Today, I had my ass kicked by my diabetes.
Being a girl who does not like to admit defeat, this is hard for me to say. However, I am also a girl who doesn't like to lie. And if I made myself out to be the Champion In The Glucose War today, I would be lying. Big time.
When I woke up this morning, I knew my blood sugar was low. Not unusual. I often wake up hovering around the low mark, this is what my doctor wants. Apparently, even "normal" people (like I'd ever be one of THOSE anyway) wake up with low-ish blood sugars. Fine. Whatever. I get up. I eat a banana. Life goes on. Today, the 55 (normal being 70-120) didn't take well to just the banana and had to be followed by orange juice, likely because I was running around like a crazy person, making oatmeal (Sutt), waffles (Belly), coffee (me and B), croissants (whoever), feeding the dogs (self explanatory) and wondering if I would get showered in time to get to the hair stylist because DEAR GOD I HAD BEEN WAITING FOR TWO MONTHS TO GET MY HAIR CUT AND IT FINALLY, FINALLY WAS THE DAY THAT MY STYLIST HAD AN APPOINTMENT AVAILABLE SINCE SHE IS NOW ONLY WORKING ON SATURDAYS-- AND WHY? WHY! WOULD SHE DARE TO CUT BACK HER HOURS IN ORDER TO GO TO NURSING SCHOOL BECAUSE DOESN'T SHE UNDERSTAND THAT MY HAIR IS FAR MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE SICK PEOPLE OF THE WORLD? SWEET JESUS. SWEET JESUS!
When I arrived at the hair stylist, my blood sugar was 70. Okay. Fine. Whatever. I had lollipops in my handbag, as well as a granola bar, and God only knows what else as, being a Mommy, I have random snacks on me at all times because IT NEVER FAILS that as soon as I need to run to the grocery store a kid will inform me that he or she is STARVING HALF TO DEATH AND NEEDS A SNACK, CODE RED, CODE RED, STAT STAT. I ended up eating nothing, though, getting my hair trimmed and shaped, then dashing off to Target (with my pretty hair) to grab a couple of things. Just as I was walking through Target, post-checkout, my blood sugar bottomed THE FUCK OUT. We're talking, my tongue went numb, my vision went blurry, and those little connectors that make your brain able to make sense of out things? Well, those little connectors SHORTED THE FUCK OUT. They sizzled and died. I probably had smoke coming out of my ears.
Which means I got to go BACK through the check-out line.
A granola bar and part of a Sprite later, I was able to drive, but had the headache from hell. This sometimes happens when I get a low blood sugar that either drops perilously low or stays low for an extended period of time. Before I even made it out of the parking lot, I had to dig through my handbag for Excedrin, which I eventually found and potentially overdosed on because 1). I wasn't thinking straight and 2). I have no qualms nor fear of overdosing on any medication at any given time and have been told on at least fifteen different occasions by fifteen different people that I am going to pull a Marilyn Monroe or Heath Ledger and be found dead by my housekeeper (if I only had a housekeeper), most likely in the nude (or, in my case, really cute underwear), dead and overdosed on whatever random pills I happened to mix and take thirty-two of consecutively within a two-minute time frame.
But back to the Excedrin. I took.....well, I don't know. Several. And an Advil or two. And some white pill that, looking back, may have been a stray melatonin, which would explain my extreme desire to curl up in a ball this afternoon and sleep (despite the Excedrin jitters) despite my normal aversion to napping. Bottom line is, my headache went away. For a little while, anyway.
By the time I got home and checked my blood sugar, it was 238. Damnit. I took some insulin.
Since I felt like I was going to vomit (pill mixture? high blood sugar? Sprite? Could have been any of the above.), I made a cup of herbal tea (unsweetened) and went into the bedroom to curl up in my Thinking Chair and Think. I did. An hour later and many deep thoughts later, I was down to 130. High five. I made another cup of tea and went to read my library book. An hour later (and nothing else-- no food, no drink, no anything) I was 268. And ready to vomit again. I took some more insulin. I returned to the Thinking Chair and my book. An hour later, I was 71.
Now it's two hours later. I ate dinner (soup-- I make excellent soup). I still feel awful. I have no idea why my blood sugar has bounced around like it has today, but know that I exacerbate the damage by worrying about the effect it has on my body whenever this happens. I know it's bad for my organs, particularly my heart and kidneys. I don't particularly care if this just causes me to keel over dead one day (as long as I am wearing the aforementioned cute underwear when this happens, as no one wants to be found dead in something unattractive) as being dead doesn't concern me much, but I don't want to have to deal with being alive and having only partially functioning, weak, pathetic semi-useful organs (barring my liver-- that bitch is already a goner) because, well, that just seems like it would suck. It's one thing if I screw myself over by eating a big piece of cake when my blood sugar is already 200. But when I'm behaving and TRYING REALLY HARD it gets frustrating when I'm chasing it all day. When I have no control. I hate loss of control.
Here's hoping that tomorrow is a better (blood sugar) day.