Certified idiot

I'm an idiot.

I should be issued a certificate to confirm it.

Now I always do stupid things, usually daily. On days when I haven't done anything stupid, I figure something must be wrong. I check my pulse. But it's rare when I do things this ridiculously stupid.

It happened yesterday. After walking our dog, Nutmeg, in the mornning, I grabbed my breakfast bag with whole-grain toast and organic peanut butter along with juices and things designed to keep my blood-sugar levels even throughout the day, jumped into the car and went cruising to work. Once I parked on the North Side and walked the bridge to downtown and settled in at my desk, my first chore after starting up my computer was to test my blood sugar. I opened my duffel bag and discovered that my OneTouch kit was not there. In fact my shoulder bag in which I keep my kit and diabetes supplies, including my cell phone, was absent.

Shock coursed through my bones.

I headed back to the North Side to see if I'd left it in the car.

Not there. Another shock wave sparked through spine and brain. I couldn't believe my stupidity.

I had an 11:30 a.m. interview that required a walk from the Point to Grant Street -- a considerable walk. I loaded my coat pocket with glucose tablets and ate them during the walk to make sure I didn't get shaky prior to or during the interview at the City County Building. I survived the interview without incident, although I could sense that my blood sugar was on the low side.

On the way back to the office, I stopped at a few drug stores to see if there were any cheap machines I could purchase, along with test strips, to get me through the day. But the cheapest I could get would have been about $60, and still I had no insulin (also kept in my shoulder bag) if my sugar climbed too high.

Understand, I test at least once an hour and sometimes more often when my schedule goes whacky or my exercise or activity level increases, as was occurring yesterday. I test 20 times a day. I've been doing this for years, so when I am separated from my test kit, I feel empty, lonely, anxious, despairing, clueless and vulnerable. You can add other adjectives like this and all would fit. Also add the words "dumb" and "stupid" to the list.

Back at the office about 12:45 p.m. and yet to eat lunch, I decided I'd head home near McDonald to get my test kit then head back to work at the Southpointe office to put in a full day. And that's what I did. 

I surprised Nutmeg when I walked into the kitchen earlier than she anticipated and noticed she had been up on her hind legs and knocking over things on the kitchen counter in search of human goodies. She's expert at food thievery. She's eaten loaves of bread, a nutroll, peanut butter sandwiches, boxes of cookies and who-knows-what-else. On this occasion, I discovered the fruit bowl knocked over, a box of tea on the floor that she had been fully involved with and a yellow squash-like melon rolling about on the kitchen counter.

And there behind said melon was my trusty test kit. Hallelujuah!

I tested immediately and my sugar level was a rather low 68.  I was beginning to feel the effects of low blood sugar, including weakness, a bit of depression and a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I grabbed my shoulder bag with my test kit, then got a quick lunch to go, then headed to the office.

And adding to the ridiculousness of this episode, during the ride back to work, I found myself stroking my shoulder bag on the seat beside me as though it were some trusty pet -- my own version of Lassie, that served as a friend, companiion and lifesaver.