Diabetes Hypoglycemia  
Dating, late 20's
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An orchestra of tits and bums:

two au pairs in my one very small bed, caressing and touching, stroking and oohing. I’m standing there a useless prick testing my sugar for the sixth time; reduced to an onlooker at the world’s most interactive show. The only thing stopping me from cumming is the shock of all the excitement that this is happening to me, and adrenalin mixing with sugar making me shake.

Walking down West End Lane, returning from Sainsbury’s and a severe hypo in their customer car park, she sputters from prolonged silence, ‘I know you’re diabetic and everything and when that happens it’s important you have sugar and everything – then the Australian tan lined face of fucked off – but I’ve had a bad headache all day and I haven’t gone on about it.’ Then she dumps me.

Bradleys’ Spanish Bar, just off Oxford St, Sunday afternoon, boozy conversation with an out of hours client, discussing what colleagues she has fucked and my sugars fallen in the background to two point eight. I’m munching through a Snickers bar; head still halfway into my bag. I turn back to her, she leaps backward three feet, ‘Stay away from me, I’m allergic to peanuts.’ I’m glad she never wanted to see me again. I’d give up sex before I’d give up on Snickers bars.

I met her on Myspace, tall, blonde, size zero; she drinks as much as I do, and not only gets her round in but returns with a packet of cigarettes from the bar; returning to find me having my night-time insulin when her face falls. Her ex-boyfriend was diabetic, he went out of control when his sugar was out of control, then slapped her around. Didn’t help his name is also Paul.

 

 

 

 

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‘In my country, where I was a Nurse, so many men they have this. And then their toes go black and feet need to be cut off.’ One step at a time; whatever it takes to get away from this Czech Princess.

Saw her sitting on a bench reading her book in Paddington Station; long blonde hair as in her description, pretty face as in the photo. Shoulders on down getting wider and rounder to seemingly no end, certainly not in her profile; no way am I dating this heifer. So I slip on by, facing the opposite direction, hand in my jackets right pocket turning down the volume rocker. Out of the station, heading back toward trusty Abbey Road and a quick text message to say, “Sorry I can’t make it my diabetes is playing up.”

My mobile phone goes and it’s the Art Student; she had only just started driving home twenty minutes ago, ‘Tears, crying, upset, you treated me like you never wanted me there all weekend. You made me feel completely in your way.’ I certainly didn’t mean to, I really quite liked the Brightonian girl, and she looked great wearing nothing but a red cowboy hat.

 

 

 

 

Chapters

square point Preface
square point Heads, diabetes
square point Tails, diabetic
square point Succumbing to the D
square point How did this happen?
square point Dating, late 20's
square point Love
square point The talk, human resource
square point The three bears
square point Sugar levels ill, sugar levels well
   
   
   
   
   

 

 
 

 

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Blood sugar test strips. My cat swallows these  
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