The Meltdown.

We all know the saying, “you’re not you when you’re hungry. Well I think for a diabetic it is more like, “you’re not you when you’re hypoglycemic (aka low). My mini meltdown I had this past week can definitely support that claim.

A phone call to tell my mom about the classes I registered for next fall and her asking me what that would help me achieve by graduation started out as a nice phone call, unexpectedly took a turn for the worse and ended with a meltdown.

You would think her one question about what I would graduate with degrees in has an easy answer. And it is. A bachelors in Political Science with minors in Health promotion and public administration. Her follow-up was about what I would do after graduation. Now I am not exactly sure the answer to this question but I do have somewhat of an idea of what I want to do long-term. Again, should be an easy answer.

But instead of giving her these answers, this short informative phone call turned into a 45 minute conversation with a full on tears, blubbering and an argument about throwing my education in DC away, not being able to get a job after graduation and not taking advantage of the opportunities available to me in DC. All three of which aren’t true.

Oh I also, didn’t mention that I was about to give a super important presentation that I have working 3 weeks on in the class that began in 5 minutes. And at this point, she keeps asking me question after question, for some reason that I didn’t understand, because I wasn’t making sense to her.

Even though I had no idea why she wasn’t understanding what I was saying, she had a sneaking suspicion what it was, but because she is the good mother that she is, was not about to bring it up.

The phone class ended abruptly with me basically yelling at her that I would call her later as I had to go prepare for the presentation. I still couldn’t walk into class five minutes later because I couldn’t get ahold of myself. “That’s weird” I thought to myself because I never am this upset over anything. I couldn’t wait any longer and had to go to class, trying not to look at anyone because every time I opened my mouth to speak I just started crying.

It is at this time I sit down in my seat and pull out the dexcom. It is at that moment that I start to recognize I am feeling shaky, hungry, like there are 25 pounds of metal pressing down on my shoulders. It is at that moment that I start to recognize why I wasn’t making sense to my mom or articulating my thoughts. And it’s at that moment that I actually feel a sense of relief because this entire meltdown is not because I am an inadequate student who doesn’t know what she is doing at college, but because I am simply a girl with diabetes, stressed about a presentation, who is hypoglycemic with a blood sugar of 53. No wonder I can’t get myself together.

I pop some tabs, slow down my pump and quickly run to the vending machine. Thankfully I don’t have to out the low blood sugar I am having to my professor because I am already scheduled to go last which gives me a good 40 minutes to recover.

You see, more and more recently when I have a low blood sugar it is my emotions that change, not necessarily the typical feeling of low blood sugar. The next thing I do is quickly text my mom telling her I am sorry and that my blood sugar is low. And bless that women because the first thing she replies with is “I thought so, but I didn’t want to say anything.”

She “gets it”. She “gets it” more than any person I know could “get it”.

AB

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