It’s that time of the year again – yesterday saw me indulge in my regular trip up to the Royal Infirmary to be prodded, pricked and poked as part of my regular seven-month check up, my first after getting the pump back in November.
I’m going to be up front and tell those of you with a more ghoulish disposition (that is, all of you) that I’m afraid that nothing bad was discovered. My feet haven’t rotted off in the last seven months, I’ve not gone blind and I still have the use of my fingers. Sorry to disappoint.
This time I was seen by the pump clinic, instead of just the normal clinic, so I was met by not only the doctor but also by my usual specialist nurse and the dietician I saw when I was first diagnosed. It felt a little mob-handed but at least I could ask any questions and get top notch answers. However, I didn’t really have any questions and they all seemed entirely satisfied with what I’d achieved with the pump over the last two-and-a-half months.
I’ve now pretty much managed to get my basal levels working well for me, carb counting is fairly straightforward, I understand the concepts of glycaemic load and all that jazz, I’ve used all the features on the pump (except for dual waves – which I used for the first time last night), I don’t have any problems with the sets, my A1C was in target (6.9%). I know in the diabetic blogosphere it’s unusual to report this sort of thing, but everything was absolutely fine – all four of us were perfectly happy with the pump and my control.
But there must have something bad surely? Every visit to the diabetic clinic incorporates something depressing , no? Well there was something. While in the waiting room I noticed one the goldfish in the aquarium had a little bit of fin rot – the poor wee mite. See, it’s not all silver lining.