Saturday, November 24, 2018
I was diagnosed with hypoglycemia when I was seven: I had my first attack during Mass, after fasting for 12 hours (and no kid should be expected to fast that long for anything short of major surgery) the way "real adults" did for Communion. Hot and cold sweats, in the middle of an unheated church here's this little kid taking off her coat and putting it back on, and the next thing I know Im being frog marched, grey-faced, out the church with Sister Mary Arthur and my mother saying, "what happened?"
After that I got to eat a small breakfast on Sunday (oy, the private pleasures of a dispensation from the Bishop) before Mass...
It's part of diabetes, but not necessarily a symptom. I found out it can live on its own, quite nicely. Of course, my mother came from a good solid French Canadian family, so packing the kids with food like a portable lunch box was second nature to her.
The real problem arises when you are with someone who doesn't get what you're saying, as in, "I think I need to eat now" and they say "okay, let's make reservations.". No. I mean NOW, and give me that cookie. It also makes you testy.
I was thinking about this today, when I was casting about for something to eat for lunch and my husband said, "I should think you'd KNOW when you're hungry..." and I realized that I don't ever want to get to the rumbly stomach phase of hungry. I can't. By then, I'm probably going to be out cold. We have to gauge how we feel, how 'empty', how cranky, how slightly fuzzy headed.
My biggest fear at this age is going into one of these in the supermarket and waking up as the EMTs hook me up to an IV and a heart monitor, when all I really need is a handful of M&Ms...😰
Posted by mittens at 1:47 PM