Sciatica and I have a dandy day together, oh the things we did! Diabetes lessons

First we drove over ( see above, and dig that buggy!) to our first Diabetes Education Class at AMH. That stands for Abington Memorial Hospital, Schilling Campus. Hmm, I wonder who rich Mr Schilling was.

Colleen, the RN that spent 90 minutes w/me knew her stuff. Here were some Qs I had for her:

- What are all the sites on my body where I can shoot up?

- Why do some of the sites have black n blue marks?

Colleen said it's important to shoot into your flesh and not your muscle. I was probly shooting into the muscle.

She wanted me to demonstrate how I inject insulin. And how I check my blood sugar.

I knew she was gonna yell at me.

She gave me an alcohol wipe.

I never use these, I said. I always carefully wash my hands before I inject, I lied.

See, they're trained to go by the book.

I selected the side of one of my precious fingers to stab w/ the dagger.

I warned her that as soon as I get a drop of blood to put on the paper strip I put my finger in mouth to staunch the blood (and soothe the poor finger).

She was taken aback but controlled herself well.

You figure, if dogs lick their wounds, so should people. That God gave us saliva for that, among other things, such as licking peanuts out of your teeth. And, in emergencies, cleaning off contact lenses.

I did not mention to her that during my Internet diabetes readings, I discovered that scientists are trying to figure out how patients can take insulin w/o injecting it. Clinical trials are being done w/ animals. We're still a year away from human trials. I think the insulin is delivered sublingually.

We used a new meter I had gotten in the mail, the kind you see advertised on TV, so it must be great, right?

It was every bit worse than the one I use.

For one thing, the g'dam meter talks to you. A woman's voice. Like w/the GPS.

Look! Let me think for myself. Let my brain do the work so I can keep my mind intact.

Scuse me, gotta get a refill of peanuts.

These are my diabetes supplies. I keep em on my couch in a box so that when I have company or clients I can easily pick up the box and stowe it nearby but unseen, in the same place as my pills:

So, the nurse, who is obsessively notating everything as she's mandated to do, asks me if she can photocopy my notebook where I record my blood sugar readings. I'm certainly surprised but decide to abet this Kafkaesque activity.

Would I use the "just following orders" defense?

If anyone wants to use this in their next novel, feel free. You know, don't you, that these posts are for my own edification. But if you wanna come along, I'll be happy to carry you.

I wanna thank the young Mississippi John Hurt for accompanying me while I blog. I jes love the blues. (Stagger Lee, pls don't take my life, I got two lil babies and a darling wife.)