Dilution

A few days ago I prepared to test Isabella as usual. I got out the meter and lancet-clicker, put a test strip in and then something distracted me. I turned back to find Isabella messing around with the test strip - not with her paws, but with her mouth.

Drat.

I pushed it into the meter, expecting an error message (she's pulled this trick before) but all was well. So I assumed that she hadn't actually gotten hold of it and proceeded with the test. Except that when I touched the strip to the blood drop, it looked sort of funny. Runny. Kind of thin.

The meter calculated and then spit out this result: 28

Spit indeed. Isabella smirked at me (I swear it) as I yanked out the strip and got a new one. New poke. New blood. Ah ha - not runny this time.

The new result: 317. And now I know what cat spit does to a blood glucose test.

Just don’t tell ‘em it’s a cat

I just had my first experience with diabetes customer service.

Isabella’s blood tests have been really flat today. This-can’t-possibly-be-right flat. Her first test this morning was 279.
Followed five hours later with 271.
A couple hours after that? 283.
And just now: 283. Again.

I’ve seen her numbers stay flat before, but really, this was crazy. So out came the control solution to test the meter and the strips … and Bingo! Slightly out of range – the test number was too low. Then I realized that the solution had been opened far, far longer than its 90 day shelf life, so I rummaged around in my supply box and found a new bottle of control. Another test – and the new result was also out of range, this time too high.

Sigh. The control solution was not expired. The strips were not expired. The meter has new batteries. What the heck is going on??

Abbott Diabetes Care, the makers of my beloved Freestyle Flash, promises 24 hour customer service. I decided to call, vowing to answer only the questions asked without volunteering anything extra.

The first surprise is that I’m in their database. When, exactly, did that happen? They knew my phone number, address, even the serial number of my meter. Ohhh-kay. In the back of my mind I’m wondering if I’ve filled something out saying that I use the meter, or would I have said a family member? Don’t ask, don’t tell. Just stick to today’s situation.

I explain about my out-of-range tests. I tell Barbara, the nice gal on the phone, that I just opened a new control. I give her lot numbers for the strips and for the control solution. I answer her questions.

Did I shake the control vigorously before each test? I say: yes. I think: gosh, I don’t know, and shake the bottle vigorously (better late than never).

Would I run another test, please?

Of course. I laugh and say, it’s been high, it’s been low, do you want to bet that this one is in range?? (Ahem, now that the bottle is shaken.) Test number three was in range.

Wee!

It could be just about anything, Barbara says. Did you discard the first drop of control before you ran the tests?

I say: yes. I think: uh, probably not.

Shoot, says Barbara. We can’t tell if your meter is messed up, or the strips, or the solution. (I think: or it could be operator error…) I can send you a new meter and more strips. And replace your control. How many strips do you have?

I’ve prepared for this question. I tell her there are about 25 left in the vial I’m using, plus I have an unopened box of 50 from the same lot number. (Cha ching! New strips! For free!)

Barbara tells me that a meter, 100 strips, and new control solution will be sent out FedEx overnight. Except that with tomorrow being Sunday, and Tuesday being Christmas, I won’t see my bounty until Wednesday. I assure her that I’ll survive, and start to rise from my chair for the happy dance.

Her next words slap me right back down on my butt.

We’ll include a prepaid envelope for you to return that possibly-wonky meter and the possibly-wonky strips.

I say: OK, great. (Dang, I still woulda used those unopened 50… ) We wish each other the merriest of holidays and hang up.

So I’m not hitting the test strip Lotto after all. Odds are that Isabella’s numbers really are just as flat as the pre-Columbus earth, but I guess it’s better safe than sorry. I’ll crack open a new vial of strips from a different lot and send the probably-not-wonky strips back to Abbott, along with the meter. I’ll be sort of sad to see the meter go, since it’s the one we started this crazy trip with. It’s just a little piece of electronics, but I feel rather attached to it.

I now also know some of the questions customer service asks when there is a possible problem. It’s good that they don’t question the species using the meter, because somehow I don’t think Barbara would have ordered an overnight shipment of new supplies if she knew it was for my cat.

I say Glucose, You say Glucosa

I spent the past weekend on a 3-night cruise to Ensendada, Mexico. My cousin organized the trip in honor of her youngest son’s 21st birthday, and my sister and I basically invited ourselves along. (The birthday boy and I do share the same birthday though, so I figure that lent some legitimacy to horning in on his celebration.)

I lined up the pet sitter, packed way too many clothes for three days, and set off for the pier, leaving feline diabetes behind for a few days.

Well, almost…

You see, one feature of Ensenada is pharmacies. Farmacia. They are everywhere, as prevalent as ABC stores in Hawaii or Duane-Reade in New York. Big signs proclaim ready access to antibiotics, geriatrics, and Viagra. No prescription necessary, just some dollars. If somehow you manage to miss the signs, there are helpful young men outside promising that you can find “everything” in their particular farmacia. Just step inside!

Since my sister, her husband, and I had some time to kill after an ATV tour of Ensenada’s dusty outskirts we wandered the main drag in town where it dawned on me: Maybe those pricey test strips would be cheaper south of the border. We stepped into the first farmacia.

Now, I don’t speak much Spanish (full disclosure: I don’t speak any Spanish) but here in Ensenada, where cruise ships full of Americans arrive on a daily basis, the locals make a point of speaking English. So, in this farmacia I asked for blood glucose test strips. In return I got a blank look, along with a pen and paper, where I wrote

Blood glucose test strips “Freestyle”

Ah! Glucosa!

Si, I replied.

“No, no.” said the pharmacy clerk, “Go to Farmacia del Sol, across the street.”

“Muchas gracias”

My sister spotted Farmacia del Sol on the far side of the busy boulevard, but we were headed to the shopping district, populated with dozens of other pharmacies, so we turned in the opposite direction.

Two or three pharmacies later, I was convinced that Mexican diabetics must somehow manage without testing, because none of the pharmacies carried test strips. One man assured me it would be very difficult to find them. In the fifth pharmacy (yes, my sister and her husband are very patient with me) I asked “But, what do diabetics do??” And I was told to go to Farmacia del Sol. They were guaranteed to have what I wanted. In the meantime, did I need any antibiotics?

Since it was on the way back to the ship, we did, in fact, stop in Farmacia del Sol. And there, in a glass case, was a display of One Touch Ultra meters and test strips, along with one box of Ascensia Contour strips. No Freestyle – but if you recall, my horde of meters includes several One Touch Ultra Minis. For the right price, I’d ditch the Freestyle in a heartbeat.

When it was finally my turn (after a fellow cruise passenger got her hands on some discount birth control pills) I found they had no Freestyle strips. The price of the OneTouch strips?? About $55 for 50. Yikes! The meter companies obviously have no problem using their greedy tactics beyond the US borders. No Mexican test strips for me.

But I didn’t come home empty-handed: I veered from my test strip quest long enough to bargain a street vendor down to $15 for two pairs of silver earrings.