Today was one of those days where blood sugars conspire to sabotage everything. Their conspiracy suceeded.
My husband and I have been trying to run each morning this week. I say "trying," because we're trying to adjust my insulin so that I'll wake up about 180 or so and be able to run without plummeting and without needing to guzzle juice. I woke up at 6:30 am at 140, so we forgoed (forgone? forwent?) running. 1 hour later I was 258. After adjusting my insulin and working out, I was 303. Then I noticed the "low battery" sign; so, okay, replace the battery. Bolus. And give a corrective shot, since it usually takes a long time to come down.
Of course, I felt very irritable and not at all wanting to be social, which is what I was supposed to feel like since we had a lunch date. And after lunch I felt a little less irratable, since I was done to something like 280. At that point, I was anticipating a rapid plummet. So I made sure to test frequently.
One additional reason I felt irratable was that I was supposed to meet the two important members of my dissertation committee for comments on my most recent dissertation chapter. I had a deep sense of foreboding, and while they're both nice and reasonable (and smart) people, I was dreading this meeting. Dread+high blood sugar = NOT GOOD.
Right before the meeting (still anticipating a plummet) I was 99. Having done these blood sugar things before, I knew that if I didn't put the brakes on I'd be 40 and sweating and incoherent in front of my committee in no time. So, I sipped some coke and had some chocolate. Had a terrible meeting. The stuff I worked so hard on wasn't good enough and the stuff that I know is wrong they made sure to tell me was wrong. Now, don't get me wrong -- this is what they're supposed to do, and they did it honestly and nicely, and I appreciate it. But dissertating is discouraging. Having thoughts but not being able to articulate them in a smart way or specific way is frustrating. Trying to grapple with the legions of scholars who've written on my topic is frustrating. And by the time they got to the stuff they liked about my chapter I was really frustrated. And so I cried. In. Front. Of. My. Committee. Not weepy crying. I kept it undercontrol by nodding my ahead and keeping my mouth shut. But still.
And then I came home and was 380. After lots of water and a run I was 330. And so I said "shit." I felt a little bit better.