'Betes, bridesmaiding, and the roller coaster of gloom

Last weekend, B and I took off upstate for one of my best friend's weddings. (We've been friends since 8th grade!) Not only was I ridiculously excited to be heading to home territory, I was also going to be in the wedding party AND would get to see B in his brand-new foxy suit. The weekend was bound to be amazing.

And it was! For the most part, everything was pretty smooth sailing:

• The tailor put a hidey-hole "pocket" in my dress that was completely invisible but allowed for easy access to the pump clipped to my Spanx. (Alas, no true pocket - the matte satin and cut of the dress simply did not allow for pump bulge.) I'd been nervous about trusting my cuff for all the dancing and walking down aisles I had on my agenda, and I think this was the perfect solution. If only I could afford to have her put faux pockets in all my dresses
• I remembered all my supplies. Well, except for the Dexcom charger. Which sucked, since it would have been nice to have that information during a weekend of different eating habits and restricted access to food and meter.
• My hair and makeup - while quite over the top for me - didn't make me look like some strange Barbie version of myself. It did, apparently, make me look like a "naughty librarian" though. Oh, the laughing from our table mates when we heard THAT one from another guest...
• The mushroom tart I had for dinner was AMAZING. (Although there was a bit of a disaster post-ceremony where I accidentally ate something with crab in it and thought I was going to projectile vomit all over the pretty wedding party.)
• So many of the people I'd met over the past few months, and the new ones I met for the weekend, were great. A lot of folks I thought "I could be friends with this person if I met them at home." Not surprising that someone I love so much has a lot of wonderful people in her life, but it still made me really happy to see.

All those wonderful things, though, and I couldn't help but feel a little sad that it couldn't just be normal. That I had to get a pocket sewn into my dress, that I worried about my pump and the sweat from dancing, that I had to carry the biggest purse around for my meter and other D-necessaries, that I kept checking for VPL (Visible Pump Lump), that I was too shamed by my all-over BGs and eating to send the logs from the weekend to my CDE, that I even HAD to log while I was sitting in the bridal suite waiting for my turn with the makeup artist, that my numbers kept climbing because of all the excitement about the wedding and my stress about tripping while walking down the aisle (full-length gowns are no joke!), that my diabetes - as usual - took precedence over everything and I couldn't just enjoy the event like everyone else.

So I returned to Brooklyn - my poor, tornado-damaged borough - on Saturday with a bit of a heavy heart. My numbers, as is always the case, reflected my doom and gloom, making mountains and valleys on my log graph and making me feel like I got run over by an MTA bus.

And then Monday happened: happy news from my CDE about the logs from the previous week. Immediately, I was in love with the world again. Working 12-hour days? Pshaw. They loved my numbers! Missed deadlines because of coworkers? No matter - think of that email! I've spent the week swishing and twirling, thrilled at the change in circumstances (and the end of my self-flagellation - I mean, c'mon. She LOVED MY NUMBERS)...until this morning happened: Dex Jr. inexplicably kicked the bucket, shrieking and seizing his way to death as I exited the Q train.

Rough week for Karen and the 'betes - the emotional roller coaster is as bad as the simultaneous BG ups and downs that have accompanied it. I know I'll come back up (always do!), but damned if those dips aren't brutal.