Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Lately some fellow bloggers (Kerri, Elizabeth, Nicole and Amylia) have been talking about their experiences with severe hypoglycemia, and how our bodies miraculously manage to function despite the crisis raging inside. This afternoon, in the middle of a two-hour meeting, I had my own similar bout with a crashing low.
I normally eat lunch at my desk, and today I was very careful (or so I thought) with my mealtime bolus shot in the hopes of avoiding a drop later on. After my presentation at the beginning of the meeting, our client asked several long, drawn-out questions about my work. I felt weird and knew I needed to go test, but couldn't. I should have eaten more for lunch, I thought. But with a fading case of RPS and an antibiotic floating around in my system, the low really could have come from nowhere. Finally my boss took over and moved the discussion to another agenda item.
Not wanting to be rude, I put off leaving the room as long as possible. A balled fist formed in the pit of my stomach and my fingers tingled with alarm. My pulse was galloping along, a colt intoxicated by the wind. Something very strange and skewed was happening to my eyesight. Finally I knew I couldn't stand it any longer. I picked up my silenced cell phone and pretended to receive a text message. (This dodge seems to go over well in my workplace--a good thing for a "closeted" PWD like me.) No one glanced up as I slipped away and stumbled to my desk. I felt eerily calm, even though the voice in my head screamed, 'Eat something!'
I grabbed a bag of dried tropical fruit and gobbled up what I could while fumbling for my meter. All the while I clocked my time away from the meeting, concerned my boss would notice if I took too long an absence. After a couple of minutes to catch my breath and get down the fruit and a granola bar, I felt steady enough to go back in the room. I picked up my pen and went back to my role of attentive assistant, as if the floor hadn't just fallen out from under me. I didn't even break a sweat. What's weirder, the 34 today felt less intense than a 60 I had a few weeks back. To think of all this happening in the dead of night (as it often does to many of us PWDs) scares me.
It's tough trying to be human. So often I feel more like a little machine, especially when my body's doing its damndest to keep running, even on empty. I just hope the signals keep working to let me know when the tank's almost dry.