A tense, first-person personal experience. When her insulin pump goes missing, body and mind spiral with uncontrollable need, panic, and urgency—teetering on the edge until relief finally comes.
I can’t stop.
The ache is relentless, deep in my vagina, pulsing and clenching on its own, demanding release like it’s the only thing my body can feel. My hands… they keep drifting back, betraying me, even though I know I shouldn’t. I try to fight it, to focus, to stay calm—but the need is stronger than reason.
Then I notice—the pump isn’t just off.
It’s gone.
Panic curls through me, tight and twisting. My stomach flips. My chest tightens. I scramble across the bed, under the sheets, fingers brushing everywhere it could be, tugging, knocking things out of place. I can’t even reach it. Somewhere in the chaos, the batteries must have fallen out. Nothing works. No insulin. No spare. No way to get more.
The monitor screams. Shrill. Insistent. Numbers dropping. Heat floods my skin. My vision swims. Light-headedness rolls over me like a wave. I know the warning signs—DKA could start any second—but my body refuses to listen. The ache in my vagina only sharpens, tighter, relentless. My hands keep going back, betraying me further, moving as if on their own.
I stretch, twist, nearly crawling across the bed, trying desperately to reach the pump. Fingers brush it, knock it further away. Panic coils tighter in my chest, hammering in rhythm with the monitor’s alarm. My pulse spikes, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my temples. My vagina clenches again, impossibly needy, demanding release, mocking me. Every nerve is alight, every second that passes making it worse.
I almost cry out. I almost collapse. I feel floaty, dizzy, edges of consciousness fraying. My body refuses to stop, even as fear and logic scream at me to move. The beeping is relentless, a sharp, accusing rhythm that makes my skin crawl.
Finally—I spot it, tangled in the sheets. Relief surges, sharp and overwhelming. I grab it, clumsy, desperate. Clip. Press. Jiggle. Nothing. The batteries are gone. My hands tremble so violently I almost drop it again.
I bite my lip to hold back panic. My chest heaves. My heart racing. I feel like I might pass out. But I can’t stop touching myself. My vagina clenches again, needy, demanding, impossible to ignore. Every second that passes amplifies the ache, makes it worse, makes it impossible to think.
I fumble, shaking, finally getting the batteries back in. Clip. Press. Secure. The sting pulls me back instantly, grounding me. The monitor falls silent. Relief crashes in like a wave, but my body still hums, still remembers, still craves.
I collapse back against the pillows, trembling, chest heaving, heart pounding. Sweat sticks to my skin. My body is buzzing, exhausted and alive all at once. Relief washes through me, slow at first, then overwhelming. But the ache, the memory of how desperate it was, lingers. My body remembers every second it demanded what I almost couldn’t survive chasing.
Way too close.
Way too close.
I lay there for a long time after, letting my pulse slow, letting my breathing even out. My mind replays it all—the panic, the craving, the sheer helplessness of it. The fear of what could have happened without the pump, without insulin. And yet… I feel a strange mix of relief and lingering desire, a memory of my body’s insistence, its refusal to wait, that hums inside me even now.
I make a mental note to check my pump, my batteries, my backup. I have to. But even as I think it, I know my body won’t forget. It won’t let me forget.
Way too close.
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