Last night, I had a series of stress dreams. One involved attending a wedding and being mortified by an incredibly rude dream family. In another, I’m climbing stairs to some high up floor of an apartment building, only to have the stairs change into a rickety fire escape that’s about to collapse.
And in one, I’m trying to change out my pump’s insulin cartridge and infusion set site. In the dream, I had to go very slowly because I didn’t quite remember how to do everything. And the steps to follow got more and more complicated. The tubing got longer and thicker and tangled everywhere. I sprayed insulin all over myself. The abandoned room I was sitting in was covered in sawdust and paint chips and dirt and my infusion set got clogged. The part where I looked down at my legs and noticed that all my skin had peeled off and that my feet were covered in boils was disconcerting too.
It’s just the kind of dream I would expect to have after going to the pharmacy the evening before with my last bit of insulin already in my pump, only to have the pharmacist tell me that the insurance company wasn’t paying for more until September. Just as I was about to panic, the pharmacist told me that the 3 month prescription I had my doctor fax to a mail order pharmacy had indeed gone through and that the package would arrive any day. And the insurance company had mercy and let me buy another vial just in case the package took longer than expected.
Sawdust-clogged infusion sets and boils? I can handle that. The prospect of no insulin for three months? Nope, can’t handle that.