I wish someone had told me that infections trigger the liver to dump additional glucose into my bloodstream. Then I may not have felt so frustrated over high blood glucose levels.
I wish someone had told me to increase my long acting insulin dose to combat the sick day insulin resistance. Then I may not have gone stir crazy when my levels wouldn’t budge despite correction after correction.
I wish someone had told me that work would be able to survive without me for a day. Then I wouldn’t feel riddled with guilt for spreading my germs over keys and pens and phones. Or live to regret the miserable sight that I am to be around when unwell.
I wish someone had told me that a statutory declaration is sufficient evidence for not being present at school or exams or at work. Then I may have saved myself a few unnecessary trips to the doctor.
I wish someone had told me that putting the Vicks under my nostrils before bed might just help to relive my congestion. Then I wouldn’t be left tossing and turning through the night, plagued with blocked nostrils and piles of wet tissues.
I wish someone had told me that keeping hydrated might just help manage high blood glucose levels. Then I might not end up sculling fluids down when I’m on the borderline of ketones.
I wish someone had told me to get into a habit of washing my hands after coming into contact with others, and especially before food. Then I might not find myself off sick all that often.
I wish someone had told me that I could treat my hypos with juice. Then I wouldn’t be forced to endure jellybeans on a sore, bone dry throat. Or have to worry about keeping my hypo food down.
I wish someone had told me that it’s okay to sleep. Stay in pyjamas, watch Netflix or comfort eat.
I wish someone had told me that I’d weather the storm. The high blood glucose levels, the misery and everything far from the norm.