I fear I may have jinxed myself by claiming immunity to severe hypoglycemia with my revised tool belt of medical technology. Yesterday I found myself, once again, being whisked off to the hospital in a truck (read: ambulance) full of hot, young men (read: paramedics).
Having excessive faith in the abilities of my new sensor I thought it perfectly reasonable to take some post-lunch insulin without consulting the wisdom of my meter. In case you were wondering, this was the wrong choice. I started to feel a little lightheaded shortly after taking the insulin, so I pulled into a Blockbuster to grab a Sierra Mist (hypoglycemia treatment of choice). No sooner had I opened the soda and begun enjoying the sumptious beverage did I find myself surrounded by strangers, laying on the floor of everyone's favorite video store, wondering what in the hell the commotion was about. Moreover, why these people kept asking me if I knew what day it was, like I was taking part in some bizarre current events game show. Apparently, if I could prove a cursory knowledge of the days of the week I wouldn't have to go to the hospital, something I was fighting with every ounce of strength I possessed. (Which, granted, wasn't much at this point.) The quiz show moderator (read: EMT) started things off with a trick question: "Do you know what day it is?"
"OF COURSE, I KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS! it's...it's...ummm...uhhhh...that was a tough question, let's try a different one..."
"What month is it?"
"Well, that's easy...it's....well...I think it's....FINE! I'LL GO TO THE HOSPITAL!"
When I finally started coming around, I inquired about the time. Upon someone mentioning 3 o'clock I began cursing at the top of my voice, filling the little mobile medical haven with enough profanity to make Richard Pryor blush.
"I HAVE AN INTERVIEW RIGHT NOW!!!!!"
"I'm so sorry, I don't think you'll be making it today ma'am," the kindly paramedic said to me as he snapped a neck brace around me and restrained my wrists in case another seizure (or just hysteria) should overtake me.
Needless to say, everyone made it out of there in one piece. I am a little worse for the wear but I do feel like more of a bad ass, looking like I went a few rounds with the champ. (You should see the other guy!) And really, what's a Wednesday without a tetanus shot from a 20-year-old-terrified-nurse-in-training lancing you in the arm with a jousting rod?
I'm always riddled with a good salty dash of guilt after one of these episodes, like I'm causing my family pain by not being in perfect control at all times but they are the picture of loving support and I am beyond blessed by this. Now if I could only figure out how to get hot, young men to pick me up in their trucks without the whole seizure thing...
Having excessive faith in the abilities of my new sensor I thought it perfectly reasonable to take some post-lunch insulin without consulting the wisdom of my meter. In case you were wondering, this was the wrong choice. I started to feel a little lightheaded shortly after taking the insulin, so I pulled into a Blockbuster to grab a Sierra Mist (hypoglycemia treatment of choice). No sooner had I opened the soda and begun enjoying the sumptious beverage did I find myself surrounded by strangers, laying on the floor of everyone's favorite video store, wondering what in the hell the commotion was about. Moreover, why these people kept asking me if I knew what day it was, like I was taking part in some bizarre current events game show. Apparently, if I could prove a cursory knowledge of the days of the week I wouldn't have to go to the hospital, something I was fighting with every ounce of strength I possessed. (Which, granted, wasn't much at this point.) The quiz show moderator (read: EMT) started things off with a trick question: "Do you know what day it is?"
"OF COURSE, I KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS! it's...it's...ummm...uhhhh...that was a tough question, let's try a different one..."
"What month is it?"
"Well, that's easy...it's....well...I think it's....FINE! I'LL GO TO THE HOSPITAL!"
When I finally started coming around, I inquired about the time. Upon someone mentioning 3 o'clock I began cursing at the top of my voice, filling the little mobile medical haven with enough profanity to make Richard Pryor blush.
"I HAVE AN INTERVIEW RIGHT NOW!!!!!"
"I'm so sorry, I don't think you'll be making it today ma'am," the kindly paramedic said to me as he snapped a neck brace around me and restrained my wrists in case another seizure (or just hysteria) should overtake me.
Needless to say, everyone made it out of there in one piece. I am a little worse for the wear but I do feel like more of a bad ass, looking like I went a few rounds with the champ. (You should see the other guy!) And really, what's a Wednesday without a tetanus shot from a 20-year-old-terrified-nurse-in-training lancing you in the arm with a jousting rod?
I'm always riddled with a good salty dash of guilt after one of these episodes, like I'm causing my family pain by not being in perfect control at all times but they are the picture of loving support and I am beyond blessed by this. Now if I could only figure out how to get hot, young men to pick me up in their trucks without the whole seizure thing...
Ladies and gentlemen, your moment of zen:
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