Checking in on Amy’s blog this afternoon, reading her story, In Which I Contemplate the Details, I feel the type 1 bond wrap snuggly around me and spur my fingers to be part of the, “Try as hard as you might, sometimes you have no idea where you’re going to land!” club.
Yesterday I awoke with a blood sugar of 63. No scare there, I felt perfectly fine and I am of the group who like numbers on the lower side of 100 rather than the higher side. I took my usual 3.5 units of Humalog for my steel-cut, slow-cooked oatmeal I make every morning with its dollop of plain, low-fat yogurt, tablespoon of peanut butter, hit of cinnamon, sprinkling of flax seed and wheat germ.
An hour later I was trembling behind my computer. My brain thought, hmmm… low blood sugar? But it was so out of the ordinary following my everyday routine that I ignored my brain’s suggestion, and invited this one, it’ll pass. But ten minutes later it hadn’t and I couldn’t ignore it so I gave in, got up, and tested. 56! Dang, 56 an hour after breakfast! How is this possible. Isn’t this when all those lovingly prepared oats are rushing into my cells raising my blood sugar?
My husband asked what I thought happened. He suggested maybe it’s the few pounds I’ve lost. Maybe I’m more insulin-sensitive. Nice try, honey, but those pounds have slowly and gradually sloughed off over the last year, nothing’s different today than it’s been in months. Maybe, he suggested, you mixed up your insulins. Of course, I really had no way of knowing, except that if I had I would now be in a very deep coma and not participating in this conversation. I was completely flummoxed, and then I knew.
I had met a friend for dinner the night before, and while I ate what I typically eat, and enjoyed the same amount of the grape I typically do, I did do something different. I power-walked home. A solid 40 minutes. And there, in that desire to be even healthier, I created a sustained drop in my blood sugar that carried over to the next morning, and most of the day.
So, as another voting member of the blood-sugar-blues-gang, sometimes you just don’t know why you’re 56 one morning and 186 the next. Sometimes trying to do all the right things, you mess it up even more. But something I know that will always be true is while I didn’t ask to be in this diabetes club, I’m awful glad for all the fine company.