I'm standing at the counter at the bank and I hear my cell phone buzzing. Then I hear the Dexcom wailing out its BEEEEEEEP. My pump starts to buzz from inside my bra (wearing a dress today). Every bit of technology I have is exploding all at once and I'm just trying to make a damn deposit.
"Miss, I just need your account number."
"Account number, sure. I can get that for you." BEEEEEEEEP again. Why is it beeping again? It should only beep once when I'm high. My goodness, I'm awfully warm, despite standing underneath the bank air conditioning unit.
I stick my hand into my bag and forage about. My fingertips feel like they're trapped in cotton balls and I can't quite get a good handle on my wallet. Instead, I grab the Dex, which is BEEEEEPing again, and press a button.
Oh shit, LOW. Below 40 mg/dl. I press the down button and see "39 mg/dl" next to the blood sugar graph, which now looks like the Cliffs of Insanity from The Princess Bride.
"Here is my license. Can you pull my account numbers by looking up my name, please? I'm diabetic and having a little low blood sugar at the moment and I need to drink this juice." I hand the teller my license and raise up the bottle of juice with my other hand, like one of the Price is Right models.
"No problem. I'll get your account numbers. Do you want to have a seat?"
"No, no thanks." I drain the bottle between words. "I'm good. I just need to focus a bit and let my blood sugar come up."
He typed some numbers in on his keyboard and passed my receipt through the bank printer. "This isn't some elaborate plan to rob the bank, is it?"
I laughed. Just drinking the juice alleviated the low-panic enough for me to act like a normal (slightly sweaty) person. "I'm not robbing the bank. But I may take one of those free lollipops, if that's okay."
He hands me my receipt, along with three purple lollipops. "Here you go. Why don't you wait a few minutes over there," he gestures towards the bank reception area, "for your blood sugar to come up? I don't want you to drive yet."
"Okay. Thanks for your help."
And I teeter carefully on my heels (far too high for such a low blood sugar) over to one of the plush, blue chairs. Sinking into the chair and waiting for the juice to do its thing, I unwrapped one of the lollipops. My feet didn't quite reach the floor, as I was sitting so far back in the chair. But I was starting to feel better.
People came in and out of the bank over the next ten minutes while I rested, looking over and most likely wondering what that grown woman was doing there, face flushed, swinging her feet, and sucking happily on a lollipop.