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FUDGE

On Monday, I decided to make some peanut butter fudge.  For all the baking I've done, I'd never once attempted fudge.  Mainly it's because I've never been a fudge eater, either pre or post diagnosis.  It was always one of those foods relegated to purchase from a candy shop while on vacation and as a special treat.  I had a jar of Reese's Peanut Butter in the pantry, a 10 pound bag of sugar from Costco, and some time on my hands Monday afternoon.  So, I stirred it up.  For the record, making fudge is a little nerve wracking, especially the part where you have a boiling liquid/sugar mixture about to crest the top of your pan and you're really really fond of your own skin.  I managed to not burn myself, finished the recipe, poured it in the pan and let it set up overnight, hoping for the best.

Yesterday morning, I inspected my work product.  It looked right, so I decided to cut it up into pieces for more convenient snacking/storage/carb counting.  As I was running the pizza cutter through it, naturally some odds and ends kicked up and before I realized what I was doing, I had snitched several "fudge shavings."  Then I decided in order to draw a valid and fair conclusion, I needed to eat a full piece.  I had calculated the carbs the prior day, so I bolused for the one piece and then I decided to give myself a couple of extra units to cover the snitched pieces.  I ate the fudge (it was OK, but needs improvement), put everything away, cleaned up my mess, and went on about my day.

An hour later, Mr. Gaeta honked that he wanted his 2 finger sticks for calibration.  I tested and was hit with a 293 mg/dl.  I got up, washed my hands (you know, hoping it was fudge residue), and tested a second time.  That one got me a 282 mg/dl.  FUDGE.  I mean, yeah, I know it was only an hour after I had eaten the fudge and yeah, I still had enough insulin on board to cover that high, all of that consciously went through my mind.  Then, for reasons I can not explain, I amped up my basal 70%.  Can you say bad decision?  FUDGE.

My CGM hovered up in the mid to high 200s for the next hour or so and then starting dropping like a rock.  I usually work out noon and at 11:50, my CGM was holding steady at 75 mg/dl.  I went to confirm with a test and Remo showed me a 36 mg/dl.  Oops.  I chugged some juice and waited.  Oh, and in case you're wondering what I did while I waited, I tried to separate eggs for a Swiss meringue buttercream frosting I wanted to make.  Egg separating and lows DO NOT MIX.  Just sayin.'  After the egg debacle was finished, I tested and was at 96 mg/dl.  Ahhhhh.....YES!  Time to work out.  I changed into my workout clothes and hopped on my elliptical.  About 12 minutes into what was supposed to be a 45 minute session, Mr. Gaeta buzzed me with a single down arrow.  No biggie.  Then at 20 minutes, I felt "off."  Not the mental kind off where I needed to push through but a different kind of off.  I aborted the workout and tested 45 mg/dl.  FUDGE.

Then, I did yet another illogical thing, I went and sat on my back porch, ostensibly to cool off.  As I sat there, I realized it was stupid because I hadn't treated the low.  I was sort of planted on my back step and didn't want to get up.  My brain was nagging me, UP, JUICE, SHOWER, LUNCH.  I kind of chanted this a few times and then forced myself up and back inside to fridge.  Then, while in that dreadful waiting period, I showered, got dressed, and fixed my lunch.  The blood sugar started to come back up but at that point I sort of felt like shit.  AND, I still owed myself 25 minutes of cardio for the day AND I had Kettlebell class at 5:30.  FUDGE.

After lunch, I continued on with my planned activities for the day, I still needed to make that buttercream frosting, so I dove into that project with a vengeance and basically made buttercream my bitch.  Do you know how hard it is to ice cupcakes and not lick the frosting that ends up on your hands?  I wanted to, but had learned my lesson earlier about snitching.  My CGM was showing me back in range shortly after lunch and for that I was grateful, but I still felt icky.  Around 3:45pm, I tested and was at 91 mg/dl, which is great but I still needed to work out again and do my Kettlebell class and quite frankly, all I really wanted to do was a butt plant in my chair for the rest of the night.  Before I could talk myself into the butt plant, I reduced my basal by 50%, ate some greek yogurt with blueberries and a couple of pieces of salami, grabbed my keys, and headed to the gym where I put in 40 minutes on one of their ellipticals.  I was feeling pretty good when I finished and I had just enough time to ditch my iPhone (gotta have my tunes when I run on the wheel) in the locker room and test before Kettlebell started.  It's a good thing I did, as when I tested, I was at 45 mg/dl.  FUDGE.  I chomped 6 glucose tabs and went to class.  I won't say that was the best Kettlebell session I've ever had, I was a little on the tentative side. Ironically, one of the guys made a comment that he was always afraid he was going to crash the bell into his skull and I remember thinking "Yeah, I'm in touch with that feeling!."  When we were stretching at the end of class, I felt my sensor sort of flop on my arm.  Floppy sensors are never good.  This one was 7 days old and as I was walking to the car I inspected it and realized it was too far gone and not even Blenderm would help.  I yanked it off before I drove home.  FUDGE.

When I got home, I tested, clocked in at 138 mg/dl and then went off to get cleaned up.  In the process of disrobing, I yanked out my infusion site.  FUDGE.  Although, BONUS because then I got an unplanned free shower AND I got to find a less annoying arm sensor location for the newbie.  I spent the rest of the evening battling lows and watching Storm Coverage from our local news team.

My Take Aways From The Mess That Was Tuesday:  Don't Feed Diabetes Fudge For Breakfast.  Be Cautious with Increased Basals.  Don't Try To Separate Eggs While Battling A Low Blood Sugar.  Saying FUDGE Doesn't Have Quite The Same Impact As Saying Fuck.

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