Kryptonite

Today's Prompt: Superpower Day. If you had a superpower – what would it be? How would you use it?

I already have superpowers. I don't know what you're talking about with this 'what if' stuff.

For over 21 years now, on a daily basis, I function without a vital organ, requiring me to do its job externally 24hrs a day.

I grew two people in my uterus. And one of them requires superhuman vigilance due to her thrill-seeking love of danger. And jumping.

I can get two babies down for a nap, well-fed, in clean diapers, and type this blog post in my iPhone Notes app with my thumb. My THUMB, I say.

I can rattle off every song title that each of my students ever sang on a recital for me for the last decade.

So what if I can't remember that I have diabetes sometimes?

Huh?

Yeah, okay, so there are distinct points of failure. Cracks in the dam. You know...balls unjuggled.

I can't tell you how often in the last two weeks I've forgotten to eat or take my insulin when I do eat.

Disclaimer: Yes, I may eat anything I like as a person with type 1, if I account for it.

But I'm thinking of firing my accountant.

On Friday, I hosted a gathering of mommy friends at my house. Someone brought cake. I had some. Okay, I had at least 3 pieces. At least.

My supply kit with my pump PDM/meter and strips was in the other room. At no point did any neurons fire and say, 'hey, idiot, bolus some insulin for that carbfest.'

When the last friend left and I had two sleeping babies melted across my lap, it hit me what I had overlooked. I tested.

432.

Seriously?

I've been doing this for over two thirds of my life. I rarely see 200s and 300s these days. And then this?

Dexcom had been too far out of range to call me out and needed to be calibrated. I cringed as I dialed all the way up to 432. It took forever. A walk of shame with arrow keys.

So why does this happen? Am I a bad diabetic? Was I trying to get away from my diabetes for a day? Is cake my kryptonite and I'm just weak?

No. And don't you dare judge me - or any of us.

I'm human. I was distracted. I had babies and houseguests and diapers to change. Interesting conversations going on with interesting people.

It happens. To all of us.

It happens because this disease is f-ing hard and f-ing relentless. You can't let it slide out of the forefront of your mind or something like a 432 happens. You don't get a reprieve because you're sleep-deprived with your colicky newborn. You can't just BE for a day.

I wonder if that's how superheroes feel.

Some days I bet it'd be nice to just be Clark Kent. To not have to search the sky for chaos. To look up and just enjoy the stars. Maybe with a slice of cake.