A win

Another stunning morning in paradise.

It’s a two steps forward day today!

Great blood sugars over the last 24 hours, on two long lasting insulin (Levemir) injections only.

No mealtime injections at all!

Now to see how low I can go insulin-wise.

Insulin keeps me alive.

Yet, less is better. Insulin has many a dark side.

I count today as a win.

Come to this house

A Lillian Dawn, or SpiderLily Dawn.

…. And be one of us.

From the song ‘Welcome’ out of ‘Tommy’, written by Pete Townshend and sung so beautifully by Roger Daltrey.

Being a T1D is like walking through a market, where the vendors all loudly spruik their trinkets.

“Come to my house, we have the answer”. “No, come to this house, be one of us”.

I have sojourned with Keto and the Genics. Pitched my tent with McDougall and the Starchies. Of late, Ray Peat has been my shepherd.

Their houses all offer shelter and a story, for a while.

Then it’s deja vu: sigh, they’re trying to kill me, pack my diabetes shit, and wander on.

Science too, is in that market place. Sadly, diabetes medical science is mostly of the ‘Once upon a time’ variety. I asked my doctor: “Why did I get type 1?”. He rambled on some implausible story about the body attacking itself. Then he got the shits and snapped: “You should be glad you lived for sixty years without it”.

Pulp fiction.

He doesn’t know.

Science doesn’t know.

Come to my house of cards, we’ll sell you sackfuls of drugs, and be one of us.

Sick. Prematurely dead.


Fly me to the moon and back

One day the rain will stop and the sunrise will be visible again.

IMG_1563 (1)What to do!

Throughout the night my blood sugar was nicely trundling along between 5 and 6 mmol/L.

At 5am I get up, inject 2 units of rapid insulin to take care of my morning decaf with sugar and milk.

1 unit equals 20gm of carbs.

At 6.30 I have breakfast. Porridge, oats, honey, raisins with more decaf, sugar and milk. Carbs 90gm, protein 16gm, fat 4gm. No further insulin.

At 7.30 I climb on my bicycle for a 35km ride. At 12km I check da suga: bloody hell!

I keep my nerve.

At 28km I check again: bloody hell! I now have to eat, otherwise I won’t get home.

Munch a piece of dry toast on the banks of Freshwater Creek.

Arriving home: 5.6 mmol/L.

Should I have injected the 2 units with my wake up coffee?

The peak would have been even higher.

But, there is no point in eating extra food to keep up with the insulin.

What do you say?

Swing low sweet chariot

Our steadfast routine is to walk for an hour around dawn every day. It never disappoints.

I try to keep my blood sugar above 4.0 mmol/L (72mg/dl) at all times.

Especially during the night.

Occasionally I stuff up, and it dips into the threes. A little too much insulin injected, a bite or two less into my pie hole at dinner, or a slightly faster pace or longer distance during my daily walk will do it.

Rarely do I sleep through a hypoglycaemic episode.

Instead, I have vivid dreams about food and my inability to get it.

Or, deeply frightening nightmares.

My wife’s response: “There, there, it’s all OK, now go and check your sugar”.

She’s lovely.

Gospel according to Pilate

They fished all night. Nothing. Countless times they set and recovered the heavy nets. Nada. Zilch. Heading to shore for a much needed rest, a voice rang out over the water:

“D’ya do orright?”

“Nah, just got here!” The standard fisherman lie reply to yet another wannabe know-it-all ashore.

“Look over there, the bait are chopping, try there, heaps of fish a bit further out to the left.”

Read More


It is four in the morning. The Jetstar A330 from Osaka touches down at nearby Cairns Airport. I hear the long braking run. No reverse thrust is used, thoughtful pilots.

I wake from a weird dream. Low sugar?

Yep, I’m still a diabetic.

With heavy heart I start the daily diabetes grind: check blood, correct, eat, exercise, inject, check, correct, etc., etc.

Some days are like that. Read More

Stop and Smell

Judging by my Facebook feed the presidential election result in the US of A means the end of the world as we know it. The screeching of the lefties easily overpowers the cicada chorus in the tree outside my window. The victors are on the back foot, secretly gloating, yet uneasy about the future they wanted so badly, and got. Read More

Starchivore Diabetic?

In Diabetes 101 I learnt that type 1 diabetics produce little to no insulin, are unable to metabolise carbohydrates, and must restrict carbs and starches in their diet. The body converts these to sugar, and this is poison to a diabetic. Read More

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