A thousand pardons. I said I would write more about hypoglycemia this week. In short, vacation preparations got in the way. I didn’t even have time to get my hair cut and barely managed to pack. Yesterday, the sensor for my continuous glucose monitor (CGM) reached the end of its lifespan — which is when I found out I’d neglected to bring replacements.
Now, here we are, sailing the ocean…gray. At the moment, I’m told, we’re somewhere on the north side of Cuba. At any rate, we’re headed to Haiti. It’s been raining, but I have faith we’ll see the jewel-toned blue of the Caribbean before the week is over.
It’s been a bit of a comedy of errors. A few weeks ago, I called the cruise line’s disabilities office about a couple of things: To request a sharps container and to ask about the shower seat. Because of my size, I prefer a shower seat with feet on the ground. I’m always afraid the ones that simply fold out from the wall will break.
“No problem,” I was told — but it must have been because those two things were not taken care of.
The shower seat could be a significant problem. Hopefully, it won’t break. As much as I like to say, “told ya so!” it isn’t really a good idea — no matter how good it feels.
We have a young man with us whose 21st birthday is today (May 20). When I called to order a cake and decorations, I requested that the cabin not be decorated until his birthday. It was decorated when we arrived. There went THAT surprise!
Grandaughter ended up with two key cards — and all of the charges were being put on her card. Grandson’s card wouldn’t let him charge anything.
My accessible room is so “accessible,” it took less than 24 hours for my scooter to tip over, leaving me sprawled across the floor. There’s a severe lack of turning space in here and way too many little ramps.
I don’t recall ever having this many situations during the course of an entire cruise, much less the first couple of days.
Do I expect near-perfection? You betcha! It was expected of me when I was a reporter; it’s expected of me as somebody trying to control the uncontrollable Type 2 diabetes.
Writing obituaries was good practice for getting it right. If you messed up, a whole passel of mourning friends and relatives were right pissed off.
With diabetes, you’re hurting yourself. Good control can mean a lower risk of complications — maybe even early death. If you have too many complications or are dead, you can’t go on cruises with the gran, where they spend all of your money and won’t go to dinner with you.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s about time to buy a newly “legal” young man a drink.