A few months back, after a full Saturday of hiking and then drinking in the evening, I went to bed at a safely higher number and woke up early on Sunday morning to a BG of 180-something. I decided to take about ¼ U Humalog along with my morning Levemir and went back to bed. An hour and a half later I woke up (sort of). Drenched in sweat and feeling like I am starting to trip. Low low low. I knew I was probably low, but for some reason in my still sleepy haze I was quite calm about it. ¼ U of Humalog – I must be in the 80s or 70s but dropping still because of the exercise and ethanol from yesterday I thought. I got up (sort of). More like forced my arms to lift my ever-so-heavy body up and onto the carpet (I don’t keep snacks or a glucometer near the bed, but perhaps I should). My legs did not feel like they really wanted to move at all (at all!) but I used all remaining brain-power to rescue myself as I balanced ever-so-slowly towards the kitchen. The 30 feet or so of walking seemed loaded with every ounce of effort I could muster. I got to the kitchen – cold cold cold floor. I reached into my purse on the kitchen counter, pulled out my meter case, unzipped it, got out a strip, put it in, pricked my finger, and waited. 46.
I grabbed 2 Capri Suns and my testing supplies in my hands and “walked” back to the bedroom, where I promptly fell into bed and tried to keep myself propped up against the wall as I struggled to keep my balance and punch the straw into the juice box. “B, B, I’m 46. I am trying to get this juice open.” And then (as if I really was tripping) I began to sort of laugh uncontrollably. It seemed so incredibly ridiculous to me at that moment that I could not get that straw into the juice box. I finally did and then proceeded to suck it down. Juice number 2 – B had to help me get the straw in that one, much to my amusement. As I sat there, waiting for the carbs to kick in, fighting the urge to pass out/sleep (which one I am not sure), I felt a ridiculous amount of calm and control. “I’ll be fine” I said. “Go to sleep, I will sit here and wait it out”. B’s hand reached out to me and squeezed my hand, as I used the other to wipe/smear the sweat all over my face and chest. “I could barely walk to the kitchen” I said. “It was sooo difficult.” And then I kind of laughed some more, like a crazy person.
A BG check 15-20 minutes later showed a 65, and in half hour a 99. I went back to bed. I woke up an hour later, started breakfast, felt “lowish”, tested and was 79. I ate without blousing, contemplating my next move. Eventually, the increased insulin sensitivity as a result of the previous day’s activities subsided and I was able to resume some “Normalcy”. I am still amazed at my calm demeanor throughout the event, as I haven’t been in the 40s in many years. It took me about three months to finally write it down -
The weirdest low I have ever had.