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Apple Juice? Flat Beer? Pee?

Chris and Birdzone and I took a quick trip to Oqunquit, Maine (mostly because Chris saw that it was ranked "Best Beach Town" in his beloved Yankee Magazine, which meant "we had to go") for a few days, enjoying some of the beautiful Maine coastline. 

But, as with all travel comes wonky eating schedules.  Which meant that by the time we rolled into Maine, breakfast was several hours behind me and my blood sugars were starting to tank.  We headed to a little pizza place near our hotel (Pizza Napoli - good white pizza!), where I ordered an orange juice to take the edge off the 53 mg/dL.

"We don't have orange juice.  But we do have apple juice," said the waitress.

"Sure, apple juice would be great," I replied, handing a bag of crayons to Birdy and watching her set upon putting polka dots ("pokey dots") on a picture of a dinosaur.  Which is why I can't blame the waitress for bringing the juice back in a plastic cup with a lid and a straw, thinking it was for my daughter:

Cheers!  (Ew?)

I took a few sips from the straw - just enough to bring me back up into range, for once, instead of downing the whole glass in two gulps - and set the cup aside.

"It looks like flat beer," Chris said.  "Or urine."

"But definitely not apple juice," I said.  

"Nope," he replied, smirking.  "Definitely not."

And there we sat, our daughter happily coloring, our pizza in the restaurant's brick oven, and a suspicious glass of what could have been mistaken as urine on our table.



Love Ogunquit. And great story about one of those too often overlooked but oh so sweet life moments.

Most disgusting diabetes story ever:

When I was little I had to do a 24 hour urine collection (remember those they sucked). Well I was collecting my sample and putting it into the fridge in a milk jug or something similar. My dad and I were at home and we were getting set for dinner. Of course I wanted a glass of milk so my dad reached into the fridge and poured what he thought was milk. Instead it was part of my 24 hour sample. He caught it right away and then got all mad, because that is how he reacts to everything.

When all was said and done I looked up him and said, do I have to use that glass. Thankfully we threw that glass out.

What I got out of this post was not that juice in front of a Sam Adams sign looks like pee, but that I'm not the only one who's hung up on eating schedules. I thought pumping was supposed to mean freedom from eating schedules, but I guess I'm either no good at perfecting basal rates, or setting a "perfect" rate isn't really do-able (we come as close as we can, and that's about it). It's always nice to read about someone else who deals with the same stuff as me. Thanks for that.

My sister wouldn't drink apple juice as a kid for that very reason. Probably more so, now that she's a nurse. Ditto with you, Scott E: even with the pump, my "schedule" can only be stretched so much. Bless his heart, my husband knows it. "We gotta get you some real food before you get weird," he said on a recent daytrip.

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