Hypoglycemia Strikes Again

I rolled over onto my stomach and groggily opened my eyes. I checked the time – 1:30 A.M. I felt beads of sweat form on my forehead and back. I kicked my blankets off my body just as I heard my CGM vibrate: five urgent, successive buzzes, a grating sound. I knew what it meant without looking at the screen. My blood sugar was low, and I had to do something about it.

lowbg
Low blood sugar is never fun, but especially when it happens in the middle of the night.

Blindly, I groped around in the dark, my arm hanging off my bed as I searched the floor for my purse. Once I located it, I rummaged through the inside, looking for a miniature box of raisins that I knew would boost my blood glucose up. I found them and ate them quickly, sitting upright in bed. As I chewed, I registered the sensation that occurs once in a blue moon with these middle-of-the-night lows…

…Raging hunger.

It’s that feeling that you have when your blood sugar gets below a certain point.

That feeling of utter starvation.

That feeling that deprives you of good common sense.

That feeling that forces you to get out of bed, even though the rational part of your mind just wants you to go back to sleep.

Damn it. I’ve succumbed to it, again.

It’s not like this happens every time I have a low at ungodly hours of the morning. In fact, it probably only happens to me four or five times throughout the year. Maybe because I fight against it so hard, since I know that it’ll lead to nothing but high blood sugar and regret.

These thoughts cross my mind, but it’s fleeting. I make my way down the stairs, pausing to grab my bathrobe to keep me warm (the sweating will stop soon and it will be replaced by nonstop chills). Hey, at least I have enough logic at this moment in time to remember the BATHROBE of all things!!!

I turn the light on in the kitchen, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from my eyes. And then I raid the cabinets.

Fistfuls of Smart Food popcorn are devoured one minute, and in the next, I’m swallowing spoonfuls of crunchy peanut butter (my dear, delicious vice). I take a pinch of Parmesan from the fridge and a tiny tower of Toasteds crackers to complete my smorgasbord. I wash it all down with sparkling water and remove myself from the kitchen before I can do any more damage.

I don’t know what’s more sad – the fact that I gave in to these carnal hunger pangs even though I knew my blood sugar would be fine after having the raisins, or that my snacking was absurdly out of control for 1:30 in the morning. Truly, the knowledge that I must’ve consumed close to 400 calories – roughly how much I eat at lunchtime each day – was disgusting to me.

I could blame it on my lack of self-control. I could blame it on the early morning hours and my sleepy state. I could blame it on the peanut butter for being so addicting.

But instead of beating myself up for a snack attack in the witching hours, I’ll just accept it happened and blame it on the hypoglycemia for striking me when I was vulnerable. It happened, it’s over, it’s time to move on and try harder next time.

 

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