I came to realize that relentless exercise (walking most everywhere, and doing the subway stairs several times a day) almost completely diminishes my need for insulin. At one point I drank an entire 20 oz. bottle of Welch's grape soda - which has 85 ungodly grams of carbohydrates - with a 0% basal rate, and saw no significant change in my BG level. Maybe I should consider relocating? (By the way, I'm still fighting these lows - I'm throwing candy at them like I'm on a parade float, and not making much of a dent. As Liz Lemon would say: Blurgh.)
The airport security screening process that I worried so much about? No big deal. At all. I disconnected my insulin pump right before getting in line, and tucked it into the Ziploc bag with my other "Don't X-Ray" diabetes stuff. I made it through each scanner without setting off anything. Not even my CGM sensor raised a flag!
|A picture of A taking a picture. Like you do.|
Apparently, I must look like a trustworthy person. In the process of getting to see the view from the top of the Rockefeller building, and then before getting a tour of the NBC studios, everyone has to walk through a metal detector, and put their belongings through an x-ray. In each case, I told them I was wearing an insulin pump and couldn't go through, and they just waved me around - without checking me in any way. Um... okay.
I can be a mostly-functioning and blood-testing-while-walking person at 35 mg/dL - that's how low I dropped while our group walked to dinner. Jim began speaking loudly about 4 blocks from the restaraunt: "Um, Kim? You're 53!" (At least, that's what I interpreted his outlandish beeping to mean.) I thought to myself, "That can't possibly be right. I downed half of a bag of Skittles when we started walking." I tested, and though I was right that 53 wasn't a correct reading, I wasn't fond of those numbers being reversed. You really couldn't ask for more understanding company in such cold weather, as I leaned against the landscape wall, downing glucose tabs.
Going 11 hours without food, and coupling that with an army of temp basal rates, somehow got me to a place of Blood Sugar Nirvana the first day of our trip. I have no idea what I did right, but it was a nice surprise.
And lastly, I'm totally bad at ordering food. That's not to say that I don't enjoy what I get - I do. But when I'm at a place that's known for a certain kind of food, I more often than not don't end up ordering it. Not on purpose, really - that's just how it ends up. It happened four times this weekend, and though we did have an encounter with a Magnolia Bakery - I went the entire weekend cupcake-less. Because the mini-cheesecakes looked like cupcakes, and because the store was stuffed full of people, and because I couldn't see that there were more cases of yumminess farther down the line. This is what we call a cupcake fail.
It was a trip that left me recharged, joyful, and thankful. You couldn't ask for much more.