Diabetes Savant

idiot sa·vant

Pronunciation: \ˈē-ˌdyō-sä-ˈväⁿ, or same as idiot and savant for respective sing and plural forms\

Function: noun

Etymology: French, literally, learned idiot

1 : a person affected with a mental disability who exhibits exceptional skill or brilliance in some limited field (as mathematics or music) —called also savant
2 : a person who is highly knowledgeable about one subject but knows little about anything else

diabetes sa-vant

See above

I had dinner with a friend last night & we chatted about all sorts of interesting things. Work, music, our families and life with diabetes. I told my friend that a life lived with diabetes is a dizzying array of numbers at every twist and turn, because it really is.

As every person with diabetes knows, we are continually bombarded with numbers. 

Blood sugar numbers; insulin units, carb grams, fiber grams, and fat grams. 

Blood pressure numbers, creatine & clearance numbers, cholesterol numbers, pump model numbers. You name it; we have a number for it.

Then I told my friend that I feel like Rain Man when it came to carb counting, a Diabetes Savant of sorts. No matter what the food, I must find or remember the carb for it in order to achieve the holy grail of “Blood Sugar Nirvana. It’s like my life is a carb counting game show of sorts, and the stakes are higher when I’m at a restaurant.

Guestimating the carb count comes into play more and I hope with all my heart that I get it right, so I can claim the parting gift of a “good numbers’ a few hours later.

Right before we sat down for dinner, I’d checked my blood sugar, which was 130 - I was happy with that.

As we read the menu, a basket of whole grain and French bread was brought to the table, with real butter. Now I don’t normally buy butter at home, but when I’m out to dinner and butter presents itself, I apply liberally.

I gnawed at the bread (it was so good) and boloused a unit. For some reason I was craving steak (normally I don't eat red meat, so when I do crave it, I get it) and ordered “STEAK FRITES.” Translation: a seared hanger steak sautéed in butter w/thin fries and greens.

As we waited for our meal, I did some diabetes multitasking, while paying attention to what my friend was saying and having a conversation about Brett Michaels and Celebrity Apprentice, and silently calculating the “diabetes Math in my head. 

O grams of carbs for the steak, 35 grams for the fries, 0 grams of carbs for the greens, and 10 grams of carbs because I really wanted another slice of bread. I programmed my blood sugar of 130, 45 grams of carbs on the sly, and my old minimed 512 computed the facts and told me I’d need exactly 3.3 units of insulin to cover the meal. 

Done and done.

And much like the company, dinner was outstanding.

Then it was time for dessert and the Crème Brulee tempted us both with its creamy delicious song. Previous experience with the power of Crème Brulee has taught me that 2.5 units usually does the trick, if all the diabetes stars are aliened just so.

I boloused again and hoped for the best.

We continued to talking, and finally said our goodbyes.

As I drove home, two major thoughts entered my mind.

1. I'd had a great night out
2. I couldn’t wait to get home and see how close I’d actually come to attaining Blood Sugar Nirvana.

I walked in the door, tossed my keys on the table, grabbed my glucometer out of my bag, took a deep breathe and checked my blood sugar. I was 125.

Blood Sugar Nirvana had been achieved....this time - and all was right with my world~