Poem a day #11 Counting with Sue

Counting with Sue

At 49, but otherwise feeling fine,
get her carbs to eat, fast.

By 30, she’ll refuse food, so pour
the Juicy Juice into her mouth
and rub her throat
to help her swallow. Start with
two boxes, squeeze her blood
onto the strip 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—
declare crisis over or rip another
plastic straw off the back of a box.

150 and all is well.

180 and all is well but no dessert.

77—yeah, time for a milkshake!

At 60 or lower, with a migraine pounding in,
call 911. With the migraine comes
the vomiting, with the vomiting drops
the glucose, with the glucose
drops the consciousness. Pray the EMTs
respect this disease, pray the IV
sinks in first try.

37 units = daily base level

1 to 10 = unit of insulin to gram of carb ratio

1/2 syringe—enough insulin for a night
of rowdy sex without carrying a cooler
for the little blue bag

5 days between pump site changes

50 test strips in a tube. Check the quantity
before going anywhere.

250— fuck, I left the pump on suspend.

385—fuck, I forgot to count the bagel
I ate before breakfast.

At 500—blood becomes lead weights dragging
dense through the veins. Take as many units
as a body can bear, go to bed and
try to sleep until the feeling of muscles
being shredded fades.

Always carry the glucose meter

Never eat, not anything, not ever
without counting and calculating,
planning and pumping.

Always. Never.
Always. Never.


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