I was probably 14 or 15 when it happened. I don’t really remember. I sat in the kitchen floor laughing uncontrollably. You know… the kind of giggling that makes other people start to giggle, too. My mom turned around, smiled and asked what was so funny. I said, “I’m 27.” Her face went pale and I kept laughing as she started hurling food and juice in my direction. I stopped laughing and she looked more concerned. “The room started spinning,” I said. “I didn’t think it was funny anymore.” It was scary at the moment, but now it’s one of those, “Hey, remember that time…” stories.
My blood sugar eventually came back up and all was well… except maybe for my mom’s nerves. That’s the lowest I’ve been and had it recorded. The Saturday before Christmas, I thought it might be fun to break that record. (Well, that’s not exactly how it happened.) I stood up and felt every breath escape me. I saw a flash and couldn’t feel my legs. “I’m low” was all I could muster. My youngest nephew was asleep in the recliner, and the 2-year-old was in the floor playing, fighting sleep like a champ. I went to the back bedroom to get my meter. Forty-nine. I checked my pump an saw 8.5 units still on board. Oh, this was about to get interesting.
I swiped a kid-sized Yoo-hoo and a tube of my dad’s glucose tablets. After both were bare, I felt even lower. It wasn’t a normal low; it was intense. I told my mom where my glucagon was and said to take the Lacey out of the room if I had a seizure. I didn’t want to scare her or even worse, make her afraid of me. That’s when my mom went to wake up my dad.
I moved to the back room and sat in the floor while my dad sat next to me. I told him I thought I was about to have a seizure. I could feel it. He made me test again and that’s when I saw “26” staring back. Before me lay a second Yoo-hoo, a Capri Sun, the canister of sugar, peanut butter and a spoon. I pulled out the glucagon and drew it up. I waited for a second, hoping I was wrong about my feelings. The light in the room flickered twice. It reminded me of those cartoons when someone gets hit over the head with a bat and they see stars flashing for a moment. I looked up at my dad who understood the fear in my expression. He said, “do it” and I put the syringe in my leg, dosing half the glucagon. I sat the remaining aside so dad would have it if the first half didn’t work.
I kept up my end of the deal and continued to eat peanut butter. Ten minutes later, I was 72. My dad smiled and we made a bet about how high I’d be by morning. Five hours later, I was only 192. I went back to sleep without a bolus and woke up around 7:30 at 284. I bolused and came right back down to 102. Surprisingly, I didn’t have a headache or feel terribly bad. The hang-low-ver was minimal.
It’s the first time I’ve ever had glucagon without being unconscious. (I learned the partial glucagon trick from DOC blogs.) Normally, when I’m below 50, I panic. I didn’t this time though. Maybe it’s because there were two little ones in the house. Maybe it’s because I was home. Maybe it’s because my dad was next to me. Who knows? But what amazes me the most was my ability to function. Seriously y’all, when I hit 30 or 40, I’m a crazy person. I’m quite certain I could rival the town drunk for most ridiculous things said while low. This low, was crazy. I’m a little proud I was so “together” though. Is that weird? I was coherent and able to carry on a full conversation with my dad.
When I finally went back to the living room, my mom asked, “So yeah, how often does this happen? You in the 20s?” My response was “Once every 15 years apparently.” She rolled her eyes and said, “I remember that low.”
So what was your worst and/or most memorable low?