You know the Beatles song A Day in the Life? The one with the line: now they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall? That’s been my theme song the past little while, much to Isabella’s dismay.
You see, Isabella is doing really well on Lantus, her new insulin. Her blood sugar has been consistently lower than ever, sometimes staying in non-diabetic ranges for hours at a stretch. I know this because I’ve been testing her. A lot. Which involves poking holes; many, many holes. Maybe not enough to fill the Albert Hall, but plenty.
Back in my apathetic days (yeah, three weeks ago) Isabella barely had to endure two tests a day. That was no big deal. I’d get the testing supplies ready and the cat would come voluntarily to give blood. I didn’t call her. I didn’t bribe her. She just showed up when she heard the vial of strips pop open. It was good.
Now? Well, I think I’ve over done it a bit. Maybe ten tests in one day is too many. (Gee, ya think?) Part of the problem is that sometimes her blood sugar is too low for her to get a shot, so I have to keep testing so I know when she can have insulin. And part of it is that I just get a kick out of seeing those pretty numbers.
Sadly, Isabella isn’t getting the same amount of kick out of letting me see those pretty numbers. Half the time when I pop open the vial and get out the meter I don’t hear the jingle of her bell as she saunters toward me. Nope. I’m greeted with silence. She’s the one who’s apathetic. She cooperates fine once I’ve drag her furry butt to the testing spot. It hasn’t gotten ugly, as I know it could. But I’m treading on thin ice here. I have to find a balance between data gathering and kitty happiness.
I think I can do that, even before I fill the Albert Hall.