Saturday morning I woke up to a murderous uterus. I drowned it’s sorrows in a couple of extra-strength ibuprofen. It helped with the pain but not the stomach and GI upset. I spent the day either feeling nauseated or starving. It was really fucked up.
We wanted to have an epic day just Ryan and I. We started with an hour drive to play on some dirt jumps. I’ve never been on dirt jumps and my off-road cycling skills are seriously lacking. I tried and fell once, scraping up my leg a wee bit. Then Ryan told me how to position my body on the bike. Ahhhh.. makes all the difference. At some point I went over to test my BG at my car since I was too nauseous to finish my green smoothie earlier but already took insulin. I noticed my meter case, which houses my insulins, was rather toasty. I then put the case in the wheel well of my car. See where this is going?
Oddly enough I took this picture to send to a friend just a couple weeks ago. My cute bike case is gone :(
They didn’t have my glucose meter of choice so I had to buy a different one. One that I’m not familiar with and one that I ended up hating because of no backlight, strip light or beeps. It would just be for a couple days because my spare meter at work will replace my original meter and this piece of shit will become the spare at work. It cost me $170 to get back up and running. All of which will be reimbursed by my insurance. We would be home before my nighttime shot of Lantus so I didn’t have to buy that.
For an entertaining interlude in this rather bad diabetes blog post here is a little video of Ryan playing around in a bowl on his over-sized dirt-jumping BMX bike. You can take the skater off his skateboard but you'll never take the skater out of him.
I hardly ate anything the entire day because of the wavering between nausea and starvation. It didn’t make sense. I blamed it on the murdering rampaging uterus.
I was still feeling pretty not great on Sunday morning but this was my alone time to ride my ass off. I hit the road after eating fuck all for breakfast. I sighed. I thought, well this is gonna hurt at some point. I was prepared to just deal with the imminent muscle aches and cramps.
The aches and cramps never came. In fact I had one of the best rides I’ve had in a LONG time. My BG stayed in the 6's and 7's for the entire 3.5 hours and ate only 2 of my chocolate date energy balls. Sometimes riding to lose a few pounds is good too. I had Richard Dawkins “The God Delusion” audiobook playing in my ears which was highly interesting until I couldn’t concentrate on it anymore. Why? Because I was entering a familiar territory called hyponatremia. I’m not going to go into the nasty details, click the link for more info. I could tell though. I knew it. I’ve been here before a couple times but one time in particular was rather severe. My not eating much the day before was a culprit. Plus my blood pressures natural tendency to run low. I generally have to consume copious amounts of salt post ride to stave off intense head rushes.
I stopped at a gas station for a fill-up on water. I had already drank twice as much as normal and I was struggling to conserve it. In retrospect, I should have bought some Gatorade or potato chips. By the time I got home I was a wreck. I made some fresh lemon water with salt which tasted fucking disgusting but I sipped on it until it did the trick. 2 glasses of it. Still though, I didn’t eat hardly anything the rest of this day too because of post ride nausea. OH NAUSEA!!!!!!!!!!!!
Enter Sunday night. Post hard ride BG tanked twice before bed. It tanked hard and fast and came out of nowhere. My morning AND evening Lantus shots were reduced by 2 units each for the past 2 days because it’s the weekend. I tried to eat before bed and perhaps I ate a little too much.
Ryan’s 1:30am alarm goes off. He refuses to let us turn it off most nights. He has valid reasons, I don’t. First check (on the annoying meter with no lights that caused me much frustration at 1:30am) had me at 16.9 (305). Really? Second check on another finger resulted in 15.8 (285). Dammit. Another annoying thing with using syringes (it’s just my preference right now because it all fits nicely in my meter case) is needing light to draw up the right amount. I went into the bathroom to turn the light on, drew up 2.5units, stuck it, went back to bed.
Shitty meter. Time stamp is behind by an hour.
Sometime around 4am I bolt up terrified. I can’t feel my mouth. I’m dripping with sweat. I don’t check, just gobble back 4 glucose tabs. I wait and wait and die a little more. The sweat pours off of me soaking everything. I’m hyperventilating and moaning. When I am able to test I see a 1.7 (30). For fucksakes!! I eat another 4 or 5 or 6 glucose tabs. I lost count. Our alarms are set to go off at 5am to get up for work. This is great. Just great. Lows like this leave me so ill. It’s not so much the low but the resulting sugar hangover. My tummy does NOT tolerate sugar EVER. It’s kind of a cruel joke. Almost all my lows leave me feeling nauseous. I was topless and hugging a bath towel rolling around in agony.
I took Zofran and went back to bed after I already got dressed for work. I slept in my clothes intermittently tossing and turning for 2 extra hours. I started work 3 hours later than usual and got caught in a 1:45 hour commute but I kept thinking, “At least I made it to work, it could have been worse… I could have not woken up at all.”
What went wrong? A weekend without eating much didn’t help. A 95km solo ride somewhat dehydrated, edging on hyponatremia and not fueled? Yes. That too.
Then I remembered that my diabetes turned 12 earlier this month and I didn’t even know it. Hello 13th year of hell.