"Sometimes I Hate the Beets, boo."

It's 2am. I am sleeping peacefully until...

"Bz-bz-bz-bz-bz-bz-bz-bz."

But soft, what light from under bedsheet breaks? 'Tis my Cozmo, and I am annoyed. I went to bed with a nasty, sticky, obnoxious high. High enough that I corrected via syringe instead of my pump. I figure I forgot to bolus for dinner.

I check my glowing pump. Matt stirs next to me for a minute, but doesn't wake up. "Blockage Detected--No delivery." I had been sleeping on the same side as my infusion site. I figure this must be the problem as I clear my error, delivery restarts, and I roll over onto my other side.

Back to sleep. A little while later...

"Bz-bz-bz-bz-bz-bz-bz-bz." Same error. Clears just fine. Delivery restarts just fine. In my sleepy fog, I don't even think to recheck my BG from before bed.

4am rolls around. "Bz-bz-bz." You are shitting me, I think to myself as I grope around under the covers for my pump. It can't be another no delivery alarm. My sleep for the night is ruined enough as it is. What the hell? I squint at the too-bright pump screen in the bedroom darkness. "Cartridge Volume Low." Whew. Not so bad. I have enough insulin to last the few hours until I need to wake up for work. I clear the error. I go back to sleep.

It feels like I've been sleeping for about ten minutes when..."Bz-bz-bz-bz-bz-bz-bz-bz!!!" Oh. My. God. Why? I'm tired. Why me? It's 5:30am. If my pump could take action, it would surely beat my face into the pillow all night.

"That's it!" I declare aloud. I scramble around the bedside collecting a new Cleo, more insulin, a new reservoir. Matt half wakes up. "You seem frustrated," he mutters, putting his hand on the small of my back. "Are you okay?"

"No. Stupid pump keeps giving me stupid no delivery alarms. Looks like I need to just change the whole damn set. I slept like crap and now it's 5:30 and then I'll only get to sleep well for another hour until you wake up and go to work...UGH!"

"I'm sorry," says Matt.

I lean all of my weight on him, collapsing onto his chest for a moment for a big bear hug. "Sometimes I really hate the Beets, boo."

"I know," he says. "It'll be okay, baby. Do you need the light on?"

"Just the one in the closet will do."

I am lacking in sleep. I feel crappy. I still feel sticky. Finally, a finger prick reveals a BG of 306. I bolus through my pump just to make sure everything is working okay. I go back to bed.

I wake up around 8:15am still feeling like crap. My BG has coasted back down to about 170, but my stomach feels queasy. I decide to stay home today. Damn it, diabetes, sometimes I hate you more than anything. I gave you the benefit of the doubt this morning, blaming my general bad feelings on some potentially old chicken salad I ate for dinner last night, but I think it was you screwing up my entire day. I hate missing work because of you. It just reminds me of the fact that I have an illness and that illness is sometimes unpredictably out of control to a degree that I can't stand.

It's National Diabetes Awareness month, and I hope that the whole world is aware of just how serious and sucky this damn disease is. It can ruin a night, ruin an entire day, ruin an entire lifetime if you let it.

I have a good life, but sometimes the D just gets the best of me.