Who Invited You?

Previously on A Consequence of Hypoglycemia, I recapped the weekend of awesome out in some place called Paw Paw, West Virginia. According to Google Maps, it exists. One major point of interest I left out of those events was the unexpected, and unwanted appearance of Wilford Brimley at the gathering. I suppose it wasn’t entirely unexpected for him to make an appearance, but any time he shows up on a vacation or at a party, he turns any notion of fun into a total hassle. What a buzz-kill.

Anytime I’m going to be going somewhere overnight I always plan and pack my Diabetes related goodies first. I do a count of how many days I will be away, multiply by 4 and add 6 to figure out how many insulin pen needles I will need. I always bring at least an extra day’s worth of needles simply because you never know. I then do a check of the amount of insulin left in both my Lantus and Humalog pens. Again, I plan for an extra day of required insulin, so if a replacement is needed, it comes too. Test strips also get a head count and extras are packed if necessary. I also pack a couple granola bars or something similar to keep just in case. If meals while we were at the cabin would be occurring at irregular times, something small to munch on would keep me up until real food was on the table. Since snacking is always an issue, especially when normal eating routines are essentially tossed out the window, peanuts came to my rescue. While everyone else would be constantly snacking on chips of various flavors, my trusty dry roasted peanuts would be my companion.

Before the drive up, I made a sandwich and filled up a small cup full of Cheez-Its and decided to take 5 units of Humalog instead of the traditional 6 at dinner time. I figured I would be eating less over the course of the night, so I wouldn’t need to have as much injected insulin doing its thing and risk a low on the road or while we were up there. I checked my blood sugar before we got on the road to make sure I wouldn’t run into any complications during our short drive (155 after eating) and we were off.

During the course of the first night, I ate a couple handfuls of chips and a cookie to satisfy my stomach for the remainder of the night. Before I (finally) went to sleep at 3:30, I did a quick check: 173. Around the range I like before going to sleep, at a normal time at least. So you can imagine my surprise when a mere 3 hours later my stomach is turning inside out, the room temperature suddenly feels like a furnace and that lovely metallic taste has returned. Using my cell phone as a flashlight I fumble around in my bag to find the FreeStyle….54. Really? Did I forget an injection? I thought I ate enough food. Didn’t I see someone put orange juice in the refrigerator? Orange Juice? Jackpot! I can do this, step over this guy, around this guy. Where are the cups? Who designs the pull-out tabs for these things? Genius.

I have a serious problem when it comes to correcting, namely over-compensation. At the moment, it feels like the world is crashing in on me so I often take extreme measures to correct. I’m working on it, but it’s hard to control a quick sugar fix to just the necessary amount required to restore balance to the force. When I pop a 54, I don’t feel like there isn’t a remedy fast enough to fix it. So by the time I feel better, I’ve likely had 3 cups of OJ, not 1 or 1.5. It’s rough, and I’m working to control my emotions during those times, but it’s not like correcting a low is something you really want to practice a lot.

I’m pretty sure everyone was still PTFO when I was scrambling to the fridge, and thankfully I didn’t have to answer too many questions about why I was up at 6 in the morning. This weekend wasn’t about Wilford Brimley, it was about Stephen, and of course the Beer Pong table. And I really don’t like to broadcast my adventures with Wilford; Diabetes Awareness is one thing, but I try to keep people in my circles on a need to know basis. I guess it’s that stubborn/independence thing that I will probably never shake.

Wilford didn’t really bother anyone else over the next day or so. If he did, I probably would have thrown him into the fire we had going. That’ll show him.

Day 3 involved cleaning and driving home. I woke up (8:32 am) to a 195, not great, but not the end of the world considering the circumstances. I tend to be a little more lax on my control when I’m away from home. Anything under 200 is manageable, although not really desirable. I threw down an extra unit of insulin than normal to bring me back into normal ranges and quickly scarfed down a pop tart and some OJ. Before we hit the road I did another check: 141 (10:17 am). OK, let’s go home.

Apparently Wilford managed to sneak in the trunk while we were packing. That stealth bugger. All of a sudden my stomach started to turn, I figured I was just hungry, it was around 11:30, so I figured it was just hunger. Then it got real hot. Despite having the sunroof open (I love my car), I was starting to sweat. At that point, I knew it was only going to get worse. Now here’s where it gets interesting. I knew I was approaching not-fun levels, but I didn’t want to stop. I felt like I would be letting Nate and Jake down if I had to stop driving to treat the low. Almost a sense of embarrassment because my Diabetes was taking control of our weekend. I know I could have put their lives at risk, and I regret that. When I’m just sitting at home and I have a low, I can treat it quietly and no one will notice, no one is impacted by it. When other people are involved, it feels a lot worse, because now there are witnesses to my moment of weakness. It’s like having one of your deepest secrets you’ve never told anyone suddenly announced the world and you are helpless to prevent it. I finally pulled over to a gas station, did a quick check (64 and likely plummeting) and killed half a Gatorade before we got back on the road. 11:48 am.

Once I got back in the car there was very little discussion of what had just happened. Did you have enough to eat? I guess not. I’ll be fine, I’m fine now. I’m not sure if they wanted to press the issue, but I’m glad they didn’t. Diabetes has always been very personal with me. Talking to someone about the basics is one thing, but having it directly affect or potentially bring risk into another person’s life is an entirely different matter. Diabetes can break down even the strongest of people and it’s in those moments of weakness where shit can get real: I put not 1 but 3 people at risk because of my stubbornness. (Excluding other drivers on the road.)

Embarrassment and shame are the words that continue to cycle through my head as I edit this post.