Throughout pregnancy, my aim was to keep my diabetes as balanced as possible, without becoming a massive control freak and giving birth to one stressed-out neurotic little kiddo. But after 9 months with an HbA1c in the low 6s, healthy squishy bits and a full term pregnancy, it felt like the challenge (war?) had been won. Two weeks on, it has dawned on me that the challenge (war?) is only just starting.
Immediately after she was born, I smugly looked at my CGM trend thinking how very much I had 'this'. My nice steady line with occasional above 10 mmol spike painted the picture of a mother absolutely nailing post-birth blood sugars. Two weeks on, and even my CGM trend arrow is trying to show me where I went wrong.
My once 'never away from my side' receiver now shows a sorry trend of gaps and spikes. The gaps telling the story of it having been left in another room, far from anywhere conceivably useful. The spikes sharing its tale of alarms smothered into silence at the bottom of a nappy changing bag - often rummaged around in, but never for the CGM. The weathered tally gear case shows its age, and the precious upper and lower alarm limits set beautifully at 4 and 7.5mmol (target numbers for pregnancy) now stand at 4 and 13mmol, because I had to turn off the alarms which have been the electronic nag in my life since February 2015. The battery uncharged for the third time in this week. A sorry tale it tells.
Am I lazy diabetesing? Well, no. Right now I'm adjusting to a new normal beyond anything I could have imagined. My kid is amazing, but in a world where only last night Jamie and I celebrated sleeping in the same bed for the first time in two weeks, there is no room for diabetes 'perfection', if there even is such a thing. If there is, it probably holidays with the 'compliant diabetic' and the 'optimal control' gang.
Right now I'm living day-to-day, in survival mode. And while I thank my situation daily to be able to use a pump and CGM, right now, as I learn tricks of the trade for getting dressed AND having a shower in one day through a fog of sleep deprivation and survival naps, my diabetes has to just tick by on autopilot. My pump means I always have insulin when I leave the house, and my Dexcom is the safetynet of blood sugar mayhem. Anything in between 'way too high' and 'plummeting like fuck' is pretty much OK.
The time will come when I have the headspace to basal test between breastfeeds, and prepare blood sugar friendly foods between vomitted-on outfit changes. For now, I'll stick with survival mode
And on we must go.