I did my best to pretend to the surgeon operating on my wrist that I was fine, even taking the opportunity to look at the exposed tendons in my cut-open hand moving around as I wigged my fingers, but my dry mouth and twitching foot gave me away as a fraud; the surgery was stressing me out.
Two days ago as the Queen Alexandra hospital kitted me out with 'the club', my BGs stayed between a beautiful 5.4 mmol and respectable 8 mmol all morning. Even during and immediate after surgery they were dancing gently around 6 mmol. But an hour later, as I tried to figure out how a simple mocha could have me flying vertically upwards that I remembered the sweaty palms that gave me away in surgery, and realised that no coffee in the world could do this:
If ever I needed a reminder of the impact stress can have, my trusty CGM was happy to oblige!