“V” isn’t always for Victory
One cherry slice.
Fifteen minutes. It is dark and cold. The wind is howling outside. It is a little after two in the morning.
Second cherry slice, plus a half left over. My emergency jar on the bed stand is now empty.
Fifteen minutes. The girl woke me up thirty minutes ago to warn me that the correction bolus had gone awry. The damn cookie buffet at the church concert had parked me at 400 BGL at bed time. It was now three hours later and I still have 3.95 units in play.
The fifteen minutes are up and I do a finger stick. I’m at 50. And dropping.
I’ve long believed that IQ and BLG are linked on the low end. The cave-man panic sets in as I make my bleary eyed way through the dark house to the kitchen.
Three spoonfuls of honey. Then I spy the white-chocolate covered Oreos. After two of those I drink a glass of milk. I know that on some level I am over-compensating, but in the heat of the fear all I want to do is stop this hypo in it’s tracks and get all the evil insulin out of my blood. I’ll trade the re-bound high for the comfort of knowing I’ll wake in the morning.
Next comes a packet of Rio’s Scooby Snacks, followed by a bowl of cereal. And another glass of milk. I throw a few more units of insulin on the fire for the hell of it and crawl pack into bed.
The high alarm isn’t long in coming.
In the morning I down-load the girl to look at the curve. A beautiful, perfect “V.” A terrify one hour drop from 400 to hypo; and a perfectly symmetrical mirror image curve shooting back up to 400 again. Looks like a steep valley caved by an ancient flood. Not all Vs stand for Victory.
Fifteen minutes. It is dark and cold. The wind is howling outside. It is a little after two in the morning.
Second cherry slice, plus a half left over. My emergency jar on the bed stand is now empty.
Fifteen minutes. The girl woke me up thirty minutes ago to warn me that the correction bolus had gone awry. The damn cookie buffet at the church concert had parked me at 400 BGL at bed time. It was now three hours later and I still have 3.95 units in play.
The fifteen minutes are up and I do a finger stick. I’m at 50. And dropping.
I’ve long believed that IQ and BLG are linked on the low end. The cave-man panic sets in as I make my bleary eyed way through the dark house to the kitchen.
Three spoonfuls of honey. Then I spy the white-chocolate covered Oreos. After two of those I drink a glass of milk. I know that on some level I am over-compensating, but in the heat of the fear all I want to do is stop this hypo in it’s tracks and get all the evil insulin out of my blood. I’ll trade the re-bound high for the comfort of knowing I’ll wake in the morning.
Next comes a packet of Rio’s Scooby Snacks, followed by a bowl of cereal. And another glass of milk. I throw a few more units of insulin on the fire for the hell of it and crawl pack into bed.
The high alarm isn’t long in coming.
In the morning I down-load the girl to look at the curve. A beautiful, perfect “V.” A terrify one hour drop from 400 to hypo; and a perfectly symmetrical mirror image curve shooting back up to 400 again. Looks like a steep valley caved by an ancient flood. Not all Vs stand for Victory.
posted by Wil | 9:08 AM
3 Comments:
Wil,
I'm so very in touch with that fear during a low. I can not understand how people have the discipline to just sit and wait for their carbs to kick in.
I often panic, and over treat, under bolus my over treatment treats, then start seeing those V's on my graphs too.
The nighttime lows are the worst for me.
Look, we are only human! Those hypos can scare the hell out of you, and as you put it, isn't it better to know you will get up the next morning. The rollercoaster ride is horrible, but all of us Ds have been on them.
Thanks for such an important post. Sometimes at our pump support group there will be a person who claims he just eats 2 or 3 glucose tabs and that's all for treating a low. Most of us just look at one another almost in disbelief. But each person finds what works best for that person.
My loved one needs to eat until he feels better. I respect that and understand until the glucose hits the brain, he needs to keep eating. I wish he'd wake me so I could help. Maybe it's easier to not have someone near by? It just seems so lonely to be in the kitchen in the middle of the night trying to get rid of that low feeling.
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