There are some days when a person ought to just stay in bed. 

Under the covers.

Cuddled with the cat.

Warm and safe and happy and comfortable.

There are some days when staying in bed is the best possible option.  Of course, those days are often realized in hindsight.  When the proverbial ball is already rolling in the absolute wrong direction.

Today has been, without a doubt, one of those days.

I got up this morning feeling alright.  Fairly well-rested, actually, and not fighting - as I'm wont to do - the inevitable reality that another day has dawned and it can't be spent in the paradise of slumber.

I started getting ready for the shower, still feeling pretty well.  Then I looked at my pump.  Fourteen units of insulin left.  Only about half of what I need to make it through the day.  This was frustrating.  I knew this morning's would be the only shower I'd have an opportunity to take before my insulin was plum out.  And frankly, I don't like the idea of walking around with so little insulin in the canister and I HATE the idea of changing a site with no shower.  Both of these options are disconcerting and make me nervous. 

So, I pulled the site.  Which bled.  Profusely.  All over my clean, white and yellow striped towel.  All over me. 

"Damn it."  I thought aloud.  The cat looked up at me, and I uttered, "We should've stayed in bed." 

I hopped in the shower, got the site unsticky, and started to feel a little better.

Grabbing my site change stuff from the closet and tossing them on the bed, I thought maybe I felt the very beginnings of a headache.  But I shrugged it off, got dressed, dried my hair.  By the time I sat on the bed to change the site, I realized the headache threat was still looming and I  realized I was enormously confused.  I had actually gotten up twice by that point.  First to put on shoes - which were already on my feet.  Next to put on deodorant - which was already applied.  Uh oh.  I sat back down and tested.  29 mg/dl. 

"Just FAAANNN-TASTIC!" I said to the cat, who yowled at me.  "We should've stayed in bed."

I drank a juice box as I finally got my site change underway.  Twenty minutes later, with my bloodsugar at 83 mg/dl and a fresh canister of insulin pumping into a new cannula, I started feeling better.  Again.

And then I couldn't find my keys.  My frustration mounted as I checked my coat, my bag, my desk, the counter in the kitchen, the place by the bed where I'd laid my bag the night before.  I was a little sweaty and downright angry when I finally discovered them, in a hidden pocket of my "Mary Poppins-worthy" purse. 

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."  I said to the cat, who had been watching me and looking very entertained, "We definitely should have stayed in bed."

I got in my car, some sugar-free fruit punch in a travel mug in the cup holder, and made my way toward work.

Three miles down the road and the hand bringing the juice to my mouth seemed to lose its ability to function.  I ended up with a lap - and a seat - full of red juice. 

The cat was nowhere around, and I couldn't tell you what I said just then anyhow.  This is a family website. 

Back home I went.  Grumbling under my breath.

In the time I was home, I dropped the following: a ring (which I couldn't find), a shoe (which I had to take off to change my pants), my pump (which refused to cooperate with me as I put it back in its pouch), and my IPhone (which I had used to check the time).  Do we see a theme? 

I finally had the good sense to test again.  38 mg/dl.

"I really can't believe this."  I said to the cat.  "Whiskey Tango Foxtrot? Why didn't we stay in bed?" 

The cat, as usual, responded with a yowl.

Thirty minutes later, and now officially late for work, I tested at 89 mg/dl.  I thought I'd make another go of getting to work.  With several juice boxes, a package of crackers, and other emergency items in tow, I left the house for a second time.

And actually made it to work.

Where I sat down at my desk and looked at a grant I'd been writing.  And I couldn't make sense of it.  At all.

Tested again, 44 mg/dl.  No cat, and a boss around.  I simply said, quietly, "Why? Why? Why?  I just want to go back to bed..."

Treated this time with a juice box and some peanut butter on an apple.

Still only cruised up to 104 mg/dl.  Where I've been sitting for about the past 3 and a half hours.  Even through a light lunch with a light amount of insulin.

But I still desperately want to go back.  To.  Bed.   With the cat.

It's just been one of those days.

We've all had them.  Tell me about yours...