Goodnight Kisses

Alright, it’s time for my first confession.  Last night, just before bed, I tore into the emergency chocolate.  I keep it in a kitchen drawer for those times when my blood sugar takes a dive.  Yes, there are other methods that are faster and more effective, but why can’t I get just a little enjoyment out of an otherwise unpleasant experience.

99% of the time—OK, more like 88.259% of the time, I don’t think about chocolate drawer.  I’ve got fat-free yogurt for when I want something sweet.  But a depressed mood told me, “Your body needs Hershey’s dark chocolate kisses.  Well, your body doesn’t, but some noodle on the right (more touchy-feely) side of the brain does.”

So I feed chocolate to that noodle, gave myself a shot of fast-acting insulin, and went to bed.

When I woke up this morning my glucose was 235.  I’d like to tell you there won’t be a next time, but there will be.  It won’t be any time soon, though.  And it might be mini Snickers bars or peanut butter cups.

Tagged with: , ,
Posted in Cheating, Excuses

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


I was a Type I from the age of 12 until I had a pancreas transplant when I was 33. It came with a new kidney. Diabetes took a toll on me. Being diagnosed at that age, I wasn’t always a model patient. It caused me to have kidney failure, lose part of my vision and parts of my feet are numb.
I loved being a “former diabetic” after the transplant. Or is the proper term “ex-diabetic”? It doesn’t matter. I felt the way a parolee from prison must feel. No more shots. No more blood tests. No more diet. No more strict sschedules. Well, I had to start taking anti-rejection meds—lots of ‘em—twice a day. Compared to the life I lived before, that was nothing.

After 14 years the pancreas stopped working, which means I'm back to being a Type 1 diabetic. This blog is about what it's like to go back to that world.

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Visit my web page
My book about growing up diabetic and how I became a "former diabetic"

My book about growing up diabetic and how I became a "former diabetic"

Order it on Amazon

%d bloggers like this: