sitting on the sofa all day, so a low-key outing seemed a fair compromise. One of my favorite eateries for breakfast food is Honey’s Sit & Eat. Supposedly Honey’s serves mutant Jewish and Southern cuisine ripe with farm-fresh organic ingredients. I don’t see a lot of Jewish influence, but then I’m partial to ordering menu items that are of a Southern ilk. Since Northern Liberties, the Philadelphia neighborhood where Honey’s is located, is a popular habitation for 20-something artsy-fartsy folks, there is never a shortage of them at Honey’s. Having been one of these 20-something artsy-fartsy folks an increasing number of years ago, being there does elicit memories of times past and a certain bittersweet feeling of loss, but the atmosphere is good and the food is mouth-watering. Jason ordered the Breakfast Bomb, a giant pancake filled with eggs and his breakfast meat of choice, which was bacon, needless to say, and a side of home fries. I opted for my usual: the chorizo, jalapeno, tomato, cheddar omelet with a side of grits and a homemade buttermilk biscuit. It. Was. Fabulous.

We crossed the bridge back into New Jersey, and headed towards the movie theater to see Edge of Darkness. We had some time to kill though so we stopped at Target. I snapped a picture of the Ding Dong shirt for Kerri because she and I had a conversation about Ding Dongs during our drive to Chicago last summer that still makes me giggle. I also snapped a picture of Happy Birthday Barbie, which I now regret not buying. I’m toying (see what I did there?) with the idea of returning to buy her even though it’s a little late to don the birthday tiara included with her.

Edge of Darkness was entertaining, although the plot was convoluted and I couldn’t quite figure out who some of the characters were in relation to the plot. We weren’t terribly excited about any of the movie options, so it wasn’t that we were dying to see it, but more that we were less keen on spending money to see the other films. Diet soda aficionado that I am, I do have to complain that $5.75 for a large soda left me shaking my head in utter dismay. Note to self, plan ahead and smuggle beverages into the theater next time.

Overall, I had a great birthday. Many thanks to all who sent cards, messages, e-cards, and posted birthday wishes on Facebook. My aunt even sent me some beautiful tulips, a reminder that spring and the new beginnings I sorely need are right around the corner.

Honey's Sit & Eat

The Breakfast Bomb

Southern-Inspired Breakfast for a Southern Girl

For Kerri

The Perfect Gift for a 37-Yead Old

Spring Tulips for the Birthday Girl

Despite the deafening silence around here, most days I sit and try to write something. I consistently end up with a few paragraphs of word vomit though. I habitually leave my laptop on for the day, sometimes for days on end – please don’t tell the green people because I know this means I fail at energy conservation. The paragraphs might sit for a few hours to as long as a couple of days before I return to them, give them a re-read, and delete them. It’s called word vomit for a good reason after all. I really want to return to blogging. I want to say something about something, but what?

I can tell you I’ve been sick for almost a month. I spent a couple of those weeks on the sofa watching documentaries on everything from dinosaurs to a black dude who traced his family history back to when his family was slaves. Of greatest interest to the diabetes community were the ones I watched on the obesity epidemic and the American food industry. You’d think I’d have a post or two to write about that, but so far nothing has materialized. I watched a disproportionate number of documentaries about World War II which is neither here nor there to you, but I’m telling you anyway.

Ordinarily, I never turn on the TV during the days when I’m home. Jason and I have shows that we like to watch together, and that’s really the only time I watch TV, so the documentary-watching binge is exceptionally peculiar. It’s the only thing for which I had any energy after the incessant coughing and the meticulously constructed mountain of green snot-filled tissues I made.

Somewhere in the midst of that, I also went to Texas for a week, as you likely surmised if you caught the lame filler post with my pictures of the freak East Texas snow storm. While the purpose of my trip was to begin to sort through my father’s belongings, which incited one especially painful meltdown, but otherwise, I took in stride all things considered, I was still happy to be with my Granny and my aunts. Mind you, it’s my hope that I can make the next trip without having to eat cold medicine like it’s candy and drink cough syrup like it’s Diet Coke because I didn’t care for the haze that induced.

Once home from Texas, it had become clear to me that the non-prescription medications weren’t doing much for me, so I finally took myself to the doctor. Having been on antibiotics and codeine-infused cough syrup for the last week, my symptoms are finally improving. So that’s something.

As if that weren’t enough to put an emphatic eff in February, a month that typically agrees with me much more favorably than it has this year, the first week of the month greeted me with not just one, but two glorious incidents of severe hypoglycemia requiring glucagon. Both incidents were marked by what have become the hallmarks of my nocturnal hypoglycemic events. Moaning and thrashing that woke up Jason. Semi-responsiveness that deteriorated to unresponsiveness. Sheets and a mattress pad so drenched in sweat you’d think I’d peed on them. Jason’s sadly confident decision that the time to bust out the red glucagon kit had arrived. My eventual emergence into consciousness marked by a dazed, “What happened?” Me, frozen to the bone, shivering uncontrollably, teeth-chattering, and surely on the verge of hypothermia. The only difference between the two incidents was the first one was punctuated by a 20mg/dL, while the one five days later was marked by a milder 25mg/dL. And thankfully, Jason was able to bypass calling 911 because the juice he poured down my throat before I became unresponsive combined with the glucagon did the trick. I reckon that qualifies as some kind of silver lining, right?

