The Opposite of Like a Boss.
My blood sugar was tanking after over-correcting a high that morning. (Actually, tanking after correcting a high and adding in my breakfast bolus, only the actual breakfast ended up being delayed because it took 15 extra minutes to get Birdy and Chris out the door for school today and by the time I was waving good bye as they pulled out of the driveway, I was already trembling and my mind was racing about how many socks still needed to be paired up in the laundry basket.)
Back in the house, I tested and my blood sugar was 48 mg/dL. I was already four glucose tabs into the morning and waiting (im)patiently for my blood sugar to rise, but the phone was ringing. And it was a call I needed to take, from my PCP's office. I didn't pause to weigh the options of "answering" and "not answering," because the low fog was so heavy that I just answered the phone as if I were opening the fridge door - absently, routinely, and forgetting that there was a purpose in doing it.
"Hi, this is [oh, let's call her Patient Receptionist, because she didn't hang up on me], from Dr. Bowtie's office. I wanted to follow up on our discussion from yesterday?"
"Yes, hi. I was hoping it was you guys. I only answered the phone because I thought it might be you. I'm having a very low blood sugar right now, so if I'm not making the most sense, I'm sorry."
She didn't need to know a lick of this. I could have just let it go to voicemail, but now the awkwardness was on, full-force, and I couldn't stop it. There was a long, empty pause.
"Okay. Um, that's ..." and she didn't even bother finishing because I was already giggling uncomfortably.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to miss your call but I probably shouldn't have answered. How about you talk like this is voicemail and I'll listen really intently?"
She probably thought I was wasted. I sounded drunk, but wasn't. Just low. And housing glucose tabs like it was my job.
"Right, okay, well ..." and Patient Receptionist filled me in on the details of some upcoming labwork. This was information I needed, and that I had been waiting for, and I was trying to be an attentive adult and focus on her words. But I was making an already really awkward situation worse by interrupting her and apologizing for interrupting her.
"I'm sorry. This is all good information. Oh, I interrupted you - I'm sorry again." Chomp, chomp on the glucose tabs while the Patient Receptionist must have been rolling her eyes, and rightfully so.
"It's okay. So we're set to see you next week," she said.
I nodded. And then, "Oh, I'm sorry. I nodded, which you can't see since we're on the phone." An ill-timed and unreasonable chuckled escaped my mouth. "Hee hee - I might be a little low still but I'm sorry."
"Not a problem, Mrs. Sparling. No need to be sorry. We'll see you next week." And she hung up, probably ready to relay the story to her coworkers of talking to a wicked drunk lady at 9 in the morning who claimed to be "low."
Oh how I wish I had chosen voicemail over answering. Blood sugar now is 109 mg/dL and holding steady. But the embarrassment level is a double-arrow straight up to my face.