Dear Pancreas,

I'm writing to you today with a mixture of profound disappointment and, dare I say, a burgeoning sense of betrayal. For years, decades even, Iā€™ve given you the benefit of the doubt. Iā€™ve accepted your... 'quirks.' But with the recent news of the FDA clearing sophisticated Control-IQ+AID technology for use in pregnancies complicated by Type 1 diabetes, I can no longer remain silent. This is a public intervention, my friend, and frankly, it's long overdue.

Do you have any idea the stress youā€™ve caused? The late-night alarms, the frantic calculations, the constant vigilance that a new parent *and* a person managing T1D already contend with? And now, during the most miraculous and delicate phase of human creation, you simply throw up your hands and say, 'Nope! Not my department anymore!' What happened to 'in sickness and in health,' you miniature, glandular slacker?

Itā€™s almost as if youā€™ve heard about this fancy new bionic pancreas technology ā€“ this 'Control-IQ+AID' ā€“ and decided to stage a dramatic exit. Are you *jealous*? Are you *pouting* because an algorithm can do your job better, more consistently, with less 'oh dear, I seem to have forgotten the insulin this morning' antics? I can almost picture you, lounging on a microscopic chaise lounge deep within my abdomen, fanning yourself with a stray capillary, muttering about 'technological unemployment' while Iā€™m over here trying to keep two heartbeats happy.

And letā€™s not even get started on the timing. Pregnancy, Pancreas? *Pregnancy* is when you decide to fully commit to your 'early retirement' scheme? Itā€™s a bold move. A baffling move. A move that screams, 'I shall make this delightful period of life even *more* challenging becauseā€¦ well, because I can!' Did you secretly plot this with my adrenal glands, hoping to win some sort of 'Most Unhelpful Organ' award?

I mean, the audacity! While this incredible technology steps up to ensure the safety and well-being of both mother and child ā€“ a duty I thought *you* were somewhat pre-programmed to assist with ā€“ youā€™re justā€¦ there. A silent, albeit occasionally inflamed, spectator. What happened to our partnership? The early years, remember? When you at least *pretended* to care?

So, I implore you, Pancreas. As this revolutionary tech takes over your crucial role, particularly for expectant mothers, I ask you, from the depths of my tired, slightly diabetic soul: Please, *please* at least try to look a little apologetic. Or perhaps, and this is just a thought, maybe consider offering a supportive 'attaboy' to the Control-IQ+AID system? A humble nod to the new sheriff in town? Or better yet, just for old times' sake, could you produce *one* perfect unit of insulin? Just one. For me. For the baby. For old times' sake. It would mean the world. And maybe, just maybe, Iā€™d stop sending you angry mental emails.