Jingle Jangle

As I've mentioned several times, the Feline Diabetes Message Board is a site where knowledge and helpfulness abound. If there's something going on with your diabetic cat, you can bet that someone else on the board has seen it and can help you with it. 24 hours a day, there's someone around to offer advice, support, solace, whatever.

I like reading the board. I learn a lot and it can make me laugh. But there's one topic I avoid like the plague: the hypo watch.

A hypo watch happens when a member posts a message that their cat's blood sugar has dropped into dangerous territory, which is pretty much anything from the 40s on down. People from all over jump in to help, trying to make sure the person is covering all the bases - feeding the cat, testing often, watching for clinical signs, getting the car warmed up and ready to sprint to the vet if needed.

Hypos can come out of nowhere. It can be a cat whose insulin needs suddenly change: the dose that's been just fine for months is suddenly too much. It can be a mistake by a newbie or a substitute caregiver: remember Fuzz - accidentally given 20 units by a stand-in who read the marks on the syringe incorrectly? (Note: even three units is a big dose for most diabetic cats. I've never give Isabella more than 2 units.)

The mistakes scare me the most. When I read that Fuzz had been given 20 units, my heart collapsed. When I read recently that someone new to the board had given 4 units to her cat whose sugar was already at 40, I couldn't read any more. There are others and they all upset me.

Even though many, maybe even most, of these hypo watches end just fine - with help from the board the cat's blood sugar goes up and no obvious harm is done - I hate reading them. Fuzz survived his 20 units, as did the cat who was given more insulin when already low. I hate reading them because sometimes, the worst happens. And that reminds me that anyone can make a mistake. Anyone.

That's why I'm always very glad to hear the bell on Isabella's collar when I get home, even before I open the door. If she's jingling, she's okay.

Under the Influence of Insulin

Today’s paper carries an article about the arrest of a diabetic man who caused a horrific car accident while in the throes of hypoglycemia. He is charged with “driving under the influence of insulin.” No kidding. The prosecution alleges that he injected himself with too much insulin about 2 hours before the accident. What is unstated is that the driver should have known better.

Two young people were killed in this wreck and seven other people were injured, including the diabetic driver. I remember the wreck – it was quite a headline-maker for several days. A day or so after it happened, the driver’s diabetes was implicated. I remember being glad that it wasn’t some stupid drunk and feeling sorry for the driver. I never thought him to be negligent. And this was before Isabella was diagnosed and before I learned so much about the literal ups and downs of diabetes.

Now, reading the article about his arrest and the intention to prosecute him for manslaughter, I am appalled. How ignorant. But I’m also realizing just how little people who don’t live with diabetes know about the disease – ironic, since seven months ago I was right there with them.

I can rapidly catalog what I “knew” before Isabella introduced me to diabetes:

Hypoglycemia: There was a girl in my 7th grade homeroom who was diabetic. I was jealous because she had standing permission to eat a snack whenever she needed it.
Fake sugar: My grandfather became diabetic late in his life. He had to eat nasty sugar-free candy. My mother made two pumpkin pies every Thanksgiving: one regular and one made with sugar substitute. I never tried Grandpa’s pie.
Injections (1): Beth, my step-grandma, injected his insulin. Later, I injected her with procrit. The experience of giving injections to a human made poking a syringe into my cat a breeze.
Injections (2): I once happened upon a co-worked with a syringe. To my questioning look, he replied “I’m diabetic.” I can’t clearly recall if he had been injecting his arm or his torso. If it was his arm … well, maybe he ain’t diabetic after all.
Pumps: I used to swim with a gal who is diabetic. She had a pump. We never really discussed her diabetes, except that she once told me she had trouble keeping it under control.
Possible eye troubles: Nina Courtlandt, a character on All My Children, was diabetic. She was constantly threatened with blindness, collapsing at inopportune moments, and the like. I’d guess that she wasn’t too well controlled, either.
Poor circulation & wound healing: The woman who had this job before me is diabetic (Some would say I stole her job. Let’s not go into that now.) She is morbidly obese and has the gnarliest-looking feet I’ve ever seen. Several years ago she needed surgery for a broken ankle. When the surgical wound wouldn’t heal, her foot was very nearly amputated.

And that’s about it. A patchwork of exposures and experiences that add up to not a whole lot. I’ll bet that my catalog is very similar to what the average guy knows – and that the average guy could easily believe that the diabetic driver involved in that crash “should have known better.”

It’s only because of my cat that I realize the true trickiness of diabetes. Every day I’m glad when Isabella greets me at the door, because I know that there’s always a risk of finding her hypoglycemic, or worse. Her blood glucose is up and down. And I know from reading the blogs of human diabetics that people contend with the same ups and downs and that even experienced diabetics are caught off guard.

I hope someone in the District Attorney’s office comes to their senses and drops this case before it goes to trial. And I hope that driver fights the charges with everything he’s got.