Here's my sad little story. I ran out of insulin with my last pump change. I didn't have the money to get it refilled and figured I had 3 days with Romney Pawed. So, I put the pod on and went blissfully about my life.
I went to work, called in my refills and arranged to pick them up on Friday. Payday. Makes sense. This was Wednesday. I would have to change pods on Friday so the timing was perfect.
Until....cue in dramatic music....
dum
dum
duuuuuuuummmmmmmmmm!
I hear the dreaded call of Romney for no apparent reason. I wasn't eating. I wasn't bolusing. I wasn't even thinking about him. Hello, black cloud.
Occlusion.
Freaking great. SO, of course, I had to remove the pod. Since I was sans insulin, I had to revert back to shots. I threw my pod saddle off and rode bareback.
Sad thing is is that the FlexPens I had in my medicine bag wouldn't work. They've been idly sitting and wasting away for so long that they wouldn't work. For whatever reason, the needles wouldn't allow any insulin to pass through. That's what I get for ignoring them. Anyway, I called my sweet boyf and talked him through my supplies.
'Baby. Go to the fridge, open the butter compartment, grab the pen that's blue and orange.'
'Kel, I'm color blind. You know this.'
'Yea, but you can see primary colors. Grab the darker of the two.'
'Blue and orange? Got it.'
'Ok. Go to the top drawer of the medicine cabinet and find the twist on needles. They are white and purple.'
'BABE! Stop telling me colors!'
'OK! I don't know how else to describe them! They are needles. Not the kind to prick my finger with, the other kind.'
'Are they 5 in a pack?'
'I think. I don't know. Needles.'
'They screw on?'
'Yes.'
'Ok. Got it. I'm on my way.'
By the time he got to my job, my bs was 374. I quickly shot up and was on my way. I thanked my boyf for being fantastic and helping me to live.
That night, he came home late from work and I was already in bed. I don't remember a word he said to me. He told me in the morning that I was crying, I was telling him he was bothering me, I was talking crazy. Poor guy hasn't seen me drastically drop and has no idea his role as a 'Type 3 Diabetic'. My daughter and I definitely are training him. Slowly but surely, he will learn. He's willing so that's a start. Hopefully he won't have to ever see the worst of D. Hopefully.
Today is Day 2 of my bareback riding and I have to tell you. I hate it. I like my pod saddle. I feel like crap. My sugar is hard to control. I don't want to eat because I don't want to inject. It's a mess. I'm so glad we are going to the pharmacy after work, getting my insulin and then I'm strapping the pod back on right in the car. No lie.
Then I'm buying the fam pizza.
So take that Diabetes. You little bitch.
*Peace.
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