I was doing a lot of thinking about my last post and hope I didn’t convey the impression that I was trashing “the numbers”. The information the numbers provide is priceless - it’s just that I have a habit of getting emotionally entangled in them and sometimes it’s a tight corner to break out of.
I was running a bit low all day yesterday, and when I got on the bus to go home tested at 47. I have a pretty consistent pattern of a gradual rise in bg between 4-6 p.m., so decided not to treat the hypo and thought I’d be fine. I also really, really wanted to be able to record a “70” in my logbook rather than a “140”. Good Girl. Good Job. Your numbers looked great today…. ……….but, poor decision.
I got off the bus and headed to the grocery store to get some fresh blueberries. I then had the sensation that I was on a treadmill and the sidewalk was moving underneath me, rather than me moving above it - a nofail sign that I was headed south, rapidly. The store that I shop at always has these seductive trays of cheese cubes for sampling. I think the intention is to put just one on a toothpick. Well, I was getting very famished and started stabbing three or four on at once, furiously making my own personal mini-kebabs, and then tried a couple more but my coordination was down the tubes so I moved on to the brownie bites. Had maybe 6 or 7. My mouth was starting to tingle, another sign of a bad situation.
I was pretty lucky to have made it home - testing at 32!. I did not bother to change out of my work clothes and popped a Lean Cuisine in the microwave. When it was ready I stared at it, not quite recalling how to take the cellophane off, so instead opened some juice and spilled it all over my nice dressy skirt.
What an inexcusable chain of poor choices. If I hadn’t been so stubborn and taken 4 glucose tablets, I would have been absolutely fine by the time I got home, had a nice relaxing dinner, and not ruined my favorite piece of clothing. At 7:30 I was up to 360 and spent the rest of the evening chasing after the high and had to set my alarm for 1 a.m. to be sure I wasn’t bottoming out. I feel that caring for the diabetes takes up so much time, but so does sweeping out the trail of dust that is left by a dumb-ass attempt to keep my ego inflated. And, not to mention the fact that even though I’ve never passed out from a hypo, I could have easily been nose-down on the sidewalk.
Do I need another broken ankle? I don’t think so. Do I need a $200 co-payment for an ambulance ride? Probably not. Do I need to forgive myself and try again tomorrow? Yeah, you betcha.
Thursday lies ahead, and the weekend is in sight. Take care. If anyone has any foolproof tips for removing purple grape juice from beige linen, send them my way.