“You look tired,” someone said to me, rather casually at a meeting the other day.

The night before, I had gone to the gym a little later than usual.

Most of the time, my workouts take place before 8 pm so I can have a handle on blood sugar fallout before I go to sleep, but this round wasn’t in my favor.  My blood sugar was 153 mg/dL before bed with no insulin on board and a stable Dexcom arrow, but at 2.30 am, my pump started vibrating and alarming madly, alerting me to a low blood sugar.  Twenty minutes of glucose tab chomping and subsequent teeth brushing.

Back to sleep.

Then, at 4.40 am, my pump starting going apeshit bananas again, this time wanting a battery swap.  Light on, battery swapped, insulin pump rewound and re-primed, where was I?  Oh yeah, a hotel in New Jersey.  Okay, back to bed.

When the alarm went off at 7 am to wake me for the meeting, I was groggy as hell.  What should have been a good night’s sleep had become an exercise in frigging beeps and whirrs.  Coffee and concealer became an immediate must.

“You look tired,” they said to me, and I shook my head.

“I’m fine,” I said, lying through my teeth, coffee in hand, happy that my child sleeps through the night, frustrated that my diabetes still doesn’t.

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