When you get into the car after going for a run and see a blood sugar of this:

… it’s way past time for glucose tabs.  So when you reach into the Spibelt you’re wearing to retrieve the glucose tabs that you stuck in there, encased in a plastic bag once used for diaper discards instead of the travel tube because you forgot that at home and you didn’t want to have the Dexcom receiver covered in glucose dust, it might look, to an innocent bystander, a little like you’re eating dog poop from a doggy clean-up bag.

“They’re glucose tabs!  I have diabetes, and I’m having a low blood sugar reaction,” I blurted out to the woman standing a few feet away, staring at me as she stood with her car door and her mouth opened.

“Oh thank goodness!”  She laughed, relieved.  “Because I thought you were … you know, I thought you were doing something you aren’t doing.”

“Nope.  Not eating dog poop.  Thanks, though.”

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