An Odd Science

I am sorting papers upstairs for good 'ole Office of Admissions.

I feel it - if you've read my blog before, I don't even see the point in describing it anymore, because I've written about so many lows. I ignore it for a second, but quickly acquiesce - I can't fight this one, even though lunch break is just 20 minutes away.

I scramble downstairs to my bag to grab a snack and test.

Test first - other hand is sorting through bag for granola bar. 

World is buzzing. Can't focus. Number is 42 mg/dL.

"You alright?" Boss MaryAnn asks. 

MaryAnn has been more than nice with me. I'm low a lot - and she always sympathizes and gets me juice and lets me go to lunch early. But I've already done that twice this week, and I feel bad for having to do it again. I don't tell her, because it doesn't seem fair to do that and take time away from work again. 

"I'm fine." I say. "Just getting a snack."

I run out of the office and back towards the stairs to the sorting room upstairs.(and blah blah blah oshie was here - don't leave your unfinished blog up. hehe - love you baby, by the time you actually read this I will be in the laundry room - outside of your influence. ~Oshie) (That's not funny baby. I'm not good at laundry, but I can get it done... and get the washer replaced before anyone finds out I broke it) I have the wrapper torn open and I'm eating the granola bar, but as I'm running towards the stairs I am overcome by weakness and suddenly climbing those stupid stairs seems equivalent to climbing Mt. Everest. I have to stop mid way, and I lean against the wall, wiping sweat away from my brow. 

"I hate this," I mutter to myself.

I manage to climb up the stairs one at a time, then use a last burst of energy to make it to the couch just around the corner. The third floor of Wesleyan College's Olive Swann Porter Building is what we call the "furniture graveyard"; old antique couches, desks, rugs and chairs are scattered around the landing, and the offices and sorting rooms are through a door situated on one of the walls. The couch I plop on is not comfy, but my low self doesn't really care. 

At the moment, to me it is simply: couch. 

This low hits me hard. Lows are an odd science: some you don't feel, and others will knock you off your feet faster than being shoved will. I lose track of how much time I sit there, but instead sit and wipe sweat from my forehead. Susan comes by and I sit up, slightly embarrassed at my current state.
"I'm just low. I'm resting until I feel better, I don't feel so good."
"Oh, dear, are you ok?" She asks. "Rest as long as you need to."
I feel like crap but know I'll be fine, this has happened before, and so she walks down the stairs.
5 minutes later Mary Ann comes up the stairs holding a glass of juice. Susan has clearly told Mary Ann (as any concerned person would do) that I was laying upstairs looking pale and drawn. I don't say anything, just "hey" and drink the juice. It touches me that Mary Ann cares, but I wish that Diabetes didn't interrupt my life like this so much.
I don't want to be the sick kid, the liability, the one that has to interrupt a campus tour because of a low.
I don't want to have to leave work early, or take 30 minutes off, to treat. In truth, it makes me a little ashamed.
I have so much I'm capable of - being driven is one of my strongest traits.
It sucks when you feel like Diabetes limits you, no matter how much drive you have.
But such is life, no?
"Take care of yourself," she says.
I promise, I'll keep doing my best. 

Survival Mode: Near-Semester's End Edition.

The school year is finally winding down, and I find myself able to breathe a sigh of relief as I only have one impending Physics final left before I can enjoy three weeks of freedom. I need it: this semester has been hell, to put it frankly. I got way more than I bargained for with Genetics, Physics, work, work and more work. I'm tired. I'm stressed. I don't sleep enough. My blood sugars suffered for it earlier this semester, with hardly a day going by that I didn't get at least one 200+.

Actually, this year in general has been rough, and I mean seriously. From relationship to family drama, trying to apply to Graduate school, the midnight cry-sessions about how I can't seem to get my brain to understand a lick of Physics, to all the times I couldn't get to my face painting gig on time... it's been really hard. And Sunday made it all harder, because the most terrifying thing in my life happened: I was in a terrible car accident and managed to total my Ford F-150, walking out with barely a scratch when I shouldn't have been able to walk away at all. I can't describe the feeling without cringing, because all I can think of is seeing the guard rail hurtling toward me as my car is rolling, and I'm scarcely understanding what is going on - it happened so quickly, that at least I know that had I died, I wouldn't have had time to feel fear. I simply lived in the moment, I didn't have flashbacks of my life, I just thought: "I'm probably going to die. Ok. God, please, help, God." And then it was over, and the smell was horrible, and I crawled out the window, adrenaline coursing through my body.

I'm going to devote a blog post to this soon, but I'm trying to write it now and the memory is so fresh in my mind and heart that it's like trying to peel a sticky, wet bandage off a fresh wound - it physically hurts, it terrified me, and I don't think I'm ready to face the emotions that go along with writing about this experience yet. Not yet. Soon, but now it's enough to think about it and feel sickening fear, and try to push it away again. I pour my heart and soul into writing - I write better than I express my own emotions and thoughts verbally - and so I feel a lot of emotions when I do it. This week has been a melting pot of trying to recover and terrible emotions and trying to simply survive through finals when really I've been a zombie of myself, and each day I discover some new bruise or wince because there is a piece of glass still in my foot that I can't get out. I don't think I'll even be able to drive down Highway 96 for a while, I'll take the other way, because I don't think I can mentally handle seeing the crash site again, even if there's nothing special about it that would point out that location in anyone's eye but my own. I need to chill, so in the meantime I close my eyes and think of images that don't have to do with guardrails or the awfulputridsmell or the glass or the rolling or any of it. I need to stop writing about it now because if I really stop and think about it I feel physically sick.

On the bright side, my sugars have been better - OK, so I've had a lot of lows, but very mellow, <180 mg/DL for the most part, with a few highs speckled in between. It's been good - Diabetes is on the backburner right now, I'm testing and giving insulin and carb counting like a good little Diabetes robot, and I haven't exactly had the biggest appetite lately, so actually I'm eating pretty healthy and sparingly and it's nice because my sugars show it.

So, that's what's going on in life right now - keep an eye out for that other blog post soon.
Merry early Christmas.