T1D-Borg, Day Two
Second full day with the Freestyle Libre sensor and I can report that, other than now knowing how a pair of jeans feels with an anti-theft tag attached to them, I'm not impressed.
Maddened, perhaps, might be the correct word. T1D is a disease about decisions: is that extra bit of banana worth the insulin- ransom? is the stress worth the insulin-ransom? … Though advertised by my endo as a way to hone my disease management skills and by Abbot as a way to free myself from the tyranny of fingersticking and blood sacrifice, The Libre is doing little more than adding – no, multiplying – decisions and stress as the only thing it’s consistent in is providing a reading 60-118 off the blood sacrifice – and yes, I know the Libre calculates blood glucose based on a different sample – interstitial tissue fluid rather than sweet, sweet blood – and that there will be a difference, but this is fucking ridiculous...
(Might be a defective sensor? Might be the placement on my arm? Might be that it hasn't gotten acclimated to my body or that my body hasn't gotten acclimated to having a needle jammed in it for 14 day cycles for the rest of my cyborg-natural life? Might be? Might? )
A meagre hope that our systems will soon calibrate though my capacity for hope isn't strong these days. Worth noting that the last time my A1C was above 7, I brought it down with the same ten dollar meter and ten dollar strips that I've been using since day one of this fucking disease (TFD) sans any device implantation – a process similar to affixing those stick-on toilet bowl cleaners – as an investment in silence.
Until calibration, then, I'll do more math to stay alive, calculating an average difference that changes with each fucking meal – the same fucking breakfast and the same fucking lunch for the last three years – until ... oh hell. I'm just pissed off and weary of all of this. There'll probably be dog pictures over at my MicroBlog today.
Happy Saturday, then. Regular ramblings return on Monday; maybe by then I'll be calibrated – or locked in a department store because I set off their anti-theft barricade and they think my wife stole me.
