Hypoglycemia is dangerous. It can actually be deadly. But somehow when I have a real episode of hypoglycemia, I mean a truly low low, the kind that wipes you out, it seems like just another part of the day. It has a very significant physical effect, but emotionally it doesn’t really register. No post trauma or even much reflection, although it is essentially a near death experience.
Last Saturday night I went out for a post marathon celebration with a few of the guys I run with. I don’t go out or drink beer very often, but I decided that I deserved to have some fun, and since I wasn’t in the mood for any serious drinking, I joined the crowd and had a couple beers. I also had a Caesar salad topped with grilled chicken.
I bolused three times, once for each beer (something I’ve learned I must do) and for the salad (I ate all the croutons J.)
At around 10:30 I was tired and decided I was going home. I had planned to walk home (it’s only a mile and a half) but when my friend offered to drive me, I didn’t refuse. But I did tell him to let me off a few blocks from home so he wouldn’t have to go too far out of his way.
I enjoyed the fresh air and felt good, well, at first I felt good. When I reached the turn onto my street I suddenly felt very weak, like I was about to fall. I started to sweat and realized I was going low. I continued walking thinking to myself, like during the marathon, just don’t stop.
Then I realized I didn’t have a house key. Shit, I hope Jess isn’t sleeping.
I took out my phone and started to text Jess, with a shaky hand, to “please open”.
As I reached the door, she opened it. Without saying much I headed for the kitchen counter, where I had left my glucose meter, and checked my blood sugar. It was 35.
I was totally out of control, and I felt like I was about to pass out. I grabbed a mini Snickers bar from the kids’ treat drawer. Then I ate some fruit. And then a mini Twix.
After checking my blood sugar a few times to making sure I was on the way up, I went to the couch and fell asleep. I was sound asleep until I felt Jessica pulling off my shoes. I don’t really remember what else happened. Somehow I made it to bed. Jessica has a more accurate account of the evening.
The next day the roller-coaster continued. I woke up high, bolused, dropped to 44….
That evening Guy asked me who had the last Snickers bar.
“I did,” I said
“Really?” Guy asked in disbelief.
“Yup,” I said.
“Was it good?” He asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
I’m not sure he understood, but not being able to remember what the candy bar tastes like made me realize how serious and dangerous the situation was.