For the last three days, my blood sugars had finally started settling down again.
Not perfect, of course. Diabetes and I rarely achieve perfection. But instead of wild swings, my numbers had mostly stayed between about 70 and 200. After weeks of bouncing sugars, middle-of-the-night lows, exhaustion, itching, antihistamines, and interrupted sleep, that felt almost peaceful.
Then came yesterday.
I had my dermatologist appointment for the itching that has followed me on and off for years. She believes the itching on my scalp is seborrheic dermatitis and prescribed a shampoo and oil. She also suspects the strange, random itching that travels around my body may actually be diabetic neuropathy.
That surprised me.
Especially because the worst itching episode of my life happened shortly before I was diagnosed with diabetes years ago. Apparently, all these things may have been connected all along.
After the appointment, I came home only to find my 90-year-old friend, the Prom Queen, bleeding heavily after another fall. What followed was a five-hour ordeal involving doctors’ offices, emergency rooms, waiting rooms, stitches, and finally getting home completely exhausted around 8:30 that night.
By then, I realized I had eaten almost nothing all day except a bag of cookies at the hospital.
Ironically, sometimes my blood sugar rises when I go too long without eating, so I kept checking my numbers. They actually didn’t look too bad.
I heated up a good meal my neighbor and friend had brought me before my skin appointment, watched a little television, and by 10:30, I was so worn out I could barely keep my eyes open.
I went to bed thinking: Maybe things are finally calming down.
Around 12:30 in the morning, I woke up hot and itching again.
I looked at my Dexcom.
HIGH.
Every diabetic knows the feeling that word creates in your stomach.
Not a number. Just HIGH.
I got up and walked to the bathroom, where I discovered my infusion set had come loose from my stomach and was hanging down my leg.
I still do not know exactly when it happened. Maybe before bed. Maybe while sleeping. Maybe while wiggling around in the hard hospital chair while waiting for Prom Queen for hours earlier that evening.
But at some point, insulin had quietly stopped entering my body.
I immediately inserted a new infusion set and replaced the cartridge in my pump with a full cartridge since it had been pumping large amounts of insulin somewhere unknown to me. Then I sat down to wait and watch.
The Dexcom still only read HIGH, so I pulled out my manual meter.
At about 5:30 in the morning, I was sitting alone in my apartment watching a blood sugar of 570 and hoping the insulin would finally begin working again.
That is one of the hardest parts of diabetes for me: the waiting. You correct. You troubleshoot. You check tubing. You replace equipment. You drink water. You try not to panic. And then you wait.
By around 6:30 am, my numbers had finally dropped into the low 500s, so I went back to bed for a few hours. When I woke up around noon, my blood sugar was 130 and still heading downward.
At that point, I drank my coffee without taking insulin because after a night like that, I no longer trusted where my body intended to go next.
People sometimes think diabetes management is mostly about discipline.
But many days it feels more like constantly adapting to a body that changes its rules without warning.
Three careful days of improving numbers. One tiny loose infusion set. And suddenly you are awake all night watching 570 on a glucose meter while your head itches and your body feels like it has run a marathon.
Today I’m wobbly and worn out.
And honestly? A little frustrated.
Because just when you think you are finally getting things back under control, diabetes likes to remind you it never really sleeps.