Today is the day for the letter "B."

Future posts featuring letters of the alphabet are forthcoming. Thanks to a suggestion from a comment on my previous post, I'm asking you, the reader, to help me decide what C, D, E, etc. will stand for. What would you like to read about?

There are so many Bs in the life of a pumping diabetic. B for blood sugar, bolus, basal. Today, though, B is for Basketcase. Did you ever have a blood sugar reading that left you emotional? A reading that left you confused? Afraid? Lost? A reading that left you feeling like a total basketcase? I'm sure you've gathered by now that I have.

The readings that leave me feeling beside myself are mostly the out-of-range blood sugars that confound or frustrate me. The 365 mg/dl after chinese food that I thought I'd covered just right - the 50 mg/dl in the middle of a great workout - the 228 mg/dl after I've miscalculated a bolus. Every so often, though, I'm left at my wits end by a perfectly perfect blood sugar level.

Last week, on a gorgeous afternoon, my boyfriend and I went on a little adventure. We drove to Portsmouth New Hampshire to have lunch, check out a new venue for his band, and visit a friend of ours at a recording studio up that way. We put the music on low in the car, gassed up, and hit the road. We chatted about life, about music, books, work. When we left the house at 1, I tested at 100 mg/dl. We arrived around 3:30 in Portsmouth and went to lunch at a cool pub. I tested again at 89 mg/dl. A bowl of soup, a salad, and a small glass of wine later, I took my boy's hand and we headed for our other destinations. It was a lovely afternoon - not too cold and bright and sunny. And being in Bob's company is always fun. We enjoyed some time at the club and got the band booked and then visited with our good friend Jim.

At around 7:30, we headed back to the car. Back toward home. Sitting in the passenger's seat, I drew blood and tested. 121 mg/dl. Perfect. So, why was I crying? The tears were streaming down my face and my throat ached with the sob I knew was coming.

"Are you alright?" Bob asks "Do we need juice? You seem fine."

I can hear the edges of panic, slim and sharp, in his voice.

"No, I'm OK. I guess. I don't know. Why am I crying??" I say.

"Test again... Maybe something's off."

And it dawns on me. "Nothing's off," I say, "I'm just sick and tired of this. Of all of these numbers. Of this constant 'thing' that follows me everywhere. I'm sick of how a perfectly awesome day has to include this imperfect piece of me. It makes me angry and sad and...." I'm blubbering a bit now... Sniffing and hicking.

"I wish I knew what it was like. I hadn't thought about diabetes today at all. Your numbers have been so good and the day has been so nice." Bob says.

I know he's right. But I don't say anything. And my tears continue to fall.

"You're right," I say, "I just wish I could not think of it. I wish I could let good numbers be just good numbers. But I don't. And I can't. And I hate that."

"I know," he says, kissing my cheek and resting his hand beneath my chin. Then he hits the brim of my cap and says "Hey, did you get a free bowl of soup with that hat?"

And the world is righted. My grin fills my face without my permission. A laugh boils up and escapes. Diabetes is filed back into its place. Filed beneath the layers of joy and love and magic and laughter my life holds. Filed beneath the sunlight of this afternoon and the smile on my boyfriend's face and the music that fills the car as we hit the highway.

I know that diabetes will rear its ugly head again. And that sometimes, it will come, as it did on that day, at the time I least expect it. I can only hope that the magic of my life outside of blood sugars and basals and boluses and numbers will be enough to right the world and keep it righted more often than diabetes can throw it off course.

So, B is for Basketcase. But only for as long as I let that be the case.