Fooling the Money Gods and More Adventures in Type 1 !#$%* Diabetes

Don't you hate it when you need a specific amount of money (let's say, to pay someone back) and you want it quickly (so it's not hanging over you) and you (and your hub) work your hoinkus off to get the money, but then along comes an unexpected bill (or several!) to take all the extra money right back outta your hands?  Or does that just happen to me?  Maybe the money gods like to see me frustrated.  Maybe this amuses them.  Maybe they are fat, hairy monkeys sitting in a palm tree dropping coconuts on my head and doing that weird monkey-scream laugh.  Damn monkey-assed money gods.

So, yes, one of those bills is my daughter's hospital bill.  I never did blog about that, huh?  Okay, so here's how it went down:

Thursday Chee (this is what I call her.  Well, it's one of the many names I call her) came home from school looking pale and pasty and just nasty.  I thought she was coming down with something.  I asked her how her sugar was.  "Fine" as always, she told me.  Next morning she says, "I think I need to go to the hospital."  I look at her...still pale, still pasty, lethargic. 

I ask her if she's been giving herself enough insulin.  Yes, she says.  She goes back to bed.  I trust her that her numbers are okay (why do I do that?). 

Later, a customer comes over for a photography consultation.   Toward the end of it, Allie comes out and sticks a ketostick in my face.  That's a urine stick that tells if and how much ketone she's spilling.  She was throwing large ketones.  NOT GOOD.  Emergency situation.  I tell her to go shoot some insulin and I finish up with my client. 

I go to Chee's room and ask what her sugar is.  She tells me 567 (or somewhere around there).  Large ketones plus huge number while taking insulin probably means insulin has gone bad AND IT'S OUR LAST VIAL.  I want to panic and throw up, but that's just not an option when your child is about to drop dead at your feet, so I call my bff, Amy, and ask if I can grab a vial of insulin from her (her son has type 1 diabetes, too).  She gives me her garage code and I grab insulin and race back home.  Allie injects and I call our endo.  Endo says to get to the E.R. 

With fresh insulin, I knew I could drive her.  An ambulance would've been faster, but I felt sure the insulin was good and she'd perk up in 15 minutes or so.

About half-way to the hospital, Chee started looking better.  Color came back to her face; life was returning.

Long story short:  she was admitted on Friday and released on Sunday.  She was hovering at the beginning stage of DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis, a life-threatening state for type 1's), meaning she had no insulin in her body.  Her insulin had indeed gone bad.   The endocrinology team met with her and adjusted her numbers and she talked her endo into ordering a new pump for her.  She will have an Omnipod in a couple weeks.  I hope and pray this will help her keep her numbers good.  I have my doubts, unfortunately. 

Type 1 diabetes, I continue to despise you.

Sincerely,

me.