My Body Is Not Mine

Have you ever had one of those days? You wake abnormally high or low, you take a bolus to get your glucose down or suspend insulin delivery to bring it back up, and then the melee ensues:

Back and forth. Eat. Exercise. Bolus. Eat. Bolus. Turn off insulin delivery. Turn it back on again. On and on and on…

On those days it feels like I’m throwing darts in the dark (and the dartboard is moving).  Everything seems dizzy and complicated and constantly in a state of motion, with no hopes of settling down. I almost become outside of my body during those times. I feel like it’s a machine that I cannot operate correctly. I don’t feel in sync with myself on those days, which is so discouraging.

This particular day was a Sunday, which, for some reason, always gives me trouble. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s a different day from a lifestyle standpoint. I’m not completing a normal work day routine like I do on Mondays through Fridays, and I’m not busy doing the random errands and to-do lists for myself and my daughters like I do on Saturdays. Sundays, for me, are traditionally light and restful: church, relax, and get ready for the next day. I prefer not to exercise on Sundays, but on days like these, I feel like I have to in order to regulate my glucose levels. It’s so easy to resort to bolusing, but I think it can actually be a detriment at times because it forces me to respond physically when my body, frankly, is just not up to it.

This was one of those days. My bolus shots brought more low blood sugars (lowest PDM reading: 28) and I felt like I lived in the kitchen the rest of the day, eating to get my blood sugar regulated. Thankfully, by 4 pm that afternoon, I was back to being normal.

At least according to the PDM.

By then, though, my body was worn out by the seesaw of glucose levels, and I was worn out trying to manage it. It’s one of the things that I, as a person with diabetes cannot fully articulate to someone who does not have it—getting my mind to address and correct the calamity of my body. Some days, it goes sideways and I get my hands back on the steering wheel to turn it back onto the highway. Some days, I do not feel like I am truly myself.

But I am. On those days more than ever, because I’m willing to fight to make an imperfect body work. So I do the best I can. And I don’t worry if it doesn’t cooperate right away. Eventually, my body finds its way back.