Gosh, I've never had a disastrous hypo as you all describe them. The lowest reading I ever had was 1.6 mml, when I was planting bulbs in the front garden. I had already stopped and come in once, as I could feel BS dropping, but didn't do a test, just drank about 100 ml of Lucozade and went back to the job in hand. We were flying from Manchester airport at 3 am the following morning, so if I didn't plant the bulbs they would be dead by the time we were back. (Knew husband wouldn't do it !) I had about another 10 or 2 to plant. Worked on when I knew I was hypo. (Only time I ever have.) Finished the job, grabbed tools and returned to house. Drank at least 150 ml Lucozde, sat down, did test which showed 1.6 mml. I was a bit startled, but sat still and relaxed. After 15 mins it was 3.8 mml.
The next bit is what you'll find crazy. I had learned from experience that if I was hypo, after correcting with fast-acting glucose, if I then ate the recommended slowly-digested stuff to prevent a later hypo, my BS would spike to 22 or 23 mml very rapidly within 30 to 45 minutes. My answer was an unreasonably huge slice of chocolate cake. There was a cake in the kitchen and I really enjoyed it. Two hours later before my evening meal, my BS was 5.9 mml.
We really are all different. I have never lost consciousness, had a seizure or collapsed during a hypo. Never attacked anyone either though I do get cross - and I definitely know it! The only time I ever had a serious problem was during the night, when I was pregnant. I wonder if using animal insulin is something to do with it ?
Love your posts, Bill and yours too, GrantV. This is all a real blast from the past !
Hi
@JMK1954 Although I have posted this before. I thought you ought to see it:
1979 At a party in Haringey, hosted by one of Helen’s predecessors: The hostess, called Julie, left for work at Harrods, with Yours Truly unconscious on a sofa. She telephoned at 12.45. “You still there?” After my baffled response, I put the phone down and tried to think about my state of affairs. I had a raging headache, my vision kept disappearing, and worryingly, I was experiencing a total memory loss. I started to pace around the stark room like a leopard in its too confined quarters. What the hell is wrong? This is not a hangover. I need to talk to someone. My father. What’s his name? Where does he work? (He retired in 1985 and I still remember his number 01 405 9222 ext 6036) Brain’s battery was completely uncharged then. As I sped around the room in increasing panic, I chanced upon a directory. With my focus looming in and out, I flipped through the pages in the vain hope I might recognise anything. Something suggested the word “assurance” and I had enough cognitive function to write it down. Minutes later I was through to some saint (female) at the switchboard. Why she didn’t think “We’ve got a right one here” I’ll never understand. She deserves recognition.
“ er, Oh God, what’s his name?”
“Don’t worry love, which department is he in?”
“Er, ....... Oh blimey I can’t think"
At this point she began reading down the list until she said:
“Job evaluation"
“That’s it!"
I’m a great believer in fate. Normally one of three lovely secretaries would have answered the phone, but for some reason my father himself answered. I must have been able to tell him my whereabouts, because I remember him giving me some chocolate in the flat. The rest is blank until 6.30 the following morning. I had been put in Johanna’s bedroom (I think she was away at college in Oxford at the time) and my father put his head round the door to check progress. He found me with the top of my head on the floor, followed by most of my torso. He managed to get me back on the bed and then tried to give me warm sweet tea. I hit him. Apparently it took both my parents to hold me against the wall and get some in. Had they the luxury of a
Glucagon injection, I’m sure they would have used it. My father did his National Service at Haslar, the onshore naval establishment at Portsmouth. He was trained as a nurse and used to give up to three hundred penicillin injections a day. Yes, every sailor loves a call girl. To this day nobody has bettered his technique in my experience.