I miss sleep.

In this journey from normal human aging to receiving the diagnosis of type one diabetes, there have been more adjustments than I can express in a blog.

Sleep, however, is what I’m thinking about right now. Or, rather, the lack thereof.

I woke up to my insulin pump alarming in a tone that will wake me out of my deepest sleep. This is a good thing, because when I am able to catch some actual sleep, it’s a precipitous slide from tired into near coma.

0312. My eyes opened to that beeping the insulin pump engineers must make in a diabetic high range only I can hear, like a dog whistle, because my husband continued to snore, undisturbed by the pump screeching from its case at on my waistband.

I got up and went to the living room, trying to decide if this would be a short or long foray into this dark night.

Turns out, it’s going to be a long one.

I have to change my pump site. I have to refill the cartridge. Anytime I have to replace the whole set, there is going to be at least an hour or two of higher blood sugar. Absorption. Correction. Who knows.

As I sat with my diabetes supplies, semi affectionately referred to as my pancreas, I realized I must have spaced changing my site three days ago, despite having it on my phone calendar. There is no way I can remember when I did what in this endless cycle.

Having diabetes is like a dystopian Groundhog’s Day. You wake up to the same thing every day, some days worse than others. Or, in this case, nights.

Tonight’s version is sliding into morning, but not fast enough for me to get back to sleep any time soon. I’m titrating now. My blood sugar is too high for me to accept before I try to sleep again, which causes the pump to beep and vibrate at me in a regular cadence, prompting me to give myself another small dose to insulin. The pump does the math, thank goodness. I just push the buttons.

I’m not great at math. Especially at 0400.

Between compulsive glances at the CGM (continuous glucose monitor) reading on my Apple Watch, I glare at my dogs. They go wherever I go. I’m grateful for their loyalty, but I covet their sleep.

I’ll be here a while.

Once my blood sugar on the CGM goes below 200 and the arrow is trending down, I’ll trudge back to bed.

If the sun is up, which seems likely, I’ll put on my eye mask, turn on a podcast, and hopefully drift effortlessly back into my deep, near coma like sleep.

And then I’ll start another day of counting carbs on every single thing I eat or drink, inputting it in my food tracker and insulin pump, and try to remember what my life was like before diabetes.

Just 4 years and 8 months ago.

But who’s counting.