"Stupid thing just needed a battery ... I need to call Animas about this ... grumble, grumble, ..." reaching for my meter case to grab the quarter and backup battery I keep in there.
"BEEEEEEEEEP!" wailed the Dexcom, the screen awash with red letters signaling a low blood sugar.
"Oh come on, you too?!"
I put the battery back into the meter case and retrieved the meter instead. Low confirmed at 54 mg/dL. I went downstairs into our kitchen to grab a sip of juice and half of a banana. The pump alarmed again, urging me to change the battery.
"Shut up, you."
After finishing my late night hypoglycemic snack, I went upstairs to change the pump battery. And then I had to brush my teeth to get rid of that "who loves plaque!" feeling from my mouth. And then I checked the Dexcom again, which was still hypo alarming.
"Are you okay?" asked Chris from the bed, mostly asleep (since it was 1:00 am and we should have been asleep hours ago but Breaking Bad is such a good show and we might be addicted to watching previous seasons on Netflix.)
"No-sleep, pump-battery, low-blood-sugar, brush-teeth bullshit," I said in a flurry of frustration as I tucked underneath the comforter.
Sometimes it's a full day of tending to the type 1 tedium, and other times I hit the diabetes inconvenience overload in a span of five minutes.