We danced last night at the local folk festival. I am so unfit! Its a long drive home in the rain, one headlight down, hardly anyone else on the road. My sleep is restless, I’m low at 3am, I eat glucose and try to sleep, things on my mind. I need to get that quote for the next contract done, I should join the club ride, I’m tired. Work wins out and I pike on the ride, but there’s a deeper factor. My BGLs drop and drop, I get them back up to 4.5 they flatline, I eat more. I square wave the breakfast bolus and delay walking the dog. I’ve got that weird feeling in my legs, I can feel the glucose being sucked out of my thigh muscles. Finally it comes up to 5.1 and the dog and I head out the door. I’m halfway home and the pump alarm is going crazy, dropping, dropping and I’m stuffing jelly snakes in my mouth. Make it home get the kettle on, swallow a banana whole, stagger into the study. The phone rings and it’s Brigid from the HeraldSun, ready to read me the story that’s going to print. Is this an OK time, she asks and I’m thinking “Will I stay conscious long enough?”, but I say “Yes, fine” and we go through the article. It’s really only a couple of lines that she’s quoted me as saying, and they are fine. I thank her, she asks if I got copies of the photos from Tim and arranges to ask him to send me some.
Now my BGL’s are rising, 7.7 with double upwards arrows on the screen. Oh jeeze, have I eaten too much? My thighs still feel funny and I settle back to write and wait.