A Note From Dexi
Today's post is for the 'tell me a story' wildcard category for diabetes blog week. Write a short story personifying a diabetes tool you use on a daily basis. A meter, syringe, pump, pill, etc. Give it a personality and a name and let it speak through you. What would it be happy about, upset about, mad about? More stories from your favorite diabetes tools can be found here!
My name is Dexi. I'm a 'continuous glucose monitoring system.' Sounds boring, but I'm really terrific!
I'm a big help around here. I keep track of the girl's blood sugar all the time and map it out on a graph for the people to look at. They can ask me for a number anytime and I gladly share what I know. If the numbers aren't so good - like they're too high or too low, I vibrate and sometimes I even beep. This, they tell me, helps keep the girl safe and healthy. I'm very important.
At first the people were really interested in every little thing I told them. They pushed my buttons all the time, and exclaimed about my usefulness and said things like, 'what did we do before we got this?'
Now I don't get as much attention as I used to. Sometimes, like after we've gone out to dinner, or if the girl is sleeping in a different bed, I get looked at a lot. Usually, though, I get left in a bag or on the table for most of the day and night. It's boring and I don't like it.
So, well...can you keep a secret? Really...you can't tell them, o.k.?
Here's the thing. The other night I did something just to get attention.
It had been a few nights since anyone had paid any attention to me at all once it was dark out. It's really boring sitting on that bedside table all night by myself, keeping track of boring numbers. My alarmer was getting out of practice. So I alarmed.
"LOW!" "Under 70!" "Bzzt. Bzzt." And guess what? It worked! The lady reached over and picked me up. She carried me in to where the girl sleeps. I got to see all the stuffed animals! She used that thing she thinks is more reliable than I am. "Never give insulin without using the meter first,' she always reminds the girl.
"132?" She whispered it since the girl was sleeping but she whispered it mean-like and I think she glared at me. She used the meter thing again. "Yup. 134. Uggh..." Then she pressed my buttons some more and I was supposed to agree that 133 was obviously the number the girl's blood sugar was.
"71," I replied. Did she think I was going to admit what I'd done? Then what might happen to me? I'd get even less attention. I eventually let myself creep up to the right number again, but not so quickly that they'd be on to me.
Usually I'm very good. Really. Sometimes the meter and I have exactly the same number. You should see how happy they are then. But if they start ignoring me again...well... I might have to take action.