It Feels Like…

It feels like not setting your 1am alarm that could be the difference between waking with a blood sugar level of 5 or 10.

It feels like choosing to shell out money on ham and cheese croissants, tuna sushi, Kit Kat Chunky bars and Jesters chips instead of bringing your lunch from home.

It feels like failing to wash your grubby hands before the prick of a finger, knowing that the number will be a shit one regardless.

It feels like exhaling loudly, and sighing out of exhaustion from the mundane diabetes tasks that make life feel that much harder.

It feels like telling your meter to eff off when it screams ‘low batteries’ at you.

It feels like telling your meter to eff off a little louder when it still screams ‘low batteries’ at you.

It feels like failure after discovering your third infusion site this week that hasn’t lasted it’s full three day life.

It feels like telling your insulin pump to shut the hell up when it begins blaring that there are less than 10 units of insulin left in the cartridge at the dinner table.

It feels like trying to manually poke your finger with a lancet after you’ve left your lancing device at home.

It feels like not being bothered to weigh and carb count your dinner tonight, instead opting for a good old fashioned guesstimate dose of insulin.

It feels like checking your blood sugar, and not really caring that your levels are higher than what you’d normally accept.

It feels like anger when your new FreeStyle Libre sensor starts bleeding horribly after application, when you had put it on hoping for somewhat of a break.

It feels like frantically power walking home with a plummeting blood sugar, because you forgot to bring your glucose tablets with you on your walk.

It feels like crawling out of bed with a heavy head, still feeling exhausted after a solid 10 hours rest.

It feels like silent pleas for the coffee machine not to get choked up, because you simply can’t handle yet another failure this early in the morning.

It feels like…a bout of diabetes burnout.

(and a whole heap of bad luck).

One Comment

  1. Becky

    My son has T1D. He is 11 years old, and although he takes things in his stride pretty well, he does get so frustrated sometimes. I so get it.

    Another one to add to the list: Feel like saying eff off to the well-meaning friend who says how hard it must be caring for a child with “unstable” diabetes. As though T1D is ever truly stable. It just is, and every day is different. Not unstable.

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