“V” isn’t always 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.