Psst: Pump Woes

Psst. Psst. Psst.

If you use an insulin pump, you know that sound.

Psst. Psst. Psst.

It's the sound of my pump dosing my basal rate every few minutes.

Psst. Psst. Psst.

It's just pumping saline right now. Eventually, I think it will be a comforting sound, letting me know that the pump is working.

Right now I'm just annoyed.

I. Feel. Like. I. Am. At. The. Hospital.

The smell of alcohol wipes takes me straight back there. I have this thing, essentially an IV, stuck in me all of the time. I can take it off now, but in a week I won't be able to.

psst. psst. psst.

Just like being hooked up to a machine at the hospital.

I only can hope that I will feel better when it's actually insulin and I can actually see the results. I already love being able to use the pump to calculate how much insulin I should take, and being able to see exactly how much insulin I've taken that day. That is awesome. But the cyborg part and the hospital-esque part are freaking me out a bit.

Psst. Psst. Psst.

The new sound of the rest of my life.

OK, as a disclaimer, I'm OK with pumping, just unexpected frustrations are coming about and I'm not even on insulin yet! Like anything else in life, this will take some getting used to. Unfortunately I am revisiting old feelings of being frustrated with what those of us with D have to go through just to keep alive. So not cool.

But as Dory would say, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

Woeful Wednesday: Pump Edition is brought to you by a generous donation by Miss Pingy and Silverton the talking BG meter.

Wednesdays are the days I choose to complain on my blog. I try not to let negativity creep in any other day, but Wednesdays are my venting day.