Consider yourself warned that the following might be considered TMI, but I tried to be tactful, and unless you’re abstinent, it’s just another part of living with diabetes.

While I was only gone for four days last week, I missed Jason, so when he asked me what I wanted to do on Sunday, at the top of my agenda was a little one-on-one time. In my typical goofy, not-so-subtle manner, I declared, “Let’s have sex.” I had missed him, and since we had a day of nothing specific to do, what better way to enjoy some quality time with my husband on a leisurely Sunday.

Now, I try to let most diabetes-related frustrations roll off my back, but the ones that relate to physical intimacy aggravate me to no end. Having a normal sex life as a diabetic is continuously wrought with problems, most commonly low blood sugar. If only it were possible to lock diabetes out of the bedroom. Having a decent sex life when you’ve been married long enough to not qualify as newlyweds anymore takes work as it is, but throwing diabetes into the mix is akin to throwing ice water on the flames of desire.

Birds and Bees

There have been countless occasions when we’ve had to put the brakes on things because my BG was low, and those instances are the ones that are most infuriating to me. When we’ve set aside time to be together and we’ve gotten in the mood for love, to have to stop because I’ve suddenly become physically incapable due to hypoglycemia is indescribably frustrating to me. It doesn’t just ruin that single moment, but it ultimately affects our entire sex life because there’s this ever-looming anxiety that it will happen again, which it inevitably does.

I know everyone with diabetes old enough to have a sex life likely has stories that are probably as poignant as my own arsenal of incidents. After the fact, they are sometimes worth a laugh, but they’re almost always sad reminders of how ‘betes doesn’t ever give us a break. There are always very active discussions about sex and diabetes on diabetes message boards – what to do with the pump, how to avoid lows, and of course all the unwelcome physiological phenomena that can occur when one’s been diabetic for forever and a day. I think it’s one of those things about having diabetes that no one but people with diabetes (and their partners) really get. I would venture to guess it’s one of the last things the general public stops to consider when they hear about diabetes. It’s not easy to talk – or post on the internet – about it (especially when your mother reads your blog…), but I think it provides the best example of just how invasive diabetes is and it reflects how diabetes affects quality of life far more than most people comprehend.

One of our worst and most memorable incidents was the time we were almost to the finish line, so to speak. I felt a low intensifying, but we’d been going at it for a while so I hated to stop at that point. I ate some candy from my nightstand while I tried to let Jason do the work. No way was I making it to my finish line because the fear of passing out and dying overrides all other mental processes. Since I was a lost cause in that respect, I just wanted to be able to hang in there long enough for Jason to finish. I hate that diabetes affects my ability to have and enjoy sex, but I hate that it affects Jason a thousand times more. I was still trying to hold onto consciousness long enough for Jason to finish, but the candy didn’t quite work its magic in a timely manner, and it wasn’t meant to be. Jason said something to me, and my response was incoherent enough that he knew I was fading. Just like that, Jason hopped off, and ran downstairs to get my meter and some juice while still at half-mast. Talk about anti-climactic.

There have been countless versions of that for us, sometimes it’s happened earlier in the process, and, like that incident, sometimes it’s happened with the finish line in sight. There have been numerous other occasions when I’ve had to shove candy in my face in the midst of the action, in an effort to keep going because who in their right mind would want to stop short? Of course a mouthful of spice drops or glucose tabs is decidedly unsexy. While a handful of candy usually sustains me, it’s a distraction and an unwelcome reminder that I can never get a mental or physical break from this disease, not even during what should be a time to forget everything except sharing a pleasurable experience with my husband.

Between the Sheets with D

Normally I leave my pump on during sex, and we have to be cognizant of where it is. I’ve found that to go unattached for an hour screws up my BG’s later. Removing my pump right before doesn’t eliminate the insulin on board that ends up making me low anyway. I guess I should always make a point to check my BG and have a snack if my BG warrants that before we get started, but when he starts showing or telling me what his intentions are, the last thing I want to say is “Hold that thought while I go check my sugar and eat peanut butter crackers.” Not that I don’t do that if it occurs to me, but I loathe being a buzz-kill like that.

Sunday, I did stop to check while Jason waited for me, and I was 217. Any other time, I’d be aggravated with a high like that, but under the circumstances, at least I could be more or less assured that I wouldn’t have to deal with any lows. I bolused about half what I normally would, and instead of leaving my pump on, I decided to really go wild and unhook it. We did our thing, and what better way to cap off a Sunday afternoon romp than a nap?

I was out of it when I awoke to what I thought was my alarm clock. It took some fiddling with my alarm clock before I realized it wasn’t that, but my CGM. I looked at it, saw the steady incline, and realized I had never re-attached my pump. I’m not entirely certain what time it had been when I first unhooked myself from my pump, but I knew it had been over three hours, and likely closer to four. I felt sick, and before I even checked my BG, I reattached myself and immediately took 4 units just for the sake of getting some insulin on board.

My BG wasn’t as high as I expected. 360. I can only guess I was feeling sick because of ketones, but it didn’t occur to me to check, so I can’t say for certain if that was the case. For the first couple of hours after I woke up, I lied on the sofa, feeling like I was going to die. I was angry at myself for being that forgetful, but twice as angry at diabetes for relentlessly imposing on our private time together. It didn’t seem like much to ask to do what married couples do, free of tubing and medical devices, but now I was paying a price for letting diabetes slip far enough out of my consciousness to enjoy being with Jason.

Sex with diabetes would be like any non-D couple trying to have a sex life with the phone constantly ringing. Not that we’ve never managed to have that kind of time together without diabetes-related intrusions, but it just doesn’t seem to happen that often. If I’m lucky, I can relax and lose myself in the experience if my BG isn’t soaring or bottoming out, but even when I manage to do that, I still have to be aware of it. As with all things about diabetes, I try to keep a sense of humor about it, but in the end, it doesn’t change the fact that its inescapable presence in our sex life is a loss for us both.