Some notice would be appreciated, my dearly departed pancreas
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Oh, and I also chugged a can of Full-Fat Coke, four digestive biscuits and three dextrose tablets, because my rotted pancreas did not let me know in advance that I would be running low, so despite eating low-carb, fresh, well, mostly fresh ‘cos most of it has gone out of date, food, I have no choice but to scarf down a bunch of ‘crap’ or carbs as they are otherwise known, to get my blood levels high enough to function as a Basic Bitch. Or to drive. Or to walk the dog. Or, lordy lord, earn a living.
You see I’ve read the pamphlets. Exercise – 30 minutes in the pool this morning. Oh and then six hours of gardening. Then a dog walk. Tick! Eat low carb, watch the sodium, watch the fats. Tick!
For a cadaverous organ, Type 1 Diabetic Pancreas is quixotic. It didn’t get the memo that I was doing the exact same thing today as I did yesterday, and most of the days before that. Instead it changed the agenda at the last minute then watched as I shuffled my papers, brow sweating. I am the Cookie Monster.
Oh, and the shower is busted. Welcome to Hypolandia.
Dead Pancreas is an asshole.