“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.