So February has been a bitch of the royal PIA variety. And that’s after January left me flat on my ass with the wind knocked clear out of me. On the upside, my birthday is in a few days, which really is a good thing as long as I don’t dwell on the fact that I’m a year older which scares the crap out of me since this diabetes thing was surely going to take me before I hit 30, but has now graciously let me tiptoe another year closer to 40. As I said though, I’m not going to think about that. Since my parents won’t be around the next few days, they took Jason and I out to one of my favorite restaurants last week, and we had a lovely dinner. After the last few weeks, there are not words to describe how happy and relieved I was to see my mom and dad. That was good.

On Friday evening, I am throwing a birthday party for myself with the generous help of Jason and my friends. If anyone in the general geographic region has any interest in attending, please let me know, and I will forward the specifics to you. I will drink diet soda, and eat cake, and sing karaoke, and be happy. Supposedly, it’s not good luck to share one’s birthday wish, but it probably goes without saying that mine will involve a serious reversal of fortune. I’m also hoping the birthday fairy can deliver some blogging inspiration because I’m struggling to get back on track here.

World Diabetes Day 2009 is obviously history, but the reality is that diabetes never ends. Today has been an annoying BG day with everlasting and recurrent lows. My insulin sensitivity has been higher the last couple of days for reasons that only the diabetes cosmos knows. I did take a couple of units to cover the high BG that glared back at me from my meter early yesterday morning, but I’m fairly certain it was the Somogyi Effect wreaking havoc on my glucose levels. I had my usual chilly morning breakfast, hot cereal with peanut butter, a splash of milk, and some fruit for a total of 58g carbs, and I didn’t even have to bolus for it. That wasn’t really intentional, although because I was scurrying around trying to get my stuff together to get the WDD event, I decided to wait until I got to Temple before taking any insulin to cover the carbs.

By the time I was there, organized, and had a seat, it had been a good hour and a half since I ate, so I figured I should see what my BG was doing, panicking that I should have thought to do that a bit sooner until I saw that my BG was only 125mg/dL. In the event I was catching it as it was heading up (my sensors have been frustratingly unreliable, and I really need to investigate replacing this Guardian with a DexCom…), I checked again about 30 minutes or so later, and I was holding steady at 124mg/dL. Sometimes diabetes is nothing short of inexplicable, and this was an example of why it’s so infuriating that too many people, including medical professionals, think diabetes is as simple as taking your medicine, eating right and exercising. I turned to Hannah who was wo-manning the Internet Resources table, and said, “It’s a good thing I didn’t take my bolus because I’d be on the floor if I had.”

It seems today, I probably should have skipped my breakfast bolus too, but how could I have known that? I spent the morning and into the afternoon chasing a low with glucose tabs, juice, basal rates decreased by 70-90%, and self-imposed time-outs, sitting in a daze. The moral of the story? World Diabetes Day is November 14th, but world diabetes day is every single bleeping day.

I will be donating $58.50 to Diabetes Hands Foundation for American Diabetes Month. Thanks to everyone who took a second to pop by amidst the craziness of their World Diabetes Day Saturday.

Yesterday I gave you a peek under the dress I wore to the wedding… so to speak, but the diabetes fun didn’t start and stop there. Somewhere on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I found myself in need of a juicebox because sitting in the car and twittering is apparently a strain. Then when we were within 10 minutes of our destination, I was low again, so I fumbled to pull another juicebox from the plastic shopping bag behind my seat. I turned my basal rate down, knowing we would be there shortly, and we’d be unpacking the car. I had reserved the room under my name, but as we stood at the check-in desk, and I sifted through my wallet looking for the drivers license that I had apparently left at home, I was having some difficulties processing what the clerk or Jason was saying. Hypoglycemia plus multitasking is an inevitable fail. Jason recognized the no-one-is-home expression on my face, and proceeded to get us registered with keycards in hand.

We pulled around to the other side of the hotel, and parked, Jason, anxious to get out of the car and relax after most of the day in the car. I tried to gather a few things because I always feel guilty when my blood sugar is low at such inopportune times. Jason asked repeatedly if I was OK to help. My guilt and stubbornness won out over common sense, and I insisted I was fine as I grabbed as much stuff as I could. I saw a set of stairs inside the glass door, and hoped there was an elevator hiding somewhere. We didn’t see one though, so I concentrated on picking one foot up, then the other, rinse, repeat, while trying to not fall forwards, or worse yet, backwards. Eventually, I made it to the top, and trudged down the hall to the room, and once inside, I sunk onto the bed.

Within about 10 minutes, I was feeling human again, and after hanging some clothes up, and organizing our stuff, I settled onto the bed to relax for a few before we headed back into the rain. The plan, as I told you last week, was to get ice cream sundaes that night to celebrate my D-anniversary. After we ventured out in the pouring rain to do some quick shopping, we set out to get dinner. We had passed a string of chain restaurants on the highway between our hotel and shopping destination, so we decided to go there and see what appealed most to us.

