To My Dearest and Most Favorite Robot Part, Jim:
Our relationship is still “new”, as we’ve only been together since January. I can still remember the day you arrived in that shiny green and white Dexcom box, all full of promise and hope. We’ve had some great times, and you’ve been a life-saver more than once. But, like in all relationships, communication is important, and there are some things I want to discuss with you. Please don’t get me wrong; there are plenty of things I love about you - I’ll get to those in a minute.
First, we need to address something. There are times where you’re… well… irritating. Like last night, when you were telling me for two hours that I was “LOW”. I didn’t wake up right away (is there any way you could speak up a little more? I’m a heavy sleeper), but when I did, I totally panicked. I rushed out to the kitchen to test (I know, I know, bringing my meter to the bedroom nightstand would make MUCH more sense – but we’re talking about you right now, not me), and came up with a very reasonable 80. I tested again – 79. I really appreciate that you freak out on my behalf, but really, you need to work on your accuracy. I don’t appreciate your BEEEEEP BEEEEP!s at 2am, when I actually have a perfectly good fasting blood sugar going – which then becomes much higher, due to the stress of you waking me up. It’s rude, Jim.
Then, later this morning – you told me I was peaking at 172 after breakfast, and I was feeling pretty happy about that. It’s not an ideal number, but it had looked better than I’d been after breakfast all week. When I realized I hadn’t tested since breakfast, I consulted your friend Ping, and guess what I found? 227. Really? You’re going to lie to me like that?
Also, Jim, you should know that I don’t like compromising. You're expensive and highly touted, so I expect a lot from you. When you say I’m 172, and I tell you that, no, actually, I’m 227 – don’t come back with “Oh, okay, how about 202?” You cannot meet me in the middle, when I’ve just proven to you that you’re wrong. Please take me at my word, and believe that I’m 227.
With all this said, you’re actually a great guy to have around. Most of the time, I’m very proud of you, Jim. I frequently find that you and my finger sticks match up quite nicely, and I appreciate all of the times you’ve saved me from Epic Lows and Holy Crap Highs. I like your fashion sense (those four jackets I bought for you look simply smashing), and I like that you can give me some “time off” (shutting down) when I need it. You don't get confused (???) that often. You've given me the confidence needed to not be "afraid" of lows anymore, because I've got you there to alert me when I'm falling. You have a great sense of balance, as evidenced by you staying straddled between the front and side of the towel bar while I shower every morning. (I was a little afraid at first that you’d fall off, but by golly, you always stick that landing.) But most of all, you’ve done great things for my A1C. I’m not sure I could have done it without you, buddy.
Here's to our future together, in whatever form you take later on.