It’s Not Called Cryabetes

C’mon, Molly. Get it together. It’s not called cryabetes. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, giving myself an internal pep talk to keep the tears from flowing down my cheeks. I felt a little uneasy on my feet, so holding a steady gaze proved to be challenging after a few moments.

Why was I on the verge of an emotional breakdown? It was all my blood sugar’s fault, of course. For about an hour, I’d been hovering in the upper 60s to lower 70s. There are far worse blood sugar ranges to fall in, but I’d been feeling the classic symptoms of a low for that entire span of time – and it was really testing my fortitude.

My self-talk was fruitless; within seconds, the first few tears escaped from my eyes. It wasn’t long before a couple tears turned into full-fledged bawling. Alarmed by my outburst, my boyfriend tried to calm me down (he was aware of my low blood sugar situation) and attempted to use humor to get the crying to stop. Very quickly, he discovered I was a bit beyond that and that it was best to just let me be sad.

I was sad because I was tired and wanted to go to bed but it didn’t feel safe for me to sleep just yet. Safe to sleep. Can you imagine not feeling safe enough to fall asleep, even in your own bed surrounded by your own blankets in your own room, with your partner nearby?

So the tears came and went because, even though I tried my damnedest, I still felt so out of control in this situation. Not knowing how long it would take my blood sugar to come back up to a level that I felt safe to sleep at, not knowing what exactly caused this predicament in the first place, and not being capable of being mentally stronger than my diabetes all in that moment in time got to the best of me.

Definitely very chronically UN-chill of me, right?

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So sure, diabetes isn’t called cryabetes. But that doesn’t mean my emotional lapse – or any emotional lapses related to diabetes – wasn’t warranted. Crying can be healing, and in this moment in time, it was the only thing, oddly enough, that could make me feel a tiny bit better.

How Moving to a New State Impacted my Diabetes

A few short days ago, I made the move from Massachusetts to Virginia…and just as I predicted, the whole process has been emotionally draining. I’ve cried more times than I can count. I’ve busted my butt trying to get settled as quickly as possible. I’ve been eating poorly as a way to cope with my emotions. And my blood sugars have been all over the place as a result…again, just as I predicted, but still a bit disheartening.

I knew to expect some diabetes turbulence from the get-go. After all, a seven-hour car ride doesn’t exactly bode well for anyone’s blood sugar. But surprisingly, the drive to Virginia was probably when my blood sugar was most stable. I was snacking a little (okay, a lot) on the drive because it gave me something to do other than cry and talk unintelligibly to my boyfriend (my trusty driver) and it was far from healthy snacks…think fast food breakfast sandwich, Reese’s cups, and trail mix. Could’ve been worse, could’ve been a whole lot better. I think that because I was well aware of the high carb content of my snacks of choice, it motivated me to stay on top of my blood sugars and give myself micro-boluses as needed.

So that was all well and good.

Then came the actually moving-in process.

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Box after box and bag after bag were transported from the car, up three flights of stairs, and down a long hallway. It’s no wonder that I went a little low from all that back-and-forth, though I did think that riding the elevator as needed would’ve prevented too much of a drop. And if I could go back in time, I’d like to address the day that I took off from work to do the bulk of my unpacking and adjust my temporary basal settings to something like a 50% decrease for six hours or so. That’s because as I sorted through clothing, emptied boxes, and organized all of my possessions, my blood sugar just did not want to stay put at a comfortable level. Over the course of the very long day that I spent unpacking, my blood sugar dropped low enough that I had to stop what I was doing to eat three times. It felt like I was constantly stuffing my face with food, which was frustrating and the last thing I wanted when all I desired was to get settled.

That’s the physical component of moving – a lot of labor; more specifically, lifting, tidying, hanging, folding, unfolding, and if you’re me, cursing.

But there’s an emotional side to it, too, that I would guess affected my blood sugar just as much as the physical aspect did.

I’ll be honest: Tears were shed. Anxiety felt like it would swallow me whole at points. Doubts ran through my mind as I wondered whether I was strong enough to be so far away from family and friends. I was feeling – and am still feeling, TBH – so many different emotional swings that I am fairly certain that I can blame my blood sugar swings on them.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I know I need to give myself time to adjust. I’ve got to take it day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment. I need to let myself feel the way that I feel and remember to be kind to myself, especially where diabetes is concerned.

It just helps to write it all down.