Blood Sugars And Fire Hawks

posted by on 11/01/2012 | 2,159 comments (leave one of your own)

Troy and I headed up to Zoe’s school yesterday for her class Halloween party. I checked her blood sugar before the party started and she was a whopping 55. Good thing there was a table just outside her classroom set up with every kind of cupcake, cookie, and candy known to man.

She didn’t want glucose tabs or gel or the juice I had in my bag, so she ate two small rolls of Smarties out of a basket off her teacher’s desk. I rechecked her ten minutes later and figured she would be close to an 80, Smarties usually turn things around pretty quick. 59.

Fun fact: When Zoe’s blood sugar is low, she doesn’t listen to me and does not answer me when I ask her a question. It’s comparable to a borderline belligerent whiskey drinker like a couple drinks in.

I went and pulled a Dr Pepper out of the ice in the drink bucket. We aren’t in the habit of using soda to treat lows, but her low blood sugar wasn’t budging and I knew a soda that wasn’t diet would get her attention.

She drank half the can, I shot her up with two units of insulin (bad call), and then she proceeded to eat almost all the snacks at the party.

When she is coming up from a low, she can eat the house down. Every time I looked up, she had a chip or a cookie or an apple covered in caramel. I kept my mouth shut because dude, your mother reminding you to count your carbs in front of your friends=NOT COOL.

I took them to the park, she rode her bike, and before dinner and before heading out to score a goddamn bucket full of candy? She was a 365.

12 units and a plate of dinner later, Sonic The Hedgehog and Milk Gone Bad hit the hard streets of Colorado to secure their mother as many Butterfingers as possible.

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They failed miserably at the task I assigned them and handed over ONE Butterfinger.  ONE.

Halloween 12

And juuust before we were going to bed, Zoe announced, “I feel low” and was a 58.  I knew it was probably going to happen, all that insulin and then running around the neighborhood ironically in pursuit of sugar. She drank half a cup of chocolate milk and had two peanut butter crackers and went to bed a solid 120.

I drank two glasses of wine and laid in bed wishing I could deliver a solid nut-punch to whomever invented Halloween.

Troy made me feel better this morning as he discussed his loot. When he doesn’t know the name of candy, he just makes one up.

Send Butterfingers.

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