I am a synchronized swimmer. I realize that it might not be the most common or popular sport, but it’s something that I love. Unfortunately it doesn’t fit my schedule in Boston, so I travel to NH every other week for it. The commute is just something that I can’t really do every week. I was really excited for our first masters class last night. As I’m getting off the highway, I start to feel low. This wasn’t just any low. This was what I like to call shifaced low. A low where you may not actually be really low, (I was 65) but a low that still packs a punch and knocks you to the ground. It also takes longer to recover from. I sat there on the side of the pool sucking down jucie boxes, tabs, granola bars, enough so that by the time the hour long class was over, I was finally not low. I go into the locker room to change out of my bathing suit, pissed off. I’m fumbling with my things so that I can be comfortable on the drive back to Boston, and I hear that familiar “beep beep beep” that comes with a suspended pump. I am a forgetful diabetic, so I don’t suspend my pump because then I forget to unsuspend it. I realize that there is a woman in the changing room and she must have a pump too. My pissed-off-ness makes me want to yell “It’s not fair” but the new improved diabetic in me makes me want to ask all sorts of questions such as “Has this ever happened to you?” ”Do you ever get shitfaced low?” ”How come when my A1C is better, low blood sugars can interfere more?” but mostly “Can I please have a hug?”
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Shitfaced Low
From September 23, 2010
I am a synchronized swimmer. I realize that it might not be the most common or popular sport, but it’s something that I love. Unfortunately it doesn’t fit my schedule in Boston, so I travel to NH every other week for it. The commute is just something that I can’t really do every week. I was really excited for our first masters class last night. As I’m getting off the highway, I start to feel low. This wasn’t just any low. This was what I like to call shifaced low. A low where you may not actually be really low, (I was 65) but a low that still packs a punch and knocks you to the ground. It also takes longer to recover from. I sat there on the side of the pool sucking down jucie boxes, tabs, granola bars, enough so that by the time the hour long class was over, I was finally not low. I go into the locker room to change out of my bathing suit, pissed off. I’m fumbling with my things so that I can be comfortable on the drive back to Boston, and I hear that familiar “beep beep beep” that comes with a suspended pump. I am a forgetful diabetic, so I don’t suspend my pump because then I forget to unsuspend it. I realize that there is a woman in the changing room and she must have a pump too. My pissed-off-ness makes me want to yell “It’s not fair” but the new improved diabetic in me makes me want to ask all sorts of questions such as “Has this ever happened to you?” ”Do you ever get shitfaced low?” ”How come when my A1C is better, low blood sugars can interfere more?” but mostly “Can I please have a hug?”
I am a synchronized swimmer. I realize that it might not be the most common or popular sport, but it’s something that I love. Unfortunately it doesn’t fit my schedule in Boston, so I travel to NH every other week for it. The commute is just something that I can’t really do every week. I was really excited for our first masters class last night. As I’m getting off the highway, I start to feel low. This wasn’t just any low. This was what I like to call shifaced low. A low where you may not actually be really low, (I was 65) but a low that still packs a punch and knocks you to the ground. It also takes longer to recover from. I sat there on the side of the pool sucking down jucie boxes, tabs, granola bars, enough so that by the time the hour long class was over, I was finally not low. I go into the locker room to change out of my bathing suit, pissed off. I’m fumbling with my things so that I can be comfortable on the drive back to Boston, and I hear that familiar “beep beep beep” that comes with a suspended pump. I am a forgetful diabetic, so I don’t suspend my pump because then I forget to unsuspend it. I realize that there is a woman in the changing room and she must have a pump too. My pissed-off-ness makes me want to yell “It’s not fair” but the new improved diabetic in me makes me want to ask all sorts of questions such as “Has this ever happened to you?” ”Do you ever get shitfaced low?” ”How come when my A1C is better, low blood sugars can interfere more?” but mostly “Can I please have a hug?”
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