Mexican, Italian, BBQ, pizza and skeeball, or burgers. All no. Japanese, yes. A Friday night at an obviously busy and popular shopping center was going to mean some sort of wait. The waitress asked if we wanted table service or hibachi, and we said either in hopes of getting a table sooner, which ended up working , or so it seemed, as we were escorted to a table, leaving people who’d been waiting when we got there at the entrance to huddle in the cold, damp air that rushed in every time the door was opened.

Jason got filet mignon teriyaki, and I got a bento box with vegetable tempura, sashimi, shrimp teriyaki, and seaweed salad. Not so long before I polished off my dinner, Jason asked about getting sundaes. I had completely forgotten. Ugh. It was creeping up on 9PM, we still needed to get to Target before they closed, and I hadn’t saved room in my tummy so dessert was the last thing I wanted. I like my holidays and occasions and associated traditions and rituals though, so even though Jason assured me we could find time Saturday or Sunday to get ice cream, I was pretty bummed, and annoyed with myself for having forgotten amidst the disruption of traveling.

With ice cream on the back burner, we were off to Target, and then back to the hotel. I checked my BG, and it was 168mg/dL, so not horrible. Accounting for the carbs in the teriyaki sauce and tempura was a pretty wild guess, but it seemed I hadn’t done such an awful job.

Now, I should add, I was wearing my CGM, the very last of my sensors that I had inserted before leaving that morning. I’m still trying to figure out if Horizon Blue Cross/Blue Shield of New Jersey is going to cover another shipment, something I’ve been calling them about at least a couple of times a week for the last two months. Because I hate to run out of sensors, and because I try to make my supply last as long as possible because every time I try to get a new supply, Horizon is [crude expletives] about it, this last sensor was from the supply I had received last January I think. Thus it had expired in June, and thus, it was clearly not working, the monitor having been holding steady at about 140mg/dL for the entire afternoon. So while I was wearing it, it wasn’t giving me accurate information, so I was pretty much stuck with figuring out what direction my BG was headed old school style.

Half an hour later, I checked again. 192mg/dL. I took some insulin even though I had some on board because my BG was not going in the right direction. An hour later, I was 199mg/dL, and I was getting a little annoyed, so the rage bolusing began, and 30 minutes later, I was 138mg/dL. I naively hoped it would settle there, and we went to bed.

About 3AM, I woke up, and I was 46mg/dL, so I drank some juice, and went back to sleep. My BG was just under 200mg/dL when we got up later Saturday morning. The wedding was early in the afternoon, and on the way to the reception, I felt low, so I popped some peppermints. Dinner was served, I bolused, and early in the evening, I checked my BG. 347mg/dL. Argh. I bolused. I checked my BG again, I bolused again. A few times. We left the reception about 8PM, and discussed whether or not to get ice cream. Neither of us were hungry, and my BG was still uncooperative, so we headed back to the hotel room, deciding we’d hang out there for a bit, and see if we wanted ice cream later. Ultimately, the ice cream didn’t happen, but my BG came down. At 10:57, it was 65mg/dL. I treated it. At 11:44, it was 59mg/dL. I drank a juicebox, and ate some Rolos and cookies. At 12:25, it was 62mg/dL. I knew eventually the carbs would do something, so I went to bed.

In the early morning, I awoke to the distinct taste of high blood sugar, so I took a couple of units, and when I got up later to get dressed, and ready to go to breakfast, I was 226mg/dL. I had a very carby breakfast, but bolused conservatively, and about 30 minutes later, as we stood inside the entrance to the Football Hall of Fame, I felt low. I stayed low for a good hour, popping peppermints along the way. We stopped briefly so I could sit and check my sugar.

“I thought of a name for my blog post about the weekend.”
“Oh?”
“Ohilo. I love me a pun.”
“That’s actually very clever.”

And so the post about the weekend had a title before it was even over. Not wanting to sit and rest for long because time was an issue since we still had to drive home, I insisted I could continue despite being 59mg/dL, and crunched on more candies. I think I must have eaten 15-20 candies while we were there.

From the Hall of Fame, we headed home. My BG hovered between 260 and 290mg/dL for the first few hours of the ride home. We stopped for lunch just north of Pittsburgh, with plans to get ice cream after lunch, but again, my BG had other plans. Jason knew my BG had been problematic all weekend, and he also knew getting sundaes was really important, and that I had been disappointed we’d yet to fit them into our trip. He offered to go straight to Friendly’s before we even went home. I knew he was tired form driving, I knew it hadn’t helped that I didn’t have my drivers license with me so he had been stuck with all the driving. I told him we should just go home, but he insisted we get ice cream, emphatically declaring he wanted a sundae, and we were going to get them.

So we did. As we pulled into the Friendly’s parking lot, I could feel my BG was a little low, so the timing was perfect. Finally. He got a strawberry shortcake sundae. I deliberated between a Kit-Kat sundae and a peanut butter banana sundae, finally opting for the latter. We took pictures, and I finally celebrated my 31 years. Diabetes won a lot of the battles last weekend, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it win the war.