(In)coherant rant

(Sorry, boys, if this is too much for your eyes.)

I can usually tell when my period is going to start. Aside from the fact that I keep track of the little booger on a calendar, usually a day or so before I turn into a ravenous fool eating nearly everything I can get my hands on. That’s my first clue. Then there’s the cramping and general unpleasant attitude. It’s not long before the real fun starts—the day before or the day of my fasting spikes over 200.

So this cycle, my little friend decides to show up 10 days late (no worries, The Mr. got fixed last summer). I kept waiting, waiting, waiting for that 200 spike to signal that I need to be on guard. Nada. In fact, I enjoyed several days of fastings in the 80s and 90s. I knew something weird was going on, but I couldn’t really put my finger on it.

Interesingly, I read a post on one of my favorite sites—Diabetic Mommy—where a woman said that sometimes her sugars go up during her cycle and sometimes down, and there is really no pattern. This was incredible news to me because all I had ever heard or knew was that sugars went up during this time, people were adjusting basal rates and that all hell was breaking loose with blood sugars thanks to our lovely hormones.

OK, so here I am roughly the third morning of my cycle. Monday’s fasting? 61; weird, but it was later than usual since I didn’t have to go to work. Tuesday? 143; probably some period-related crap going on there, but whatever. Wednesday? 2 freaking 19! That’s right 219! Oh my God, I could have smashed my meter into the kitchen counter. Actually, I did stomp my feet and scream several times after that because I banged my knee twice! in the same place.

Let me just say for the record, because I’m not really sure if I ever have, that I HATE THIS! I FREAKING HATE DIABETES! Today, I even hate the word diabetes. It sounds so sickenly sick to me today. I HATE IT! I HATE IT! I HATE IT!

Granted, I have been incredibly angry at diabetes in the past and have more than once wanted to throw my meter at the wall, but I don’t know that the words “I hate diabetes” have ever crossed my lips or that my fingers have ever typed them. I feel remarkably calm now having said that.