Monthly Archives: June 2015

What should my sugar be??

If you are diabetic you will know that having the perfect sugar is the holy grail and virtually impossible to attain all the time and time is 24 hours a day – if only diabetics could take a break for a few hours – I agree!! So the holy grail of sugar control is an unending affair, a tiring affair.

For my own patients I like a trend line, in other words as long as the trend is ball-park where I like it that is good enough for me. It is virtually impossible to have a sugar run at 7 all the time.

I first aim to get rid of lows – they kill you quickly and quietly. High sugars destroy many things like eyes and kidneys but over a period of about 10 years. High sugars are not great but they are not an imminent danger.

So for me the “good place” for a sugar to be is between 4.5 and 8.9 – ideally. At a stretch 3.9 – 10 is still ok. Don’t like sticky blood >10. But more than that do not like the effects of a low – dying brain cells or dead patient.

The odd number above or below that is also OK ! As I said the trend line is what I look at.


accuracy and acumen when it comes to CGMS

Should one wear a device just to be able to see a trend or does it need to be as close to accurate as possible. I think if you are going to spend money and commit – because it is a commitment – to wearing a device 24/7 then it should be as accurate as possible. One is relying on this information to make decisions as to whether or not to inject a dose of insulin and getting that wrong results in unacceptable highs and lows so it HAS to be specific and on target so that the insulin dose can be too.

Continuous monitoring is about a trend and also about how fast the trend is changing but is is also imperative that it is as close to the truth as possible.

Watch this space for results on patients of mine wearing these devices.

The slow unwind of the tightly wound bobbin

Relaxation is almost counter-intuitive for me, it is as if I have to apply a force to the natural workings of my inner self in order to first unwind and then forge forward in a slow kind of fashion. To work is to be. To rest well just not a language I speak. And quite possibly I have missed the plot on this one.

So I am trying to unravel it.

It is a slow unwind.

I am a tightly wound bobbin.

Very good at working, it propels me, launches me daily. Purposes me. Drives me. And therein lies the defect. Driven. Launched. Propelled. Reaching ever higher.

The trick : balance. Elusive right now, but in pursuit of it.


So I am in a much! better place all of a sudden, but thought I would share this as I am sure(knowing from what I hear from my patients) that there might be folk out there who identify. This is raw, nerve-hit stuff and close to my heart, but here goes I am sharing it:

So I find myself in a place that is hard to define. I really hate all these people on facebook whose lives seem like one long happy high, like they have just puffed on a thick dagga zol and the whole world is a fuzzy happy place. Are they for real? Surely their husbands also let them down and they feel overloaded, exhausted, burnt out? No? Smily happy photos and memories of wedding photos saying how wonderful life is, are they trying to convince themselves maybe? Anyway this hard-to-define place. I love that fact that I am a mom and my girls are 2 rays of infinite joy and hope and love. I am so grateful for the simple blessing of having 2 girls. For so long that is all I yearned and longed for – to be a mom,to birth a child.

So I should be walking on sunshine right?

And yet I feel like I am having a very very long unabating asthma attack.

Is is the incessant demand on my being, the fact that since birth their nourishment and life initself relied on me and it still feels that way, that once their little eyes open and the day begins it is one session of nourishment after another and my boobs are sucked dry for lack of a more literary or poetic description of it.

I feel dry, like a dessert sand,  a long stark stretch of waterless dry land.

I am hoping that I can be resilient at this time that I can breathe again as it were. That the rythym of slow inhale and exhale may resume.

I hope that I have the courage to rebound into me. To be filled with creative juice. To be able to “see” the sunset.

For there is so much to live for.

So many joyous times to come.

And yet right now I am a lump, a lump of lead. A lard of lead, heavy, hard and immobile.

Days flow into nights flow into days, driving yet another bumpy road covered in dust that sucks the last bit of water left.

Money needs to flow in and no sooner flow out. Food goes into the body and yet it is never ending unquenchable.

Today is about regrouping, finding that little bit of flame that is still flicking and reviving it. Nurturing myself as it were back to life.

Finding ways to make the tediousness stop and be less of a drain. Finding allies in the mist. Relying strongly on those that I can strongly rely on. Man is no island.

A life support scaffolding is what I need to have constructed around me, one that is robust and reliable.

When I lean in, I need to know that it will be able to take the weight I burden it with. 

Gentle cool wings of enveloping refreshing invigorating breath.

Soul searching in a sense, can be a hard-to-define thing too. What is it that makes me sing?

How do I manage to re-ignite that and behold a new day with challenges that I am able to face?

Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh “ Promise me you’ll always remember : You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think.”

Bravery is a verb and pulls us to purpose. Courage is the attitude, bravery the action. (Sophia A Nelson)

To worry is to fear, and to fear is to lose your faith.

And a large part of this asthma attack is due to a loss of faith in a sense. 

But regaining faith is not as simple as finding it in the beginning. So much cyanotic, critical cynicism. It is entrenched. It has in a sense taken hold and stiffled.

Many disappointments layered over each other, perhaps some taken out of proporition, perhaps too much expectation and too high a standard set.

Scorched as it were the tendrils of hope so that tendrils tend back instead of reach out.


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