Roadblock loved his new job. He was getting better at managing the people under his command. He enjoyed even more taking the standard army grub and turning it into something akin to gourmet. He introduced new dishes with the limited supply he had. He also managed to rearrange the budget a little, taking off some useless food stuff off (like that horrible orange goo they was called cheese), to get the equivalent, sometimes cheaper, always healthier and tastier 'real' version. For example, mozzarella and cheddar now came in 50 pound blocks. It was a pain to grate or slice, but there were always sufficient people on KP to work on the cheese. Even Beach Head could grate cheese without getting into any kitchen related trouble. Roadblock also found frozen peas to replace the can mush. They were a bit more expensive, required a freezer, but they were wasting a lot less. Before, half cans of green mush were tossed on a regular basis. Now, because of the quality of the product, unused portions could easily be reused in soups and stews. In addition, more were being eaten outright.

As he got use to it all, the cook got more lax in monitoring his blood sugar levels. He did not need to report to Doc or Nurse Maggie until the end of the month. He stopped carrying his food log with him. In the beginning, Roadblock was very diligent about completing it from memory before going to bed. Then he started skipping the odd night. 'I can keep it all in my head,' he told himself. He also started skipping blood checks, reasoning that he was too busy, and he now knew how his sugar levels fluctuated through the day.

A large shipment of food stuff arrived, the first of its size that Roadblock had to coordinate. It was a lot of work to catalogue everything, make sure the boxes contained what they said they did, and get them all properly stored. At the same time, the regular meals had to be prepared. On top of it all, 250 greenshirts were going on a 48 hour training mission, and meals need to be prepared for them. The shipment of MREs had been delayed, and the little that was left was being kept for longer mission in unknown hostile territory.

The kitchen staff was hopping, including Roadblock, who took a bite here and there, sampling the cooking. He grabbed a sandwich from a pile, when he noticed he had passed his lunch time. Only once he bit into it, did he realise that it was made of peanut butter and jam. He knew that he should not be eating it especially that it had been made with white bread. However, he was hungry and did not want his sugars to drop.

He grabbed another bottle of water, he kept finding his empty. If he discovered who was dumping it out, they would hear from him! They would be scrubbing the worse pots and grating cheese in their spare time for months! Better yet, they would scrub the pots Beach Head's greenshirts would bring back, until they shined like new.

Roadblock, stopped at the bathroom between the store rooms and the main kitchen. He had lost track how many times he had done that particular stop. He automatically filled his water bottle with tap water and downed half the content before relieving himself. He had just finished zipping his pants, when he was overcome with nausea. When there was nothing else coming up, he sat on the toilet seat, regaining his breath, and trying to calm the shakes that had over taken him.

He took out the glucose meter he kept in his pocket, and checked his blood sugar. It read way too high. Thinking back to the last few hours, Roadblock tried to make a tally of all what he had eaten and guest how much insulin he should take. He took out his insulin pen and dosed himself.

He still felt a little shaky, but there was still a lot of work to be done. He rinsed out his mouth, washed his face and hands, downed the remaining half bottle of water and refilled it again. The cold spring water felt good on his irritated throat.

Roadblock stepped out of the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. As he got closer, the door suddenly shifted to be wall and all went black.

Sometime later, he woke to the familiar ceiling of the infirmary. The IV in his back of his left hand itched like mad. He reached over to scratch at it, but a hand slapped his away.

"No you don't," Lifeline said. "Just to warn you; Nurse Maggie is not impressed with you right now. She went and got your food log."

Roadblock groaned. "I've been busy," he answered meekly. "Can I just talk to Doc, and be out of here? There is still a lot of work to be done in the kitchen."

"Doc is on a mission. You're going to stay here until we get your sugar levels back under control. What did you do? Just guess at how much you needed?"

"Something like that," the patient mumbled. He was reaching for the IV again. He wanted to rip the thing out.

"Don't touch it," Lifeline said sternly.

"But it itches like the dickens," Roadblock complained.

"Hold on, I'll replace the tape." The medic held the line securely and pulled off the tape. Under it was all red.

"Your darn tape gave me a rash!" Roadblock said angrily.

"It never has before," Lifeline said calmly. He knew that his patient's mood swings were because of his fluctuating sugar levels. "I'll take it out and set another line up in your other hand."

"Do you really have to?" the cook whined.

"Well, I guess I could find a vein every hour and manually inject the electrolytes and medication that you require." Lifeline's voice was very calm and reasonable, as if he was really considering it.

"I see!" Huffed Roadblock. "Fine, put it back in. Just don't use your itchy tape."

"I'll make sure to use a different brand. Do you want to use the bathroom before I hook you back up?"

Roadblock suddenly became aware of the pressure in his bladder. He nodded and sat up a bit too fast. The room began to spin, and the nausea came back.

"Easy friend," Lifeline helped his patient lay back down. Roadblock laid there for a few minutes, willing the room to stop spinning and fought the nausea. "Take deep breaths," the medic instructed calmly.

Once the room had stopped moving, the cook got to his feet slowly. He found that he was shaky and felt weak. He leaned on Lifeline during the short walk to the bathroom. Once there, Roadblock was grateful that the medic did not offer to go in and help. The trip back to the bed was a little better. Exhausted, he dozed off.

Roadblock awoke to Nurse Maggie's touch on his arm. "Well, you did it this time, Marvin!" She seldom used their real names, but when she did it had impact. "I looked at the log of yours. You did a pretty crappy job, soldier."

"I am sorry Ma'am," he said contritely. "I was busy."

"You are never too busy to take care of yourself! I am sure you had even less time for this," she indicated the infirmary with her hand. "If your job keeps you that busy, maybe we should discuss a medical discharge when Doc comes back."

"No!" Roadblock exclaimed.

"You got to take care of yourself, no matter how busy you get. Understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Now, let me see about that rash and set up that new IV. I brought a different type of tape, it does not stick as good, but if you stay quiet, it will not be a problem."