Of low sugars and public transport

They're up, they're down, they're round and round. Just when you think you're stable- diabetes chucks a temper tantrum, just to remind you it's there.
And thanks to this I'm slowly becoming "the weird train lady" also known as the "not at all presentable juicebox carrying uni student"
Unfortunately for me I regularly catch the train in peak hours- not a pleasant experience. There's never any seats and trains that turn up at my station tend to be of the old, rattling, air-conditioning that never works variety.
Team that with diabetes and you'll see where the reputation is coming from.

It's just past 5.30pm and a frizzy haired, barely functioning and bag laden like a pack mule, uni student crams herself into a train. There's nothing to hold on to and the train is completely packed, no one is able to get in this carriage.
You get the picture- I'm a mess and I'm being trodden on by people bigger than me. But what happens when you throw in diabetes?
I notice my mind wandering, fairly normal on a train, but this was a little different. I think the best way to describe it is probably static, or white noise. It's the low sugar brain. I finally recognise it but then comes the task of checking my level to confirm it. But this presents a few challenges
a) I can't move because I'm wedged between three people
b) Moving will annoy everyone and Im pretty sure they're already sick of me considering I smell like chemicals and my bags are enormous
c) I don't have a helpful type 5s to carry my things when I'm trying to check my level

After a few annoyed looks I manage to duck down to grab my bag, check my level and find it's dropping, not yet low but close. The weird looks continue as I attempt to break out a juice box and act casual about it looking more disheveled than before.
From this I've gathered
- going low on public transport sucks
- people think you're weird when you stab yourself in the finger
- I spend a great deal of time on floors either chasing dropped finger prickers, sitting down from low sugars or clawing through my bag to find my fingerpricker
- Peak hours are gross

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