The weekend was rather full what with taking kids here and there, a fledgling Monaco Diabetes association lunch, church, and more taxiing of kids. We did manage a quick trip over the border to restock with cheap booze from Italy together with a quick lunch just Mrs R and the kids, which was a lovely novelty.
It was with weary legs that I dragged myself out of my own bed, and climbed #2's ladder to her mezzanine bed last night, and went through the finger prick rigmarole by torchlight. #3 shares the room, and after a hectic weekend and end of term exhaustion, I did not want to wake either of them. Despite being asleep, #2 pulled herself into the foetal position facing away from me when I reached her level, making things even harder for me, but I managed to draw some blood and read the BG monitor for a level of 9.8mmol, requiring a corrective dose. The pump really is great for BG control, but as in my favourite metaphor, steering a boat, it requires a lot more - but smaller - inputs.
Cue rummaging around under the blankets to try and find the pump - usually buried in some nook or under a load of discarded clothing, and occasionally under #2's body. It is a relatively simple process to bolus correctively - plug in the BG level, 9.8, <ENTER>, confirm that she has ingested zero carbs, <ENTER>, confirm the level of insulin units to be input (can be adjusted depending on the type of food - up for pizza, down for vegetables, for instance), <ENTER>, set an alarm for another BG check in 2.5hrs yes or no, <ENTER>. What follows is a barely audible whirring as the insulin is driven from the reservoir in the pump along the thin plastic tube, and the numbers creep up from zero to the final level of insulin injected, like a jackpot meter in a Vegas slot machine.