Back now to the daily opus of attention paid Lia’s diabetes. Her wellness of course is always on our minds and as such our strategy in treating the disease is simple: be open to anything that will multiply our opportunities to know it, treat it, and deal with it better emotionally, mentally, and physically.
So last week we took full advantage of a four day test run on the iPro Continuous Glucose reader from Medtronic. This is a small device, shaped like a horseshoe crab but much smaller, about two inches in length, that attaches to the skin and continually captures blood sugar readings, while the person with diabetes goes about their normal routine. At the end of the test period, the CGM is removed and the data downloaded to a computer, where it is analyzed and compared against other collected information such as exercise, food and insulin intake, so that patterns of glucose fluctuations can be marked and adjustments made to the diabetes care plan.
Though we don’t have the data yet and cannot attest to its usefulness, the alternative testing to CGMS involves skipping meals and/or testing each hour for four to five hours, making bolus or basal adjustments, and retesting. Not something Lia or anyone else in the house was too excited to undertake. So at our last quarterly checkup we asked about the CGMS. The staff supported it and a month later she was outfitted (the tape was the worse part of it; see a few poorly shot photos here).
Outside of the obvious interest in learning more about how Lia’s blood sugars behave throughout the day, is how we all sleep at night, or don’t as the case may be. That last comment will ring very familiar with some, but to others I should explain. To do that I’ll need to backtrack.
I mentioned before our eagerness to learn all that we can about Lia’s diabetes. That’s true in every aspect of her care but one: Nighttime lows, which makes little sense when you consider that during the waking part of the day someone is always with her. Should we not be more concerned of those times when someone is not?
But other than arming ourselves with an understanding of the likely causes, nighttime hypoglycemia remains a weak link in our armor against diabetes. I don’t know why that is. It may have to do with fear, or it could be that ignorance is truly bliss and to be any wiser is folly. After all, isn’t our world affected enough with the knowledge that lows can and do happen, anytime day or night, and the consequences can be fatal? Is that not all the call that is needed to get one of us up once or twice after dark to check Lia’s blood sugar levels? Would any more general knowledge — frequencies of occurrence, tales of courage or loss, the likelihood that Lia would wake on her own if she happens to go low, or even a computer-generated chart of her nighttime averages — give us the prudence to sleep straight through?
It is probably not information that would be wasted. It would be rare if that were the case. The treatment of diabetes is a lot like fighting a war: to avert disaster, know your enemy and know yourself. But is a four day clinical test substantial enough to put to rest any worry?
At a data-collected glance, the most challenge we have with her blood glucose levels are just before she goes to bed. Most of her meter readings — seventy-five percent last week, including those taken at two a.m. — are in range. There was only one case of hypoglycemia and it was minor and could be easily explained (incorrect bolus at breakfast time). She wakes most mornings within a few points of her target.
So maybe our worry is unwarranted. Maybe we’re losing sleep over nothing. Our bodies and sometimes our minds scream out: Yes, yes, you are. But our hearts cry something other.
The security of knowing first-hand, of really knowing that she is safe and sound is a thing no parent can truly relinquish, not to stories or knowledge or detailed computerized data.
Fear sometimes is impossible to let go, regardless how much you know.