The occasions when I do feel the 'woe is me' attitude creeping in are rare; usually somewhere in the midst of deepest burnt-out from managing a life-long chronic condition, when no amount of effort seems to land me on the right side of 'optimal' blood sugar range, and no amount of dedication seems to pay off. But a swift and forgiveable wallow in self-pity, subsequent kick up the rear-end and reminder that too long in full wallow mode is what will most likely lead to complications beyond emotional ones, and I'm back on track.
The Wholemeal Cafe in Takaka, Golden Bay was our pit-stop on today's adventure down under, and the array of glorious-smelling cakes, tasty-looking treats and scrumptious-seeming drinks (think organic Wilky Wonka's warehouse) were beckoning. It was a delight to behold.
I'd already enjoyed three coffees that morning and having eaten lunch and being in a humid part of New Zealand's North Island, all I could dream of at that moment was a cool glass of something delicious.
I scoured the backs of bottles and grilled the server for carb counts, hoping to find just one I could sip on to quench my thirst.
53g per serving.
35g per serving.
28g per serving.
47g per serving.
For one reason or another, mainly a slip of 1.5% in my last HbA1c, I've been trying to claw back something which looks like control. Although people with diabetes can eat anything they want (ask me if I'm allowed that; I dare you), there are times when I wholly feel that I shouldn't if I really want to see the results I look for. Insulin works in covering most foods well, but juices it does not. And I didn't want a post-drink spike ruining my day and rendering me useless through fatigue as my body tries to rid itself of the unecessary sugar floating around my blood stream.
After five minutes of trying to find some kind of middle-ground, I sat at the table with my chilled tap-water, feeling very sorry for myself that guava-orange, apple-mango and black currant delight were not on the menu for me tonight.
Begrudgingly I took out my CGM to check where I was at.
As if by magic my diabetes decided to play ball, and my current blood sugar of 3.2mmol and falling meant any one of the juices on offer were mine for the taking, and the gentle fall meant I didn't need to gulp it down in a confused and sweaty mess. I could take my time with this.
My sparkling blood orange delight went down just perfectly. And in a moment unlike that of the Shawshank Redemption workers in the 'rooftop at sunset' scene, I had a little happy grin on my face treating this hypo.
Anna 1, Diabetes 0.