me v the (autoimmune) asshole
After almost a decade of T1D, I've accepted that on my really, really bad days – like yesterday, which started off great (ok, burning through my welding glove with the laser welder and crustifying the top of my thumb kinda – and still – sucked) continued to be great, then culminated in an evening blood sugar crash while playing HELL IS US that left me on the kitchen floor in a mop-clean-up-required pool of sweat, copious amounts of sugar and glucose gel consumed, and a 330-point bg swing, a tidal wave crashing back to earth overnight – my only goal is to not let the autoimmune asshole win: nothing else matters, everything else swirling can go fuck itself. Except for learning to get cards out of my wallet without the use of my left thumb for a bit. Relieved that I took up sleight of hand and card manipulation when I quit smoking (14 years and counting and yes I miss it every day). Ambidexterity rules, T1D droolz.
