Balance in All Things... Except That One Time

I'm sure you have your own opinion to this question, but do you know what the worst thing is about living with diabetes? It's a pain in the butt. Type 1, Type 2, it doesn't matter. Diabetes maintenance is annoying. You have to watch your glucose levels. You have to take the proper amount of insulin so you don't go too high or too low. You have to include physical activity to give your medications a leg up doing their jobs.

Keeping an eye on your blood sugars comes in one of two forms these days. Either you're poking your fingers several times a day or you're wearing a Continuous Glucose Monitor, or CGM. If you have a CGM, then the arduous task of checking your sugar is looking at an app on your phone. You poor thing. Do you want a hug to help you cope? 😛 If you're poking your fingers, it's a horrific ordeal that takes five minutes if you drag it out. FIVE WHOLE MINUTES! If you maintain this lackadaisical pace, you could use up 24 hours in 72 days! (That's if you're checking four times a day, which you should.)

Calculating your insulin dose depends on your current glucose levels. At this point, nearly every diabetic on insulin is on a sliding scale to adjust their doses per meal. Personally, I take a proactive approach. I don't just take insulin to cover what my glucose level IS, but what it WILL BE. I look up how many grams of carbohydrates are in my upcoming meal and add enough insulin to cover it all. Yes, poor, beleaguered diabetic. You would have to do... MATH! Oh, the humanity!

I will not, however, tell you how much I take for each meal. I'm extremely insulin resistant, so when I tell anyone who understands such dosing how much I take per meal, they look at me like I've grown a second head.

Exercise is probably the most bothersome part of diabetes maintenance, especially as we grow older. Remember that time we ran around when we were five years old? Yeah, it turns out that that wasn't enough to last a lifetime. That sit-up I did back in '87? Still not enough. The thing is that you don't have to have an entire workout regimen. Just be active. Don't grow roots on the couch all day, every day and you should be okay. Stand up and shake out your arms, maybe do a few leg-lifts, stretch your back by twisting side to side. Just 60 seconds worth of getting the blood pumping. That little bit can go a long way. Of course, if you can get an actual workout in, that's much better. It'll have benefits that will last for decades.

Yes, decades. When I was a teenager, I cycled everywhere! And occasionally, when I had no destination, I'd ride my bike for hours on end simply because I could. Several decades later, I could impress my physicians by tightening up my quads. The muscle definition was still there despite the onset of various diabetes complications.

Doing all of the above...? It's a bother. You have to stop whatever your doing so you can diabetes for a few minutes. (Yeah, I used "diabetes" as a verb. You got a problem with that?) It's not like... oh, I dunno... asthma, where an attack will forcibly bring your life to a halt. Depending on the severity, an asthma attack can mean a puff on an inhaler or being rushed to a hospital. But wait! I can step it up. Cancer! Now there's a disease that will ruin your day if ever there was one.

I'm not discounting the seriousness of diabetes. It requires your attention so you can function. But it's not a HUGE time investment, and a little perspective helps you to realize the difference between a disease that's a pain in the butt and one where your life perpetually hangs in the balance. 

But diabetes definitely has its instantaneous dangers.

Throughout this blog, I've harped on high blood sugars and the complications they can bring. But what about going in the other direction? What about hypoglycemia? Well, my friends, I have a story for that, too.

Starting at age six, I knew girls were more interesting than comic books. Alas, for all of my interest, I was never brave enough to ask a girl out. My first kiss came along when I was 13, but I wouldn't have my first "official" girlfriend until I was 16. This is her:

What do you mean that Yang Xiao Long from RWBY? That's my girlfriend from 39 years ago! Why, yes, as a matter of fact, she WAS animated and with a weaponized cyborg arm, thank you very much!

Okay, maybe not. But I had my first girlfriend, perfectly average as she was, and I had me a date with her one night. Hoo-boy, was I excited! I was so worked up that I had no appetite whatsoever... but I did take my evening dose of insulin. (I was only taking two injections a day back then. For any other diabetic dinosaurs out there, it was a mix of Regular and NPH.) (No, not Neil Patrick Harris. He was never a type of insulin... as far as I know.) At her house, we had about an hour alone together. We fooled around like a pair of thoroughly inexperienced, hormone-driven teenagers. That meant my cardiovascular system was working overtime.

All of that activity, a fixed dose of insulin, and no fuel for my body.

I mentioned that cycling was my jam back then. To get myself started, I'd put my left foot on the pedal, push off the ground with the right, swing my right leg over the bicycle, take my hands off the handlebars while sitting up, and ride, ride, ride. That was certainly my plan as I left my girlfriend's house that evening... except that when I sat up to ride no-handed, the world went dark.

When I fully regained consciousness, I was alone in an ER treatment room. My face hurt a great deal. There were fluorescent lights above me and an IV in my arm. I immediately did what came naturally and screamed, "DAD!!!" Mind you, I had no idea if he was there, but he was who I called for. Lo and behold, my father was there. I was admitted to the hospital for a few days of observation. It was only when I got out that everything was pieced together with the help of a number of people.

When I mounted my bike, I made it all of 30 feet from the girlfriend's house when I blacked out. I was found in a puddle of blood by some 18-year-old kid walking his dog. Because I'd made no effort to stop my collapse to the ground, I'd landed on my face. It wasn't pretty. There was scabbing between my upper lip and nose, along the bridge of my nose, and my cheek. The kid brought me to his house, and these were his exact words to his mother: "Hey, Mom! Look what I found! Can I keep him?"

As I understand it, his 13-year-old sister was wearing a mud-mask of some kind and was absolutely freaking out about being seen by a stranger. Honestly, she could have been wearing a gorilla costume and I wouldn't have known.

I was sat in the kitchen while they dialed 9-1-1. Emergency services sent two cop cars, two fire trucks, and an ambulance. (That'd be two pair in a game of Poker.) These trained professionals all stood around, getting the story from the family, and staring at me in bafflement. The consensus was that I was high on drugs, since I was conscious, but unresponsive to their questions. I just kept saying that I needed to call my closest friend at the time, Bambi. (Yes, that was really her name.)

The 13-year-old girl eventually pointed out the Medic Alert bracelet I was wearing. I'm sorry, but HOW MANY TRAINED EMERGENCY PROFESSIONALS WERE THERE?!? The bracelet had my address and a phone number to call in cases of emergencies.

Things moved along nicely after that. The ambulance brought me home. I sat on the stairs with a towel filled with ice against my face. The paramedics had recommended that I be brought to a hospital. Before leaving the house, I told my father that I wanted a moment to gather my bearings. I stated my full name, my date of birth, my Social Security number, and the fact that I had two brothers, one of whom was adopted.

And that's what I repeated the entire way to the hospital. Because we were going to the hospital where my endocrinologist worked, it was a 30 minute drive. My dad - bless him - endured my repeated rambling the whole way.

I went to thank the family that helped me that night, and as they filled me in on what happened, I had only the most vague recollections of what happened. It was like remembering everything through a heavy mental fog. I still don't understand how I was conscious and unconscious simultaneously. I was awake, but completely unaware of my surroundings.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have skipped that evening dose of insulin or taken it and forced myself to eat something that fateful night. As I've stated, diabetes is a pain in the butt, requiring a constant balance between diet, exercise, and medication. Hypoglycemia hits a lot faster than hyperglycemia and is possibly more dangerous. The brain needs sugar as much as it needs oxygen. Without fuel, the brain would stop working. When that happens, everything else stops working.

And that brings another exciting post to a close, my tiny audience. But as I end it... Do we feel lucky? Can we get the scantily clad young woman?

Oh, so close! It's a

scantily clad mannequin.