Sunday, 29 January 2012


So the first set that I put in my arm about an hour ago went tits up. Yeah, not quite planned. It turned into an intramuscular infusion as opposed to a sub cutaneous one that it needs to be. I have another one in now. This time in my right arm. I was kindly aided in the insertion of the set by my trusty Spencer Wells artery clamps which are very good at helping you reach the flab on the back of your arms that you just can't get to with fingers. Who said bingo wings aren't useful? Let's see how this bastard thing does.

A link to a little about my trusty Spencer Wells :

Infusion sets and boldness.

I have just put in a new set. I put it in my arm. I've heard of people doing this before but I've never quite worked up the courage to do it myself until now that is.
Anatomically speaking it's in the flab around the deltoid/tricep muscles. I don't think the layer of flab is quite as deep as I thought it was as it's little uncomfy but nothing too bad. I need to give my belly a break which I've been using non stop for nearly two years now.
I shall post when I take the thing out of my arm.

Putting the damn thing in was a bit tricky. I am quite used to doing these things with two hands. One hand was quite something else. I think you really need three arms or another person to do it if you want it done quickly and effectively rather than the fifteen minute battle I had to get the thing just where I wanted it. At least it is now in and well, it's a case of watch and see what happens. More when I see it.

The set is a Medtronic Sure T with a six millimetre cannula with an eighty centimetre tube. Not bad at all really.

Thursday, 26 January 2012

A cause for celebration?

Given that I use a message board for diabetics I seem to read a lot of things, if I don't post much on there as well, I have very little worth reading.

One that sort of got me a little irritated was the thread about the Joslin medal schemes and such like awards for "long service". Link at the end of this.

I can't quite put my finger on why having a medal for fifty years of diabetes irritates me. I suppose it's effectively rewarding something that has taken a fair chunk from me. I can understand the fact that through the past years I've had to deal with something that I didn't get any say in other than take the medication or die. What I don't need is a reminder to say how long I've dealt with that crap. The less it intrudes into my life the better I say.

I deal with it enough on my own, my diabetes but anything other than dealing with my own diabetes is a little bit on the side of hard. Given that I am a student nurse, I see a lot of diabetes and it's consequences, both good and bad. I don't want to celebrate something that has come close to killing me and endangering my life. It's as if I were ceding ground to an enemy, taunting it, red rag to a bull sort of thing, tempting fate. Coming away complication free and healthy is reward enough. I don't seek praise for living with this. I don't want it either frankly. Having someone bestow a medal upon me is, the way that I see it, effectively a pat on the head and saying "who's a brave boy." Praise will be due on the day a cure is found for everyone that has made it that far. I doubt that I'll be around when a cure comes along. The standard excuse is "in ten years there'll be a cure." My arse.
At the end of the day I didn't get the choice of whether or not diabetes came into my life. I don't want to celebrate that I've had something forced upon me that has made me change my life, has take so much and will continue to take from me for the rest of my life. I will cling to whatever vestiges of control that I can. Diabetes take and will take more than enough from me. I don't want to stop and stare. I want to move on with life and enjoy it with minimal intrusion from diabetes. I won't give anything to it. I won't let it win. I acknowledge that I have this and I must control this to stay in decent shape. However, if I stop and celebrate it I let it win a little victory. It's like being burgled and then when Her Majesty's Constables have nicked the scrote who turned you over you invite them over to tea and give them the run of your house with you sat blindfolded on the sofa.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloodied yet unbow'd.