Site change day. Given my more or less complete zombie state in the mornings, I was quite proud of myself for remembering. I shut off the alarm clock, took my synthroid, checked my BG (114) and fumbled around until I got a grip on the tape on my stomach for my infusion set and pulled it loose. I left the pump in the bed, grabbed Dex, and headed for the bathroom, my eyes barely open enough to keep me from stepping on the cats. They twined around my legs, meowing in eerie harmonies. We feed Sarah in our bathroom, and Tucker in our bedroom to keep the food away from the dog, so they associate alarm clocks with breakfast. And they want it NOW.
It was only after I'd chased the cats out and turned on the light that I happened to look down. Blood was running down my bare legs, and my bedtime tee shirt looked like something from a slasher flick. There was a huge pattern of blood drops all over the front of my shirt, like I'd been standing right next to Freddy Kreuger's latest victim. Ugh. A dozen large drops on the bathroom floor (and presumably the cats as well, as they are yowling unhappily outside the door).
Good morning, diabetesland! I ball up the tee shirt and press it against my belly, then feed the cats to shut them up before tossing the shirt into the sink next to Dex and hopping into the shower. Only to be interrupted a few minutes later by my husband, pounding on the door to ask if I'm all right. Apparently Freddy Kreuger got the bed too.
Bleeding stopped. New site in. Bathroom floor wiped down. Pajamas, sheets, and bathmat in the wash. Cats at least are self-washing. Just another day with diabetes.
Only I don't like the way the cats are looking at me. Maybe tonight I'll put a baseball bat under my pillow next to Dex. Just in case.