Total Fail

I had to call The Center this morning.  Worse yet, I had a day to think about it and freak myself out. 

It all started Saturday night.  We'd joined my friend for a fantastic birthday dinner, and I ordered sensibly, ate some delicious Korean BBQ, brown rice, and veggie slaws, and had a perfectly acceptable post-dinner sugar level.  (This was after my husband made me walk around the bar at the restaurant and circle our table several times since I wasn't getting my standard post-dinner walk.) 

After dinner, we stayed for several more hours enjoying the company, sang Happy Birthday in an unintentional round, and headed home for the night after 10:00 p.m., getting home at 11:00, leaving me with a dilemma:  to snack or not to snack.

Daily, I am supposed to eat breakfast, a snack, lunch, a snack, dinner, and a night time snack, too.  The point is to spread out my carb intake, ensuring I get enough carbs for my energy and the baby's growth, but to space them out out so I don't get any spikes.  Occasionally, I have fallen asleep without my night snack, but that's happened when I've had a later dinner, did my test, and pretty much zonked out afterwards.  But, I should eat the night snack to make sure my morning fasting rate isn't too low.  A drop in my sugar levels is also a big no-no.    Saturday night, I ate my dinner at a regular time for me--about 7:40--and they don't like you going 12 hours without eating, which, if I *didn't* eat a snack, I would be doing if I went to bed without a snack.

For the record, the huge fresh baked brownie a la mode that everyone had at the restaurant in no way influenced my decision to have a snack.  If it had, I would have had something resembling a dessert, not a piece of toast with peanut butter and a glass of milk.  Not that it wasn't tasty, but it was no megabrownie.

Not shown actual size. Actual size of said megabrownie a la mode was roughly the diameter of the moon.  Actually, more like one of Jupiter's moons.  I'm thinking Ganymede or, my personal favorite, Io.  (Only because one of my favorite moravecs is from there, not because I hear they have good brownies.  And no, I don't think anyone will get this particular reference, but that's ok, too.)

The problem was, though, we had to get up bright and early to go to church the next morning.  So when I woke up, it had only been about 8 hours since my snack.  I waited as long as I could, tested, and, sadly, was 3 measly points over the limit.   I'd hoped by waiting until the last possible moment, I'd give my body a chance to process a little more sugar.  Didn't work. 

That alone wouldn't have been an issue, because I'd never "failed" at fasting before.  The rule is, you have to fail twice at the same testing time before they want you to report yourself to the Center.  

What got me was, I had to eat breakfast and then head to church right after my fasting-test.  So, normally I wake up, test, poke around the house a bit, and then test.  Or, if I'm heading to the office or have some place I need to  be, I wake up, test, shower & get ready, then make myself breakfast.  This was the fastest fast-test-eat turnaround I'd had.

So I ate my breakfast, picking foods I *knew* were safe.  Sausage.  1/2 a sourdough English muffin.  Some margarine.  I'd eaten this same combo many times before and never had a higher reading than 115--15 points below the cutoff.

But I'd never eaten them after starting with an elevated blood sugar range.

So, as the organ prelude is filling the church, I pop out of the pew to the restroom, wash my hands, and head into the Family Room.  (For the record, don't get me started on churches that don't have a family room.  They suck.)  I set my kit out, poke my finger, and...

This guy shows up. 

Ok, not really, but he might as well have.   Two--count them, TWO points over the limit.

But after my Cream of Failure a few weeks ago, I get no more "tries" at breakfast.  I had to call The Center.  Which is closed on Sunday.

So I slunk back to my pew, let myself become engrossed in the service, listened to one of Pastor Doug's excellent sermons on Unanswered Prayer (wondering if I should have prayed before I pricked myself), and then told my hubby on the way home that I was a big ol' ball of fail, and had to call in.

The rest of the day, I ate normally (for a Voodoo Doll) and had normal readings all day long.   Dinner was terrible, but that's because my fish exploded and I dumped bacos everywhere.  (Today Seltzer blew up all over the kitchen so I think there is just something weird going on here).  But my readings were fine, which is the important thing.

Until today. 

I woke up, tested--good reading, good start for the day--made some breakfast, tested again--another good reading--and considered just "forgetting" to call.  Unfortunately I hardly ever forget to do things I'm supposed to do, especially with regard to making phone calls.

So I call in.  I report myself, head hanging in shame.  Of course, they can't see that on the phone, but maybe they knew.  And I fessed up to what had happened.  And I told them WHY I thought it had happened.

Did I get a slap on the wrist?  Threatened with insulin?  Told to give up the sausages?

Nope.

The Center's henchlady told me that I was probably right--that the late night snack, followed by insufficient fasting time, and back to back fast-test-eat pattern was probably the issue, and that it didn't, in of itself, mean there was any problem or reason to change my routine.   She noted my next appointment was next week, and she was putting this down in my chart, but that I would just need to come in as already scheduled, and keep an eye on my sugar to see if there were any patterns or particular meals that I was having a problem with. 

So, yeah, I'm a failure. 

But at least I'm not a failure on insulin.