Yes I am about to be 48. No that is not what this title is about. Hardy har har.
Last night while sitting on my bed crocheting a baby blanket and listening to Bob Baldwin New Urban Jazz I heard Viv call my name and that she needed help. Her blood sugar was down to 48. Beyond seizure territory. She had managed to get one piece of chocolate into her but couldn’t manage more without help. She was unstable, shaky, sweaty and was moments away from having a seizure.
I got her into the chair and sat on the floor with the massive chocolate jar I had gotten as a gift and unwrapped piece after piece for her. Once she had seven or eight in her I got up and made her a jelly sandwich, then another. She could barely eat them as she was now stuffed. We topped that off with a glass of Dales milk.
All along we were testing her sugars and they finally started to creep up. After the chocolate she said now if she has a seizure not to call 911, she now had enough sugar in her she would come out of it if it happened.
After the milk she tested at 61 so it was climbing, I had to help her back downstairs. I was scared but not nearly as scared as the look on her face conveyed. Damn Diabetes! Even having dealt with it for 48 years it’s still a tricky bastard for her.