new hurdles

The last few months have been extremely busy. I use that word because I can’t seem to find a more appropriate one to describe my life. Crazy, frenetic, and shocking would work but busy is pretty accurate so I will just go with that.
I have been tired, not your normal "Wow I could use a nap" kind of tired but exhausted. I had also been packing on weight for no apparent reason. No matter what I did or didn’t do the stupid scale just kept creeping on up there into digits that were terrifying to me.
My doctor performed tests on top of tests. Everything was normal. Everything except for one. He had me come back into the office for a fasting blood test. They could have told me I was pregnant and not gotten a more shocked response. I’m not by the way, pregnant I mean. I have diabetes.
I am accustomed to all tests and procedures being a complete waste of my time and money. I never hear, "Damn" from the nurse followed by setting up appointments with a specialist. A part of me is still considering asking that they re-do the test, just in case. The sane part knows that truly would be a waste of time as the endocrinologist performed the same tests with the same result.
Of all the things this body has done this was one of the biggest "slap in the face" stunts ever. I don’t want to hear how genetics play a part. I realize that daddy developed diabetes after his strokes and that my maternal grandmother developed it late in life. I even acknowledge that I had a form of it when I was pregnant with the last three kids. We have even taken to referring to our gene pool as more of a "genetic stew" than a pool.
There are so many things in the mix just waiting to jump up and bite me on the butt that I guess I should be grateful that it was diabetes that actually grabbed me. I am not insulin dependent, yet. This disease is manageable although a real hassle at times. I have to remember to check my glucose levels and to eat on schedule. The hospital has a series of classes at the Diabetes Center here. I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about this nasty "visitor that has already out stayed their welcome".
I am adjusting. I have lost a few pounds. My numbers are almost always right where they should be. I have had one episode that scared that pea soup of me. It was in the early days while I was still in a sort of mental shock. I had done everything I was supposed to do, or so I thought. My husband and I had gone out to dinner with a friend. I had two glasses of water and just finished my salad. Out of nowhere it hit.
My stomach felt a bit unsettled. My lips were actually tingling a bit. Then I broke out in a cold sweat. From a distance I noticed that my husband was deep in conversation with our friend. Everything was going on around me as if nothing were happening. A part of my brain was aware that I needed to do "something" but that was as far as it got. I opened my purse and got out my meter. This little black bag was important. I needed to "do" something with it. So I kept patting it as the answer would pop out like a genie. Panic was swelling up to the point that the booth was suddenly too crowded. I couldn’t breathe and the only solution was getting out of that tiny space and doing it NOW.
My husband and Chris looked at me with equally puzzled expressions as I shoved my husband bodily out of the booth. I ran/staggered to the ladies room. I have not felt like that since I was pregnant. I knew the symptoms. Even as I was being violently ill I was running through the list in my mind. "Cold, clammy sweat. Nausea and vomiting. Dizziness and confusion."
I have never before contemplated laying down on a public restroom floor. I gave it serious thought that night. I managed to pull myself together enough to walk back to our table. I whispered to my husband that I needed to go home NOW. I made a vague hurried apology to Chris and went out to the parking lot. The night air felt lovely.
I stood beside our truck (because I didn’t have the keys) and amazingly enough remembered what I was supposed to do with that little black bag. My glucose was 83. A bit low but not dangerously so. The medical team is still at a loss as to what happened. Their best explanation is that I "bottomed out". My numbers went from a relatively high level (without me being aware) to my "83". I now know that I have to eat a small amount (of the right "fuel") every 3-4 hours to prevent this from happening again.
My family is also now on "watch" whether they like it or not. I realize it is an inconvenience but everyone has to be aware of what to do if I begin acting "differently" from my usual odd behavior. As you can see once the symptoms hit I don’t always have the ability to correct the situation. I have glucose tablets in my purse, just in case. So far the only one that appears competent is mama. My husband is oblivious unless there is a severed artery or exposed bone involved. Lauren doesn’t "do" blood. The boys are lost in the "hormone fog" of adolescence. It is up to ME.
I am adjusting. I am coping. I still mumble a bit when I say the words. It is like the white elephant in the corner of the room. It is there but I really wish it would just go away and stop mucking up the place.