NYC = Insulin.

A few funny things happened over the weekend.

I came to realize that relentless exercise (walking most everywhere, and doing the subway stairs several times a day) almost completely diminishes my need for insulin.  At one point I drank an entire 20 oz. bottle of Welch's grape soda - which has 85 ungodly grams of carbohydrates - with a 0% basal rate, and saw no significant change in my BG level.  Maybe I should consider relocating?  (By the way, I'm still fighting these lows - I'm throwing candy at them like I'm on a parade float, and not making much of a dent.  As Liz Lemon would say:  Blurgh.)

The airport security screening process that I worried so much about?  No big deal.  At all.  I disconnected my insulin pump right before getting in line, and tucked it into the Ziploc bag with my other "Don't X-Ray" diabetes stuff.  I made it through each scanner without setting off anything.  Not even my CGM sensor raised a flag!

A picture of A taking a picture.  Like you do.

Apparently, I must look like a trustworthy person.  In the process of getting to see the view from the top of the Rockefeller building, and then before getting a tour of the NBC studios, everyone has to walk through a metal detector, and put their belongings through an x-ray.  In each case, I told them I was wearing an insulin pump and couldn't go through, and they just waved me around - without checking me in any way.  Um...  okay.

I can be a mostly-functioning and blood-testing-while-walking person at 35 mg/dL - that's how low I dropped while our group walked to dinner.  Jim began speaking loudly about 4 blocks from the restaraunt:  "Um, Kim?  You're 53!"  (At least, that's what I interpreted his outlandish beeping to mean.)  I thought to myself, "That can't possibly be right.  I downed half of a bag of Skittles when we started walking."  I tested, and though I was right that 53 wasn't a correct reading, I wasn't fond of those numbers being reversed.  You really couldn't ask for more understanding company in such cold weather, as I leaned against the landscape wall, downing glucose tabs.

Going 11 hours without food, and coupling that with an army of temp basal rates, somehow got me to a place of Blood Sugar Nirvana the first day of our trip.  I have no idea what I did right, but it was a nice surprise.

And lastly, I'm totally bad at ordering food.  That's not to say that I don't enjoy what I get - I do.  But when I'm at a place that's known for a certain kind of food, I more often than not don't end up ordering it.  Not on purpose, really - that's just how it ends up.  It happened four times this weekend, and though we did have an encounter with a Magnolia Bakery - I went the entire weekend cupcake-less.  Because the mini-cheesecakes looked like cupcakes, and because the store was stuffed full of people, and because I couldn't see that there were more cases of yumminess farther down the line.  This is what we call a cupcake fail.

It was a trip that left me recharged, joyful, and thankful.  You couldn't ask for much more.