Living with diabetes is a delicate balance for me. I need to be mindful of the horrible things this disease can bring. But I can’t let myself dwell on them too much because I have to LIVE my life. Sometimes, though, the scary just crashes in.
Sunday night, for the first time in my life, I needed Glucagon. I actually don’t remember that part at all and was completely shocked when Pete said “You remember I gave you Glucagon, right?”. I vaguely remember some juice I wouldn’t drink, and that’s about it. Pete was pretty intimidated by the LONG list of instructions and HUGE needle - when he stuck it in my leg he expected me to jump up screaming like they do on T.V. Apparently all I did was tell him to “Stop pinching me” - but then again, the needle was in my thigh, not in my heart like on T.V.
I spent all day yesterday feeling like I’d been run over by a truck. (I was unprepared for how awful I’d feel, either from the Glucagon or the low itself or the combination of the two.) But anyway, I’m okay. Well, I’m physically okay. Mentally? I’m still kind of freaked out. I don’t quite know what to write, what to think, what to say. I’m not quite ready yet to dive in to any more details of the night. For now, I just need to put it behind me and keep going . . . . .