Bitch Low: The Aftermath

Tuesday night around 6:40ish I crawled into my bed because I felt like I’d just been run over by a truck. 

I was exhausted and tired and if I could have gone to bed for the rest of the night right then and there, I would have. Of course I couldn’t, because who the hell goes to bed at 20 minutes to seven? Not this girl! 

I curled up under the covers, closed my eyes, tried to chill and thought about the “why.”  

1.5 hours earlier, while on the phone, I had what I can only describe as a Bitch Low. 

One of those lows that literally comes out of nowhere, beats you up and leaves you feeling like you’ve been physically and mentally beat up in its wake.

As the person on the other end of the phone talked, the familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach that strikes me just as my blood sugar plummets, made itself known and I started to sweat. 

I looked around for something quiet to eat, because I didn’t want chew and crunch into the phone. 

I should have just ended the phone call, but I didn’t. 

OK, I refused to end the call. I didn’t want diabetes or the Bitch Low to win. 

I spied glucose tabs in my handbag, but they were too crunchy. 

Right next to the glucose tabs were three fun size, 3 Musketeers bars in a ziplock bag. 

Fluffy, chocolately and 3  bars equaled 34 carbs. Yep, I could work with that.    

I wolfed each bar in less than 3 bites, poured myself a few shots of juice and watched the minutes tick by, and all while doing my damnedest to participate in the phone conversation.  

Finally I said something like,"Well, I’ll let you go....,"  and ended the call. 

Then I made a beeline for the kitchen and downed two tablespoons of honey, followed by vanilla almond milk. 

 I was eating like there was no tomorrow because even though I didn’t check my blood sugar, I knew it was a really low one.

20 minutes later my blood sugar was 90 and still felt wobbly. Cut to an hour later when my blood sugar was 138 and I was wiped out.  

I’d had plans of making a good dinner, but the thought of actually doing anything was no longer appealing -  and I wasn’t hungry. 

Bitch Lows don’t happen to me very often and I’m incredibly grateful for that, because I hate them. I hate how drained I feel after. And I'm glad this one occurred at home.  
And while it knocked me down, it hadn't knocked me out. 

I was beginning to drift off, when my phone rang a little after 7. 

I was still feeling spacey and tired but I was happy to see a familiar name flash on the screen, so I picked up and said hello. 

My blood sugar was holding study at 143 and whileI was still a little rough for the wear, I'd won this round. 

Diabetes Bitch: 2

Bitch Low: 1