I knew it would happen somewhere, sometime, and with somebody, but I didn’t know where, when or with whom, but I knew it absolutely would happen.

So, there I was doing some most excellent seductivication of that dude I love. I was in slut-adjacent sleepwear and my mouth was pretty busy; and then it happened, a 🚨BRITISH POLICE SIREN 🚨 begins blaring awkwardly from my phone which was buried under bedding and pillows.

We both giggle and he asked me, “um, why are the British police yelling at us?” With a deep sigh I replied, “that means my blood sugar is low.”

So, we dig out my phone and yep, was pretty low (55mg/dL for those wondering) but I drank my emergency juice box (what? You don’t save lives with a juice box? Weird.) and we both sat there and watched the phone. Then it went lower.

Fuuuuuuck.

So then he went and gathered me some candy and a regular soda (cause love) but it was extreme sour candy and a warm ginger beer (🤢) so I tried to eat the aggressively sour candy while he went and got me some ice and the non-sour candy.

Ate and drank and treated for all the carbs and low blood sugar, but the mood was completely destroyed and it was super late, so once I hit the high 60s, we went to sleep.

Only to be woken 4 hours later to ANOTHER 55mg/dL. 🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨🙄

I drank the rest of the soda, ate pack of candy, and said fuck it and went back to sleep.

Long story to just say, diabetes is a COCK BLOCKING BASTARD.

Love, H.