sans-D

Sometimes I try to imagine what my life would be like sans-D.

I wake up in the morning, climb out of bed without grabbing around for my pump or CGM and I clamber to the bathroom, strip down and get into the shower without disconnecting anything.  Then I lather up without regard to any adhesives or plastic extensions to my body.  

At breakfast I eat.  That’s it.  I eat. Whatever the hell I want.  No measuring. No counting. No poking. Just eating.

I get dressed in pocketless pants and grab my tiny purse and head out the door.

I walk, run, sit, eat, and play without any regard to the concentration of sugar in my blood.  I eat purely for the pleasure of it, or because I’m simply famished.  And I have seconds of dessert.

The only vibrations or beeps coming out of my pockets are the direct result of people trying to contact me on my cell phone.  AND I can turn them off altogether in movie theaters, during meetings, and whenever I’d rather not be bothered.

And I say, “Yes, I’ll gladly accept your offer to work at —– where I have no access to reasonably priced insurance but will be obscenely happy that I get to do the perfect job.”

Wouldn’t it be nice?

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