1:15pm – My co-worker has come back from her break and it is now my turn. I hurry to the break- room, wave my machine to my arm, check the number (7.3mmol/L – perfect), take my wallet and go buy a nice, warm lunch in the food court. I opt on the spicy pumpkin soup with toast that’s smelling so good from their counter. When I bring my own lunch, that I cooked myself, I know the estimate number of carbs. Or when I buy ready-to-eat meals (yes, I do eat those too, I am not perfect), I just need to look at the nutrition info label. But today, I ask the girl who serves me if she knows what the carbs count is. She stares at me with blank eyes, then grunts and shrugs. I think I might've broken her... A couple of years ago, I would feel the urge to explain my odd question. But now, I don’t care what she thinks. I take my phone out and look the information up onto the same App as before. 1 cup of soup is 16g of carbs. The soup is a big portion, I’d say 2 cups, that makes 32g. 1 slice of white bread (is my bread white or wheat? Does that make a difference? I wave it off, if there is a difference, surely it won’t be a big one) is 10g of carbs. That makes a meal of 42g of carbs. Again, I enter all this information into my pump and I’m all set. I sit down at a table and starts eating my lunch, while enjoying my book. After I am done with my meal, I set off to the break-room and look at the remaining time for my break. About 15 minutes. Good. I can relax and continue reading.
1:56pm – My break is almost over, I want to check my blood again. Yes, I know, again. Normally when I started a day with a hypo, you can be sure a hyper will follow, as a bouncing effect. This morning it hasn’t happened, so I’m cautious. And, you see, I am weary of hypos and hypers, especially in the workplace. I don’t know if it is just me, but I want to prove that my diabetes does not affect my abilities, and so I am extra vigilant. And also, it is not really pleasant to experience. Beep-beep: 8.7mmol/L. Nothing wrong going on here. I am ready to head back to work.
4pm – The store has been quite busy for the past few hours. Late Father’s Day shoppers is my guess. While most of the time, the customers are happy to wander in the aisles, browsing, today, we do not even have time to ask them if they need assistance, they go straight to us, with a very specific book in mind. A book that we then have to find the location of, if it is even in stock. As soon as I am done with one customer, another jumps in. I have been thirsty, so I fetch my bottle, and even though I would like to check my blood again, I hear a bell at the counter, which means I am needed there. I hurry back, sipping my water while making my way to the front of the store. My sugars will have to wait.
6:12pm – It is closing time. Finally. The girls and I are exhausted. The customers sometimes seem like leeches. They are in hurry, very demanding and feel entitled to pristine customer service, and they want it now. The day has been long and draining. I close up the store and head off to the station. I have a dinner with friends outside of town and I don’t want to be the last one arriving. While walking, I reach for my monitor and check my glucose: 14.6mmol/L. Uh-oh… that piece of bread did seem quite large and it was soaking in butter… Plus the stress of the day, I guess. But all that is guess-work. So uncertain. In defeat, I enter my blood glucose level into my pump and it tells me to inject, which I do. The train ride is about an hour, I will have hopefully gone down by then.
7:20pm – I’ve arrived at my friends' house and the first thing I do after kissing my friends hello and offering my help, is to check again: 10.2mmol/L. Going down, good. If it hadn’t, then I would have had to check my insulin line, maybe even change it… Not what you want to do during a friend’s dinner party. I enjoy the appetizers, wine and conversation, keeping track of what I put in my mouth. I will need to remember everything for the meal bolus, when the rest of the guests have arrived and the food is done cooking. I play with their son, a 4-year-old bundle of joy. As we play, he notices my line, and tries tugging on it. “What’s that?” I try and explain to him that I am sick and this is my medication. He looks at me, dubious. “No you’re not!” Again, I try to explain that I am sick inside of my tummy, and I show him where the line goes in. I want him to know that there is nothing to fear. Kids are very observant and they are smarter than we give them credit for. If I explain to him, He will get it, even if not in details. But if I try to hide my tummy, and change the subject, he will remember. That will shape his future behavior towards illnesses. Very delicately, I let him touch the pump and the cannula site. And then I let him wave my monitor to my arm to test my blood. “I am your doctor!” He exclaims happily. The moment has past. The mum is proud of her son’s reaction. I am proud of mine.