Living.

"Let me drive you home, please?"

"I'm fine," I replied, "not low anymore. Not shaky, not dizzy, not feeling weird, and my blood sugar is 7.2mmol. And I've eaten a granola bar. I'm fine."

"Yeah, but..."

"Yeah but what?!" I interrupted. "This is my normal. Lows are something I'm used to, highs are something I'm used to. If I stopped every time...sought help every time...I'd never do anything alone. You've said I need to trust you, you need to trust me too. I live with diabetes every single day, and have done for the last five and a bit years. I know what I'm doing."

"Fine. Text me when you get home, just so I know you haven't flaked on the train and ended up and the end of the train line!"

"I'm not gonna flake out. And if I do, that's what my medic alert's for - hedge my bets!" I was hoping to lighten the mood, but instead my manager just glared at me. "Okay, seriously, I've done some stupid shit, like frozen my insulin, but I'm not stupid enough to try to make it home if my blood sugar's crummy."

"You've frozen your insulin?!"

"Story for another time, boss. See you tomorrow. I'll text you when I'm home."

I know there are times when I'm fiercely independent and far too stubborn, but this was one I wasn't going to back down on.

For the record, I made it home. Which you've probably gathered seeing as I'm blogging about it.