I went home for lunch (my commute is six minutes – have I mentioned that I love my job?) and enjoyed a sandwich and an ice cold glass of milk. Terrific. Bolused a few units for the meal. Put the dishes in the dishwasher away, entertained the cats with a hair tie for a few minutes, and then drove back to the office.
Staring at the computer screen, I noticed that the letters were leaping all over the place. “For your diabetes life” looked like it was trying to scuttle across the top of the screen. If I spied weights attached to each individual finger, I wouldn’t have been surprised. My eyes were aching and dry. I rubbed them with the back of my fist and reached for my water bottle, guzzling down half of it in one breath. I felt Grade A crummy.
“Oh for crying out loud,” I half muttered to myself as I sat at my desk and tried to make sense of the recipe pages in front of me. “I’m definitely frigging high.”
I pricked my finger and the droplet of blood formed, thick like syrup, on the tip of my index finger.
The groan escaped me involuntarily. Ugh, that’s so high. How did I end up that high?
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my insulin pump discreetly. Too sluggish to calculate the math myself, I listened intently to the bolus wizard as it boop beep booped out a few units for me. I tucked the pump back into my pocket and resumed staring aimlessly at my computer screen.
I smelled the dentist-ish, Band-Aid smell first. Then I noticed that the spot near my outer thigh, where my infusion set was stashed, felt a little damp. Hoping no one would walk by and see me with my hand down my pants, I reached in and felt my thigh for the site hub.
The little sucker was loose. Not connected to my body. The tubing must have swiveled around and tugged the site loose sometime over the last hour or so. Probably just in time to miss my lunchtime bolus, leaving me at this sticky 366 mg/dl.
I reattached the tubing to the hub and re-bolused. “Gotcha now, you pesky high.” One of the marketing people strolled by and I pretended I was on the phone instead of talking to my infusion site.
An hour later- 184 mg/dl.
“About time. You’d better stay connected now,” I threatened my thigh. The marketing person walked by as I stared admonishingly at my leg.