More Sweet Irony.
Last Friday, we had a little Halloween party at dLife, complete with costume competition. And there were treats - oh holy sugar rush, there were brownies and candy bars and cupcakes and other delicious, carb-laden tasty bits.
But somehow, willpower had settled into my brain on the overnight and took up residence there, keeping my hands steady when the sugary treats were passed around. And while other moments of willpower are hard for me to maintain, this one was easy. I've felt a little "off the wagon" lately with my eating, so I'm trying to revert back to pre-wedding mentality, with a focus on lower carbohydrate consumption and ramping up my workouts a little bit.
"No thanks, I'm all set," as the candy dish is passed around.
"I'm cool," while the brownies are being cut and served.
"I'll have coffee," when offered a delicious cupcake.
And it wasn't difficult. I actually felt unaffected by this mysterious willpower. It was kind of nice to just coast without feeling any pangs of "Man, I wish I wanted to take the leap and eat that ..."
So why, dear diabetes, did you decide to take a mini-hiatus for the afternoon? My "good behavior" was rewarded by a series of low blood sugars that righteously kicked my ass. As soon as I got to work, I started taking pictures of my co-workers' costumes and enjoying the festivities. But after a few minutes, I realized there was a hollow tin to the way everything sounded, and my lightweight Red Riding Hood cape felt like it was about 33 (Larry Bird) lbs of fabric.
I tested, and sure enough: 34 mg/dl.
Fantastic. I had to borrow change from a coworker and grab a juice from the kitchen, chugging it in almost one gulp. Thankfully, my body recovered fast and by the time my friend asked, "Hey, are you okay?", I already was.
Forty-five minutes goes by. And I'm sitting at my desk, typing away in an email and realizing I've typed the word "diabetus" instead of "diabetes." I hit the backspace and tried to retype it, but my fingertips skidded off the keyboard clumsily. The headache behind my ears was a pounding one, and beads of sweat were on my forehead. Oh for crying out loud - another one? I reached back and grabbed my bottle of glucose tabs, popping two in my mouth at once as I fumbled with my meter.
Well lookie here: 48 mg/dl. How did that happen?! I haven't eaten anything that required a big, potentially miscalculated bolus, so what gives? Whatever - treated it and tried to move on. (But I giggled again at "diabetus," and promptly had Liberty Medical commercials stuck in my head for the next three hours. Digression? Don't mind if I do!)
We had our Halloween costume contest, gave out the prizes, and work resumed again. I was talking with my coworker when I felt the old, familiar symptoms creeping back up on me. Her voice was too loud, the heating vents were too loud, the buzzing from the computer screen was creeping into my brain and gnawing on my nerves. I felt testy. Overly sensitive. I wanted to tell her I felt low but the words coming out of my mouth weren't ones that had checked in with me, first.
"I wanted to ... you know, I'm sorry. I think I'm low again. I need to test." Shunk. 55 mg/dl. I didn't know what to say. Why won't this low just back off!? Does it want brownies that badly? I moved my chair back and reached for the glucose tabs again, my coworker pausing to look at my quizzically. "Apparently, I'm cured," I said with a shrug.
I do not understand what causes these lows that hang around for hoooooours. I didn't change my basals. I didn't do anything bizarre, like run five miles before work or start doing crunches at my desk. I hadn't eaten anything out of the ordinary, and I was eating snacks at very regular intervals. But for some reason, this low blood sugar was hanging with me - we were buddies.
Dear diabetes, if you wanted a brownie, you could have just said so. Seriously.