I’ve been low for about three days. Drank an ocean of juice low. Ate ice cream, full-sugar full-fat OMG-can’t-pin-down-a-working-bolus-for-it ice cream, with barely a blip on the blood sugar radar. I have not increased my activity lately. I have not made any insulin delivery changes. There is nothing to account for the lows I’ve been having.
It’s at times like these that crazy thoughts start to enter my mind. I like to imagine that my islet cells are plotting against me. I’m sure that after lying dormant for 31 years, they are getting bored. I imagine them deep in conversation.
Islet #1: “Yawn. Okay, we need some excitement. Let’s toss some insulin her way just to screw with her.”
Islet #2: “Brilliant. And just when she reconfigures her carb ratios and turns down her basal, we’ll conk out again and watch her rant and rave about being High. All. The. Time. Oh this will be so fun!!”
I know this isn’t true. I know it goes against all reason. But deep in the night, when it’s very still and quiet, if I listen closely I swear I can hear my islet’s evil laughter.