I was lying next to my son Jay (the older one, age seven), reading him a story before bed. My blood sugar was already on the low side, and I had chomped a couple of glucose tablets and set my temporary basal to zero just a few minutes before. The CGM read sixty-six. My preset threshold is sixty-five. I didn’t want it to happen.
But in the middle of a paragraph about whitewater rafting through Australia, it did.
Last night before dinner, my wife ran out to the local A&P on an emergency cream-cheese run. We were planning a traditional post-Yom Kippur meal to break the fast (even though none of us fasted: she because she’s nursing the baby, me because I don’t trust my basal patterns that much, and the kids because they’re too young to subject them to such hunger). Also, we forgot to get it earlier, and you just can’t have bagels without cream cheese. I think that’s the Eleventh Commandment: “Thou shalt always put a schmear on thy bagel”.
But none of that matters.
The point of the story is this: along with said cream cheese, my wife also came home with a bag of Pepperidge Farm Mint Milano cookies.