I once forgot that I was diabetic.
That may sound odd, because as many other diabetics know, thinking about insulin delivery and blood sugar management is an ever present balancing act. Yes, it becomes routine and second nature, but still, it is just always THERE.
Now on the evening in question, I'd been out "partying" with some friends. I use the term loosely, because as a mother of 3, anything that involves staying up past 10pm is a party.
My nights normally look like this - Check blood sugar. Eat dinner. Check blood sugar. Put kids to bed. Watch a crime drama. Check blood sugar. Go to bed.
My mornings normally look like this - Check blood sugar. Eat breakfast. Feed and dress kids. Take them to school or weekend activity. Check blood sugar.
The night and morning in question were different. Dinner was early because we were heading to a fundraiser and had hired a sitter. We were running behind, so I skipped the post meal sugar check. It was formal affair, so I had a palm-sized purse and no glucometer. I had about 3 vodka and diets Coke high balls over the course of the 5 hour gathering, and by the time we got home (at about 1am!) I was feeling a little bit unwell. I decided to go straight to bed, forgoing the usual pre-sleep blood sugar check.
I'd been in bed for maybe an hour when I had to run to the bathroom to vomit.
Any other time I've been ill, I automatically check my glucose levels. Are they too high? Are they too low? Are they making me sick, or is my sickness affecting them?
But I didn't check them.
I thought, "Goodness, I'm old and having three drinks (when I normally have none) must've really done a number on my body."
I continued to puke. And it got worse. First it was every 30 minutes. Then twenty. Then ten. It was so bad that I couldn't keep down a tablespoon of water and my throat felt like it was bleeding.
And yet I still didn't consider checking my blood sugar. I considered food poisoning - I had eaten a tuna sandwich for lunch. Maybe it had been bad.
It still kept getting worse.
I considered going to the hospital, but still didn't check my blood sugar.
I was lying on my bathroom floors, seeing spots and occasionally dry-heaving, when I began to wonder how many hous I'd been there. I felt too weak to get up and check the time on the bedroom clock, so instead, I pulled out my insulin pump to look at its built in clock.
It was off. Dead. The battery had expired, and in the very loud environment of the evening before, I hadn't heard it alarm. And usually when it does alarm, I get a few days warning before the battery actually gives out.
I immediately checked my blood sugar - 32.0 - and injected some insulin. Within an hour, the vomiting had subsided. After 5 more hours, my sugar had normalized. And I was able to figure out that my pump had been off for about 7 hours.
Not ONCE had it occurred to be to blame my diabetes for my illness. How very strange.
Needless to say, I will never forget that I am diabetic again. Nor will I ever fantasize about being stranded on a deserted island.
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