Yesterday I started a new project at work, which wouldn't be an incredibly stressful thing except I also had my first softball game yesterday. So I was at a new place and out of my routine--something that diabetics thrive on. I had already missed my afternoon snack, sending me low in the middle of a lab test, so I was already frazzled. With 15 minutes left before I needed to leave, I went to the bathroom to change from my work clothes to my softball clothes.
I was wearing a really pretty peasant dress yesterday that had no pockets. Arnold was securely tucked away in my undergarments, but Constance would switch from my purse to my jacket pocket so I could keep an eye on her. In my hurry to get dressed, I put Constance in my shorts pocket when my medical ID got caught on a loose string. I pulled with one, swift jerking motion and *SNAP* the lobster clasp broke. "Fantastic!" I sarcastically retorted. I had this bracelet since my diagnosis, so it was bittersweet to know it was broken (even though it was still sporting my maiden name). I threw my broken bracelet into my bag, threw my hair into a ponytail, and headed out to my car.
I called Trey on the way, and he asked if I was going to eat before my game at 6 PM. "I'm stopping at a gas station right now to get a candy bar or something." I was about to get out of my car when I reached for Constance in my pocket . . . except she wasn't there! "Nooooooo . . ." I whispered. I immediately freaked! I frantically started going through my gym bag, purse, jacket where she hung out most of the day. I got out of the car and thoroughly inspected underneath the passenger and driver's seats. I forgot the candy bar and jumped back in my car headed back to the lab where I just came from.
I ran back to the lab the same way I came out, scanning the parking lot for my black-colored egg, starting my Easter celebrations early. I went back to the bathroom where I got dressed and got on the floor looking for my trusty CGM. I made 2 more loops around the parking lot (I considered this my "warming up" for the game) before giving up and deciding that my poor little CGM was lost somewhere in a dark place, crying and BEEEEEEEPing for me to find her. I fell back in my car, exhausted and crying, I kept saying "No, no, no!!!" over and over.
|I was already considering making some of these.|
I immediately called Dexcom and inquired how much a new receiver would be. They told me that since my receiver was still under warranty that I would only have to pay half of its normal value (just FYI if you've ever wondered). I decided to wait on ordering another one because I'm not the greatest at finding things, especially when I'm running late/stressed/tears running down my face. I told myself I would wait until I got home and Trey and I could take apart the car together.
I parked at the softball fields, already running 10 minutes late, I decided to go through the car one. more. time. I go through my gym bag, purse, and jacket on the passenger's side as well as looking underneath the seat (also note to self: Holly, clean your car! Pretty sure I interrupted some dust mites having dinner). Then I go over to the driver's seat and looked between the seat and the center console . . . and there she was, neatly tucked between the seat belt clasp and the center console department. I could barely see the familiar opening where the charger cable plugs into. It was as if I put her there on purpose.
I pushed my monstrous hands (yes, for a girl, I have big hands) pass the seat and grab my long-lost CGM and actually kissed it! "Thank you!" I said as a prayer back to God for the many, many "Please help me find it!"s I said on the way to the ballpark. I breathed a sigh of relief and headed to the field, contemplating using duct tape to tape the receiver to my leg. Constance showed that I was 153 mg/dL headed straight up (hello, stress).
So I ended up having a great game, including scoring a nice welt on my left leg from a slide. I went home and Trey and I ordered me a new medical ID. All the while I kept patting my pocket every 5