The Shovel

Did another follow-up call with my doctor, Dr. S, this morning. I’ve had a couple of nights where I’ve been running under 70 on the blood sugar count (and had two low sugar reactions in the middle of the night), so he’s cutting my long-lasting morning insulin dose from 30 to 26 units, which makes me happy because Lantus is $80 a bottle.

He wants me to cut down my blood monitoring to twice a day – once before breakfast and again before dinner (and any time I feel weird, of course). The idea is that I should only have to take 2 shots a day now instead of 4 (and to be honest, I haven’t had to take 4 shots a day since the first week and a half or so).

I also received a ridiculously big check from Jenn’s parents, who – when they heard about my shit insurance and huge deductible ($2500) – said nobody should be worried about health insurance.

I don’t deserve this sort of generousity. The love I get from the people around me is staggering.

The money is enough to set me breathing slightly easier, and be so thankful, once again, that I’m surrounded with amazing, generous, loving people.

How the fuck did I get so lucky?

Because that’s the one thing I don’t ever want to forget. The fact that I’m alive is one big roll of the dice, and I’m damn lucky. I arrived home from the hospital knowing I was going to miss two weeks of work I couldn’t afford to miss – and opened up my email while still in a high-blood-sugar-daze to find that I’d been assigned another two writing passages for the contract writing job. The total check for that work is nearly equal to two weeks of work at my day job.

I’m not a huge believer in coincidence. Luck, maybe.

The universe will wack you in the back of the head with a shovel, but if you’re lucky and work hard and value the people you love; if you’re brave enough to accept some help in dragging yourself up off the floor, well, the universe just might help you take care of yourself, too.

After it hits you with the shovel, of course.

Fucking shovel.

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