I’m not a happy pump. She’s up to something. I know my 4th birthday is just around the corner and I’m starting to think my present will be a cardboard box and a stamp to ship me back to where I came from. The end is nigh dear friends, I’m facing the final curtain, I don’t have much longer to spend on this mortal planet… [you’re a machine, get a grip or I’m going to remove your batteries – Alison]
She thinks that because I can’t see the computer screen from where I sit on her waistband, I don’t know that she’s googling my potential replacements. She’s wrong. I can hear her betrayal in the sound of every key stroke as she’s emailing companies about their latest gizmo and when it will be available.
Apparently I’m not good enough anymore. At 4 years old, I can’t be trusted not to keel over at any moment so my warranty won’t be renewed. And of course, madam feels she needs a pump and CGM that’s even more whizz bang than me. One with more types of CGM alarms – I can tell you now that they’ll never last, they’ll do her head in within hours and she’ll be looking for the off switch. One with smaller basal rates – I like to think of myself as generous but she finds me a bit too heavy handed at times, apparently a gentle touch is needed when adjusting basals and I’m just not in touch enough with my inner-pump to meet her sensitive requirements
For now though, I’ll continue with my faithful servitude until that fateful day arrives. I won’t walk off the job like that selfish pancreas did. Oh no, I’ll keep going until the new interloper arrives. And while I’m doing that, I am open to offers to spill all of Alison’s secrets. There isn’t much that’s happened over the last 4 years that I’ve not had a ring side seat for. Secrets will be shared subject to an appropriate donation to my retirement fund.