37. Constitution Save Failed #2
I make myself eat something because skipping dinner while sick and chasing numbers is exactly the kind of decision that creates a second problem for no reason.
Nothing huge.
Something easy and mostly protein.
I dose for it, drink more water, and take the next antibiotic dose.
The house moves around me in its normal evening rhythm.
Micah comes home from a single appointment he had at the shop.
Dex disappears for a while and returns carrying takeout he claims he acquired because “none of you appreciate the importance of emotional-support noodles.”
Ronan works downstairs until after seven.
Everyone asks how I'm doing at least once.
No one hovers.
Mostly because I threaten violence when Dex tries.
“You are on probation,” I tell him when he follows me toward the stairs.
“I am checking on the patient.”
“I am not your patient.”
“Fine. The token household diabetic.”
“Worse.”
He leans against the banister. “Your number still sucks.”
“I know.”
“Do we care?”
“Nope.”
His forehead creases. “Because infection?”
“Yes.”
“And Griffin agrees.”
“Yes.”
“And you checked the stabby blood thing.”
“Ketones.”
“The stabby ketone thing.”
“Yes. They were basically nonexistent.”
Dex nods, visibly filing that under information I do not fully understand but trust Cami about. “Okay.”
Then his eyes narrow. “If it goes stupid-high, though—”
“My phone will scream.”
“So will ours,” Micah assures him.
“Unless you muted yours,” I add. He looks offended.
“I would never.”
From the living room, Micah calls, “You muted yours an hour ago.”
Dex twists around. “That was temporary.”
“Still muted.”
Dex checks. “Oh.”
I laugh. “Very reassuring.”
He unmutes it. “There. Guardian angel restored.”
“You are nobody's guardian angel.”
“Rude.”
I continue upstairs. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Dollface.”
The words follow me down the hall.
Easy.
Normal.
Around ten, I shower.
Mostly because I finally feel comfortable enough to.
The hot water helps the general ache from a day spent alternating between my laptop and increasingly stupid positions in bed.
While I'm getting dressed, I twist in front of the mirror enough to check the Pod.
Adhesive still looks intact.
No blood.
No wetness where it doesn’t belong.
Nothing angry around the edges that I can see.
It doesn't hurt.
My glucose has drifted back up after dinner, but nothing about the pattern feels dramatically different from the rest of the day.
Then 248.
By the time I climb into bed, Dexcom reads 253 with a sideways arrow.
Annoying.
Not racing.
I poke my finger and check with the meter anyway.
249
Close enough.
I could probably skip another ketone check. The afternoon result was basically nothing, and I feel better than I did then.
But it takes less than a minute, and I know myself well enough to know I'll lie here wondering about it if I don't.
Fresh strip.
Fresh poke.
0.3
Still boring.
Excellent.
I take another picture.
Cami
Bedtime report because I am an exceptionally responsible adult
Fingerstick 253, Dexcom 249
Ketones 0.3
Correction given
Arrow sideways
UTI feels way better
No response.
It’s almost eleven.
Griffin has probably gotten pulled into something—the tracker has been lighting up all night for him too. It’s a busy night in emergency medicine apparently.
I put my phone beside me and open the book I've been trying to read for the last four nights.
My eyes make it through half a page before the words stop sticking.
I am exhausted.
I spent the last two nights waking up every forty minutes because my bladder apparently believed three drops of urine required immediate evacuation.
Tonight, for the first time, I can actually get comfortable.
I can lie still without that pressure starting again.
The relief is so profound I could cry over it.
My phone buzzes.
I grab it, expecting Griffin.
It's the Dexcom.
259
Still sideways.
I sigh. “Yeah, yeah.”
Another buzz comes from the group chat.
Dex
your robot yelled at me
Cami
Infection
Correction onboard
Ketones basically zero
Go away
Dex
define basically
I send him the picture.
Dex
I have no idea what that means
Cami
Exactly
Dex
Griffin knows?
Cami
Yes
Dex
cool
There’s a pause, then:
Dex
love you don’t die
I snort
Cami
Inspirational
Then Ronan appears.
Ronan
0.3 mmol/L is not concerning by itself
I roll my eyes… again.
Cami
Thank you, internet search
Ronan
It is a reputable site.
I grin.
Micah sends a single heart.
Then:
Micah
Need anything before we go to bed?
Cami
Nope
Water, meter, insulin, phone
I’m good
Dex
emotional support noodles?
Cami
Absolutely not
Dex
your loss
I put my phone back on the nightstand.
Water bottle full.
Meter beside it.
Phone charging.
Antibiotic finally making me feel human again.
I've done what I know to do.
One of the harder things about diabetes is learning the difference between vigilance and refusing to ever stop watching yourself.
There is always another number available if I want one.
Another fingerstick.
Another graph.
Another thing I could theoretically check.
At some point, though, I've been diabetic long enough to know when I have enough information to make a reasonable decision.
Right now, I do.
I turn onto my side.
The Pod sits high enough on my buttock that I can feel the edge of the adhesive when I settle into the mattress, but nothing pinches or stings.
My phone screen lights again.
261
I consider setting another timer.
Then remember I am literally wearing a device designed to alert me if this changes significantly.
Four other people are following it.
Griffin has probably looked at my graph from the ambulance approximately fourteen times today while pretending he hasn't.
I'm covered.
I change the settings on my Dexcom app, so it will still alert me if I dramatically go up, but won’t keep me up all night if I stay pretty much where I am.
For the first time since the UTI started, my whole body feels heavy in the good way.
The room is cool.
My bladder doesn't hurt.
My last thought before sleep is that tomorrow I am going to make Dex stop calling ketone testing the stabby blood thing.
Probably.
Maybe.
It is unfortunately kind of accurate.
Then I fall asleep.