As long as I can remember, I have had the most vivid dreams.
It started very little as nightmares or dreams of being a princess where my
night in shining armor would come rescue me. Then, I moved on to other ideas of
how life should be. At the age of eight, I read that Steven King (who I actually
was reading at the time) wrote his terrifying thrillers and horrors from dreams
he has had and taken notes on. I have a kept a journal bedside since I was
eleven to record some of the chilling ones that would keep me awake if I didn’t
get them out of my head. I have written short stories on the really horrifying
ones, and the people who have read them always had goose bumps before they put
them down. Talking on the phone to my Grandma a little over a year ago, she
asked, “Are you still having those horrible night mares? It was impossible to
keep you in bed as a child, let alone get you down!”
I have always been able to do things in dreams that people
claim to be impossible. I can see my hands. I can change between first person
and third person. I can remember them. I have died tragically in dreams. I have
watched above at my own funeral. I have talked to loved ones who have passed
away and felt comfort from them wiping my tears. I have slept walk and found myself
in some peculiar places: on top of the kitchen table, with food all around me
and the table set has been one of my favorites. I have jumped on clouds and
spoken to angels. I have flown. I have saved the world and destroyed it. I have
been chased, and chased back. And I have been in war jumping in an out of
trenches.
About seven months ago, the night mares stopped! It has been
wonderful. I have the strangest dreams, but they aren’t scary nor do they leave
me with horrible anxiety. They make me wonder if I took drugs the night before without
knowing it.
Last night was a first. I’ve only been diagnosed with
diabetes for almost three years. As type two originally, then LADA. I’ve been a
pump user for one year, six months and some odd days. And diabetes has yet to
enter my dream world, until last night.
I was just walking through a park, with my meter case in
hand, when my pump started going off. “Dangerously Low Reservoir” it said. (It
never truly displays that.) Within a minute later, “Warning! Low Blood BG.” I
stop to check and my meter says 41. I look for glucose tabs in my meter case,
but of course they aren’t there. My pump starts vibrating again. “You’re High!
You’re High!”
“What is going on with my pump!” I think. It never talks
like this!
“Just kidding.” It reads.
I laugh out loud. Then, one more display.
“You’re going to be okay.”
I woke up and was a little anxious. I was high most of the
day. But my pump wasn’t yelling at me. I did have to change my site today, but
not because my pump told me, “Dangerously Low Reservoir.”
My pump is of course a part of my every day life. But it
never has appeared in my dreams. And I’ve never had a conversation with it
before. This was a first.
I’m intrigued to find out when it’s going to make it’s next
appearance in my dream world.
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