Wary and Weary

Cairns knows no seasons. There is merely the rainy season and the dry season. At this time of year the transition from the Dry to the Wet is in full swing. The air is hot and humid and tempers fray easily. Mango madness, they call it. For weeks the weather models have fruitlessly predicted it, the population is desperate for it, the dawn sky hints of it: rain.

At night blankets are a distant memory. At best a thin sheet is all that shields naked sleepers from an imaginary dawn chill. The ceiling fan slowly stirs the thick air. A solitary frog croaks his longing for rain. Distant lightning throws its flickering flashes on the wall above my head. In the southeast the kamikaze kite of the Southern Cross draws it’s trajectory through the clouds and the bedroom window. Sleep comes easily though I am wary.

For reasons unknown my sugar is lower than normal this evening, even with less injected insulin. Before retiring I eat a banana to bring it up a little. Levemir usually stops working soon after midnight. I’ll just have to check my sugar doesn’t drop between now and then. An oft-used tactic to ward off the dead-in-bed syndrome. I wake up at 10pm, it’s 5.4. I hold my fire. Check again at 11pm, it’s 5.1 and steady. I’ll make it.

At 40 minutes past midnight I wake up shivering to the sound of: rain! Lovely, beautiful, wet rain. Not a flooding monsoon downpour, more of a steady soaking shower that goes on for hours. Check sugar: it’s 3.6 and dropping! I am not shivering with cold, it’s a hypo coming on. Time for a solitary supper of oat groats, cinnamon and dried fruit boiled in almond milk, gortepap in Dutch, kept in the fridge just for this purpose. Followed by four black jellybeans to stop the sugar spiral.

I lie in bed waiting. The beloved breathes gently and steadily beside me. Oblivious to the rain on the roof, the gurgle of the down pipes, the soprano chorus of frogs, the thumping bass of a bull frog, and best of all, the antics of her type 1 husband’s sugar. One o’clock: check sugar. 4.3 and going up. Time for sleeping. At half past two, another check: 6.8 and steady. I expect it will remain at this level till the morning. I sleep restfully.

Ten to five, time for another check: 4.5 and dropping. I have no idea why, but it doesn’t matter. I boil a pot of tea and eat pre-breakfast.

Another day as a diabeast.

Wary and sometimes weary.

About the author Rien

dutch by birth πŸ‡³πŸ‡± | australian by choice πŸ‡¦πŸ‡Ί | type 1 diabetic πŸ’‰ | married ❀️⚭ | grandfather πŸ‘΄πŸ» | fujifilm photographer πŸ“· | boat builder and sailor ⛡️ | seeker no more πŸš«πŸ“–

All posts by Rien →


  1. The story of Rien’s life. Take care Rien.



  2. Praying for total healing.



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