The morning routine starts with a finger prick andends with toast.
By Geoff Ellis
MY NUMBER is good today, less than 10. As the coffee draws, two slices of toast await a smear of avocado. The dogs are at the front gate, watching rabbits dodge speeding tradies. As the dust cloud settles I dial up four units.
Haemochromatosis! It needs a catchy name – “rusty blood” or “the Irish condition", perhaps – and a marketing campaign. (In the blood, May 9, 2015) The accumulation of dietary iron in my body is easily controlled through therapeutic blood donation. It’s the damage done before diagnosis that has recently reached the tipping point.
“Recently” is a delusional description in my case. It was 2020. As the lockdowns and fear kept people inside, it was easy to postpone, then cancel, those pesky blood tests and check-ups. Life online enabled me to feed the cravings for sweet treats. Zoom meetings became a smorgasbord of chips, lollies and soft drinks. And there were lots of Zoom meetings. My PB was 11 spread across one very long day. Next morning I woke with a massive sugar hangover.
MY NUMBER is good today, less than 10. As the coffee draws, two slices of toast await a smear of avocado. The dogs are at the front gate, watching rabbits dodge speeding tradies. As the dust cloud settles I dial up four units.
Haemochromatosis! It needs a catchy name – “rusty blood” or “the Irish condition", perhaps – and a marketing campaign. (In the blood, May 9, 2015) The accumulation of dietary iron in my body is easily controlled through therapeutic blood donation. It’s the damage done before diagnosis that has recently reached the tipping point.
“Recently” is a delusional description in my case. It was 2020. As the lockdowns and fear kept people inside, it was easy to postpone, then cancel, those pesky blood tests and check-ups. Life online enabled me to feed the cravings for sweet treats. Zoom meetings became a smorgasbord of chips, lollies and soft drinks. And there were lots of Zoom meetings. My PB was 11 spread across one very long day. Next morning I woke with a massive sugar hangover.
I had been pre-diabetic for over a decade but at some stage the iron inevitably overwhelmed my pancreas. I carried on blithely as the tiredness, weight loss, grumpiness and addle headedness developed. Afternoon naps became essential. Exercise? Are you kidding me? I could barely walk a block.
Recovery from a gashed leg (As good as Melbourne!, February 16, 2023) got me back into the GP cycle and my glucose levels were frightening everyone around me. The tablets were no longer effective. It was time to drop the “pre” delusion, face up to the fact that I was diabetic and take control. I levelled up to injecting insulin. Twice a day.
Injecting is a loaded word. For me, it conjured grim images but the reality of controlling blood glucose is vastly different. It's more of a delivery system. The implements look like fat biros and my morning routine starts with a finger prick and ends with toast. In the moments between I check the glucose levels.
Two weeks ago I was pulling 19s, even a 20mmol/L (molecules of glucose per litre of blood). Today it's less than 10 and trending downwards. A 6 would be great. I dial up an appropriate dose, the insulin goes in painlessly and the coffee is ready to pour.
The message for me is that testing and injecting myself was no big deal once I knew what I was dealing with.
As I watch the dogs, I wonder about the line between “nap” and “coma”. This morning I woke up a tad tired rather than groggy, grateful that I did wake up and that those close to me were scared on my behalf.
Recovery from a gashed leg (As good as Melbourne!, February 16, 2023) got me back into the GP cycle and my glucose levels were frightening everyone around me. The tablets were no longer effective. It was time to drop the “pre” delusion, face up to the fact that I was diabetic and take control. I levelled up to injecting insulin. Twice a day.
Injecting is a loaded word. For me, it conjured grim images but the reality of controlling blood glucose is vastly different. It's more of a delivery system. The implements look like fat biros and my morning routine starts with a finger prick and ends with toast. In the moments between I check the glucose levels.
Two weeks ago I was pulling 19s, even a 20mmol/L (molecules of glucose per litre of blood). Today it's less than 10 and trending downwards. A 6 would be great. I dial up an appropriate dose, the insulin goes in painlessly and the coffee is ready to pour.
The message for me is that testing and injecting myself was no big deal once I knew what I was dealing with.
As I watch the dogs, I wonder about the line between “nap” and “coma”. This morning I woke up a tad tired rather than groggy, grateful that I did wake up and that those close to me were scared on my behalf.