I knew it wasn’t helping anything, but I couldn’t rationalize with my anger about the whole situation sometimes.
It was just really fucking frustrating that my body wasn’t working like it used to. That I had to watch, had to monitor, had to second-guess everything I wanted to do because what if my sugar went too high or too low?
I was used to my body doing what it was supposed to, with pushing through discomfort if I was busy.
But I couldn’t do that anymore.
If I wasn’t careful, highs or lows could get downright dangerous. I had to be hyperaware of my body sensations. I had to stop when they were telling me something. I had to test, to correct, to test again.
It felt like it was getting in the way.
Especially on important nights like this.
Nights when I had to be away from home for long periods, when I couldn’t carry a whole bag full of supplies with me. When things could get messy and dangerous. And prolong testing.
I sighed, pushing those thoughts away, then reached into the shower to turn on the water.
I moved in front of the mirror, reminding myself that I was adjusting, that things were getting a little better. I’d even put a little weight back on. I could see it in my cheeks. They’d become sunken before I’d gotten diagnosed.
I looked like me again.
Full cheeks, full lips, cleft chin, brown eyes that didn’t look permanently puffy and purple-smudged from exhaustion.
I reached up, pulling my brown hair from its claw clip, then started to strip.
My body wasn’t fully back to normal yet. I still had another five or ten pounds to gain back to get where I used to be.
I wanted to get back to working out, lifting weights, but I knew that exercise could cause rapid blood sugar changes, and I’d been too paranoid to take the risk yet.
There was time.
I had to focus on my priorities.
And the top of that list was gathering intel.
Then planning my damn revenge.
After that, I could focus on getting my life more on track. Get better about monitoring. Learn to cook so I could better manage my levels. Find the courage to workout again. Learn to stop being so angry.
But today was not that day, so I took my shower, got dressed in all black, as usual, slipped on some hoop earrings and red lipstick, then went back into the kitchen to test again.
“Today is not my day,” I grumbled at the result, then went to get more juice.
I waited another fifteen minutes to test yet again. Finally, I was where I should be and could grab Sugar’s leash, my bag, and head out of my apartment.
“It’s a nice day, huh?” I asked her as we set a leisurely pace out of the apartment complex and down the palm tree-lined suburbs.
It had taken a lot of getting used to, living around downtown Fontana. It was an area my friends and I frequented a lot for fun. Though, yeah, if we really wanted to yuck it up, we went into L.A.
But up until the past year, I’d lived in the nearby rural area around Lytle Creek. Quiet. Seclusion. Away from prying eyes. Just how I liked it.
So living in a busy city with two hundred thousand other people? Yeah, that was not my ideal by any stretch of the imagination.
“We’re making do, though, right?” I asked Sugar as she stopped to read her pee-mail on a fire hydrant we passed as we got closer to the downtown city center. “Lotta news today, huh?” I asked as she sniffed away.
We didn’t get out much, so I tried to let her do all the sniffing she wanted when we were out on a walk.
We finally made it to the pharmacy.
