I’m not sure there’s a moral to this story. There doesn’t have to be one anyway.
I really don’t want to write about this, and as you can probably tell, I’m having trouble getting started. But if I’m going to tell my story, well… this is one of the chapters.
I’m a typical blogger in that I love to talk about myself. I also like to paint a nice picture of myself whenever possible. I don’t really want to mention anything that doesn’t make me look good. But that’s what this post is about.
Long story short: On Saturday, I over-bolused for dinner and whatever I snacked on later (I don’t even remember what it was). Later, about 1:45 in the morning, The Great Spousal Unit woke me up and said “You should go test your blood sugar”. It took me what seemed like a long time to actually get up. I was awake for sure, but… non-responsive would be the best way to describe it.
So Maureen did what she normally does in these situations.
Step 1: Try to shove juice, honey, peanut putter in my mouth.
She tried to shove some things in my mouth, but I was still feeling very full from whatever I had consumed earlier. By this point I knew I was low, but I wanted to take it slow. Bad Strategy. And, of course, I was tired and I really wanted to sleep. It was getting harder and harder to motivate me. We made it downstairs to the kitchen, but still, I was having trouble coping. Enter Step 2.
Step 2: If step 1 doesn’t work, call 911.
Maureen later admitted that she probably jumped the gun on this one a bit. But I reminded her that it’s not her job to know exactly how I am at any given moment, and if she’s at all unsure, make the call. It took a long, long time for me to come to this way of thinking. I never want an EMT to come and help me when they might be needed for something more important. But for Maureen, at that moment, nothing was more important. They were coming to help her as much as to help me.
I checked my BG once we got to the kitchen: 43. About 5 minutes later, the call went in to 911. About 5 minutes after that, the EMTs came through the front door (the local fire house is about a mile away). By this time, I’m groggy but able to make conversation, able to drink some juice and eat a little. The EMTs were great. They knew what was going on, and they were content to just wait it out with me.
So we waited. Those 15 minutes we were all standing in the kitchen seemed like forever. Then I checked again: 89.
Back to some semblance of normal. The EMTs left, and TGSU and I sat in front of the TV for a while longer to make sure my glucose was going in the right direction. Kelly at Diabetesaliciousness talked about waiting out a high Monday night, and being really tired, wanting just to sleep, and having to wait. And how that’s one of the things that sucks about diabetes. I agree.
Well, that’s what it was like for me, except from a low. I was super, super tired. And cold, very cold. Lows always do that to me. And I had to wait so I could check my glucose again. 20 minutes later: 131.
Not much more to it than that. Everything turned out okay in the end. I could have done without the drama though.