Behaving badly

If you think you are going to read about my naughty behaviour you will be disappointed although my doctor might say I am.

It is a part of me that is behaving badly, a part I can't live without even if I wish I could.

If you have read the two posts before the last one you will be aware that I have been diagnosed with type 2 Diabetes. I started taking my metformin tablets last Friday evening . I have been trying very hard to be good with my diet. Some evenings I have felt off colour but I put this down to adjusting to the new medication and regime. I have spent far more time looking at food labels than usual. I never really noticed just how much sugar there is in most food we buy (normally I would be concentrating on the fat/calorie content).

I have noticed that I have been getting very sleepy earlier than usual too. Even though I often have a nap when I get home from work.

On Friday I had an appointment with the Diabetic Nurse. She explained everything to me (much of it I knew from being married to a diabetic). She gave me my own personal torture kit. My husband had one so I am familiar with them.

When the time came to take the first test before lunch I got everything out on my desk set the time and date and worked myself up to do the deed. I depressed the needle dispenser.....nothing, I tried a bit harder, still nothing. Pressing it as hard as I could still it would not budge any further. By now I was becoming agitated so I gave up and had my lunch.

In the evening I tried again before my dinner, again I couldn't get it to work. I had my dinner and waited the 2 hours before the next attempt. this time I persauded DC to hel me, he couldn't operate it either at first then realised we were doing it wrong. Now he had figured it out he managed to get the needle to stab me. But although my finger bled it was only a tiny drop, not enough for a reading. Second and third attempts still not enough blood for a reading. I gave up yet again. I understand the importance of taking these tests but I also know how stressed out I was becoming with all these failed attempts.

Ever since I was pregnant with DC I have experienced intermittent problems with giving blood samples. There were times when it took several nurses to obtain a blood sample from me. I have 'sluggish blood'. One thing is for sure I am never likely to bleed to death.

This morning before breakfast I had another attempt at doing it myself. Again very little blood came out, I had failed again! An hour after breakfast I fell asleep again for an hour and a half. It was too late for my next blood test so I waited for my pre lunch test. This time I just couldn't get the needle to work, so another failed attempt. I tried again 2 hours later but this time I just could not force myself to press the button.

Tonight before my dinner I tried one last time on my own before getting any help. I couldn't believe it, this time it actually worked. Not only did I get the needle to work but there was enough blood to get a reading of 5.6 which I believe is just as it should be. Yes it did hurt but not for long so maybe I might just get used to this a little quicker than I had thought providing that my blood behaves.

getting the needle

On Monday morning I had to make a detour on my way to work. I had rung the phone number, written down the details of where to go and when. I checked my map book to find the right road, you see I know the main roads in this place but not the side roads. Driving into the road I found a car park, paid for my ticket and set off in search of my destination. Walking back to the end of the road then finding my way to the high street looking for the Pharmacy. The instructions had said it was behind the pharmacy. Typical, the pharmacy was quite some way down the high street on the corner of another road. I found my destination at the far end of the road where I had parked and what do you know, there was another car park right opposite the entrance.

It was only 7.45am but even so the room was already crowded. I took a number from the modern machine on the wall, took up a position next to the internal door ready to wait. At 8am the first buzzer went, as the numbers on the screen slowly changed and chairs were vacated I managed to find a seat where I sat clutching that important scrap of paper. My ticket was adorned with the number 20 but by the time it was my turn to leave the waiting room the numbers being churned out were in excess of 50.

Walking into the room handing over my form, I confirmed my name, address and date of birth. Sitting in the big black chair with the big sloping arm rests I turned my head away as I chatted to the lady with the needle. I never like to see the point when the needle goes in. When she had withdrawn this evil instrument of torture, applied pressure and a wad of rolled cotton wool, I was again able to give my attention to this woman while she wrote my details on the four narrow phials.

2 days later I phoned my Dr's surgery to arrange an appointment but was told that most of my results were in, but one needed to be retaken. There was of course only one test that it could be, the one that required me to starve for 12 hours again. I need to retake the glucose test.

So tomorrow I have to again face the lady with the needle