revisiting the CGM: first experience with Dexcom G4 Platinum

The difference in the experience between the two models (top: SEVEN, bottom: G4) of Dexcom CGMs is more than just visual.

Controlling your sugars without a true image of where you are coming from and how fast you are getting there feels like working with one hand tied behind your back.

While a glucose meter offers an invaluable, quick snapshot of where your number is in an exact moment, it does not tell the whole story.

Offering a wiggly line graph to depict the rise and fall of your glucose, as well as assist in announcing the speed at which you are a– or de-scending, a Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM) gives a much more comprehensive image of why your number is where it is.

Fun to note, dextro-,  in matters of both handedness (i.e., dexterity) and sugar molecules (dextrose) refers back to being on the right side in some way. One has to do with what hand we may use to write; the other, the “[s]o called because this form of glucose [dextrose] polarizes light to the right in spectroscopy.”

With that in mind, the Dexcom has become my right-hand guy as I’m about six full days into my first session of being continuously glucose monitored with a Dexcom G4 Platinum.

(I promise that is the only pun in this post.)

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identification: a story

my medical alert bracelet made by NuritSpiegel: https://etsy.com/shop/NuritSpiegel

I’ve learned that the Italian side of my family was either one of two things during my first years: feeding or decorating me.

Sometimes, both.

Keeping with my grandparents’ aesthetic preference of seeing tiny pieces of gold on a child – after all, a bambina is this ultimate symbol of beauty and purity or whatever – I had both of my ear lobes pierced for earrings before I was little more than a year old. In addition to this, when both my sister and I were born we were gifted with a yellow gold bracelet featuring a flat plate engraved with our names, respectively.

As we grew, they grew with us; our parents had links added to the chains as the years passed.

We both worn them daily on our left wrists until, given the absurdity of allowing a child to wander about with precious metal so casually, we both lost them in our own seemingly-tragic accounts. My loss, I presume, occurred crawling through tubes and adventuring in a ball pit during a friend’s birthday party.

Aside from occasional nostalgic thoughts, I hadn’t much cared about that bracelet again until now.

Currently, a yellow gold bracelet is around my left wrist.

Like my former name-bearing one, this features a plate with text. The hand-pressed letters states TYPE 1 DIABETES, instead of a stylized version of Ashley.

I’ve not been much of a fan of medical ID bracelets, despite having a few over the years. I’d think things like how they stood out or they were too much of a signal for other people to treat me like I was different, even sick. Or, diseased.

 

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