Here’s another diabetic-related story that I just thought of recently. This occurred in the fourth grade, but I’m not telling you any more than that because I want the rest to be a surprise. It’s just like a piranha that bites your head off. Okay, that analogy doesn’t really work because #1 I am not a piranha and #2 I am not going to bite your head off. I know, right then you let your breath out… You really thought I was going to bite your head off, didn’t you? I’m very threatening with my 4 feet 10 figure!
I loved my fourth grade teacher. She was a phenomenal teacher, but also a person. And every single person makes mistakes. One day, my teacher got on the subject of diabetes (I don’t recall how), and told me a lovely story. And as I say the word lovely, it is being drenched in sarcasm. She decided to tell me about her brother, or brother-in-law, or uncle, or some type of title that I regret to remember. This brother/brother-in-law/uncle had diabetes (she didn’t specify what type but after hearing the story, I conclude type 2) and had a beautiful child. The only problem he had with this baby had nothing to do with the baby at all. The problem was that he became blind…because of his diabetes. Well that just makes me feel fantastic, don’t you think?! Why do people feel the need to let me know all these wonderful stories? I will never understand the reasoning for this. I’m going to be blind some day, because every single person with diabetes becomes blind! NOT! The only reason a person with diabetes (most likely type 2) would ever become blind, is if they had absolutely no handle on their blood sugar numbers whatsoever. If you’re numbers are consistently high, then you have a chance of losing your vision. Okay, I give her that. But this isn’t what my story today is about. It’s just a little blurp.
So anyway, it was just a regular day at school when the story I’m telling you about occurred. Together, our class was reading out of one of those big, old literature books before lunch. In fourth grade, I would test my blood sugar, go outside, call my mom, pull out Lola, bolus my food, go back inside and join the class again for the trek over to the lunch tables. It was five minutes before the doors would open for us to go eat, the time where I usually go call my mom, and I totally blanked on it. I kept on reading with the other class, my head a little light. When my teacher reminded me that I had to test, I had to think a lot longer than I normally would have to comprehend what it is she had just said. I thought a moment, and then it struck me that I had to test. So I pulled out my meter, my hands shaking a little. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 the meter counted down and there, right there, is where the piranha jumps out of the water. It widens its large mouth, wraps it around your melon, and then snaps it shut. I was 22. My blood sugars are supposed to range from 80 to 120. But I was 22. Very low. Extremely low. Terribly low. I was shocked and frankly, lost. I couldn’t remember what it is I should have done. Do I give insulin? Or do I take sugar? I had a hard time focusing my thoughts, and instead ran outside to my backpack and phone. I dialed my mom’s number and told her I was 22.
“Did you treat?” I could tell my mom was very concerned and it finally sunk in to me that I was very, very low.
“Um, well, no,” I said. “But I will. How much should I take?”
“Take 4 glucose tabs.” Wow, four, yum. I put each of them in my mouth, making some noises here and there to let my mother know I was still there.
“Did you take them?” my mom asked.
“Yep, what do I do now?” I couldn’t concentrate. My mom told me to go to the office (not alone!), and I obeyed. She promised me that she would drive over to the school right away.
I went inside to my classroom just as my classmates were running over to the tables. I told my teacher what had happened and she kindly walked me over to the office. My mom came over a couple minutes later and I stayed there for a while, just to make sure I was okay and ready to go join the other kids. I felt fine, but safety is important!
So, are you longing for your head back? Because of the surprise piranha? That analogy didn’t fail me after all! I really liked the way I surprised you like that! Didn’t you? Oh, that’s right… You can’t speak because you’re missing your mouth! Sorry about that! Are you thinking I’m really lame right now? Don’t worry about hurting my feelings, I feel that way. J
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