This morning I woke up
And reached right over to the table.
Grabbing my receiver,
I saw my blood sugars stable.
Showed a 107 number
And that things had been quite steady
Overnight, while I did slumber.
(“While I did slumber?”
Yes, I used that phrase despite it sounding formal.
It’s fun to turn a stodgy phrase
To make sleep sound less normal.
“Okay, go on and tell you story,”
Thanks. I almost blew it.)
I noticed, when I pricked my finger
That the lancet got stuck into it.
It was gross. There was a shunk
As the lancet then deployed.
And the OUCH when it went in
Had me less shocked than quite annoyed.
Because I CHANGED that stupid lancet
Just the day before the last!
It wasn’t stale or all that old.
How dare it give my thumb such blast?
And not only did it sting
But the em effer didn’t bleed.
In order to check sugars,
“Change the lancet” was the need.
I gave it glance with both my eyes
After I took the lancet out
The tip looked worse for wear.
So what the hell – I swapped it out.
I tried again, this time determined
Not to let the prick be useless.
I resolved to change my lancet more
Lest diabetes think I’m truceless.
When the needle went in my finger
I squeezed it for a spell.
And blood came from the wound.
… and from a random spot as well.
What’s the moral of the story?
How can I work my D smarter?
Here’s advice for all the ages:
Change your lancet, or squeeze harder.