"I feel so lost," Susanne says, her voice crestfallen.

She calls me at work to give me the 10:15 am blood sugar report.

Great, I think to myself, she's going to say that he's really high or really low.

My desk is at the base of a winding staircase that has translucent neon green panels. I sit here, watching people climb up and down steps all day. Up and down. Up and down. Some climb slow and steady. Others descend quick and reckless, reaching the floor level with a thump.

I watch flickering stock market numbers and a cerulean blue mountain range of line charts on my computer screen. Always changing. Never at rest. The FTSE 100 Index up 94. The Nikkei down 74. Mexican Bolsa Index down 312. But I just see blood sugars.

"Why are you lost?"

Susanne goes on to tell me how Charlie's blood sugar was 100, but there's still one unit active and he's about to go to gym class. She told Charlie's aide to only punch in eight of the 20-carb snack he was about to have and to keep a close eye on him. Since he's on the lower end, she only counts half of the carbs then takes off another two due to a potentially active gym class. We rarely listen to the pump's suggestions. The very suggestions that we programmed.

"This system we have ,," she says. "We're a mess."

"Who will know what to do if I die?"

Active insulin is our undoing. It's more like reactive insulin. It forces us to react. Sometimes beautifully and other times miserably. We'll enjoy the moment for now. This time Susanne nailed it.

Other people just take the elevator.