Monday, September 17, 2012

Humor & Coffee

So it seems that a reoccurring theme in my blog posts is that HB likes to poke fun at me and my diabetic habits. While some might view his sense of humor as unfairly coming at the expense of my infirm, unstable pancreas, I've come to appreciate his witty knack at highlighting what I could otherwise take far too seriously.

For example:

I love coffee.  I love that I can pre-program our coffee machine to have coffee made before HB goes to work and I wake up.   I love that my morning starts off right with the perfect concoction  of coffee, milk and sugar.  I love the way my favorite pooh bear cup fits in my hand and, how no matter what, coffee always tastes better when served in my Christmas china.  I love that GW called it "da-foof" for the longest time and that he still can't pronounce it correctly and calls it "da-fee."  I love that I have figured out exactly what to order at either a Dunkin Donuts or a Starbucks and come away pleased.

What I don't love about coffee is that regardless of how little carbohydrates I actively put into it with sugar, creamer or milk I still have to bolus to correct for the wonky things the caffeine does to my blood sugar.  Generally speaking I bolus for 20 grams and hope for the best... sometimes it works out perfectly and my sugars are dead-nuts where they ought to be; other times 20 grams isn't enough (usually those times DD or S-bucks put sweetener into it for me) and I go really high; and then there are times when it's clearly too much insulin and I drop low.

While the first two are relatively random and came about from trail and error practice, the third (unfortunately) is entirely expectable and makes perfect sense because: as much as I love coffee and as often as I pour myself a cup, this has no relevance what so ever on whether or not I actually get around to drinking the coffee.  More often than not, I'll bolus, make a cup and intend to drink it and then I'll get completely distracted by the world around me and (I must say, much like my Mother) forget not only where I put it, but to drink it.  The only reason I remember I forgot in the first place is my two-hour postprandial alarm on my pump, to which I always discover that my blood sugar is low and my coffee is sitting at an icky room temperature on the counter.

Well, yesterday morning HB made his very special waffles (28 grams of carbs per 1/2 waffle, 10 grams per 1/4 cup sugar-free syrup) because we had a beautiful, amazing and oh so very appreciated friend in town for the weekend (you know who you are and I love you).  Along with breakfast, he attempted to be extremely sweet by giving me my pooh bear mug with coffee since I haven't been sleeping much lately because of pregnancy-caused pain in my back.  So I bolus for breakfast and the cup of coffee and promptly eat my waffles with ravenous appreciation but leave the cup of coffee absentmindedly untouched on the table.  A while later my hands start to shake and I ask HB to retrieve the mug from the table and the following conversation happens:

HB:  "You haven't even had a sip of this yet! No wonder you're blood sugar is low - so TYPICAL!"
Me:  "Well... I meant to. Don't my good intentions count?"
HB:  "You know, hun, the road to hell is paved with good intentions."
Me:  "So, what you are saying is that the road to hell is paved with unfinished cups of coffee."
HB: "Exactly."
Me:  "That deserves a blog post."

And thus this post was born out of fully deserved flack and personality quirk.

Now, I could have taken his comment to mean that I'm not as on top of my diabetes as I'd like to believe I am (perhaps there is a skosh of truth in that, eh?), but I would much rather take the concept of the road to hell being paved with unfinished cups of coffee and run with it.  If hell is hypoglycemia, then fair enough he has a point, but if the road to hell is lined with charming coffee bistros then I think there is no amount of redemption that would save me from the pursuit of the perfect cup (aka the unforgotten cup) of coffee. 


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