The sad truth for people with diabetes is that, occasionally, you’re gonna fall over. This will happen especially often when you’re first diagnosed, because checking your blood sugar feels like a chore instead of a nerdy delight at that point.
It used to happen to me all the time.
I full on hated checking my blood sugar. It was a hassle. I was 17 and wanted to grow my hair long, wear skinny jeans and hate everybody. That made me uncool enough as it was. Getting a little machine, some test strips and a sharp pen out in front of everybody wasn’t going to help my already awful image.
Because of this I passed out, lots.
My first time was outside the 6th form common room. I didn’t know what hypoglycemia felt like at that point, so when I was confused by opening a door, I just figured it was the door’s fault.
Then, as I walked towards another door with big black spots appearing in front of my vision, I just blinked and hoped for the best. I had no idea what was happening, but I didn’t think it was anything to worry about.
When i woke up with a paramedic standing over me and a cut where my glasses had hit my face, I realised worrying was exactly what I should have been doing.
Sadly for my sake, I didn’t learn my lesson until many years later.
Since then I’ve passed out in a cinema, on the underground, at my desk (x2), in the high street and twice on the way back from Starbucks.
It was those last two times that finally made me see the error of my ways. It quite literally knocked some sense into me.
See, both of those times hypoglycemia caused me to hit my head on something hard - the concrete floor. The first time I fractured my skull and woke up with a black eye. The second time - a mere week later, in the exact same place - I fractured my skull again, and woke up with a bleed on the brain.
That’s some serious shit.
What made it worse was that the hospital brought me around too well. When i was sent home my blood sugar levels continued to rise, resulting in my going back into A&E with hyperglycemia as a direct result of them fixing my hypoglycemia.
It was at that point that I thought, “This has to stop.”
I was seriously unwell. A religious guy actually came to my hospital bed and offered to pray for me, although his prayer of, “Dear God, please help cure Ash’s diabetes,” has so far fallen on deaf holy ears.
It might feel uncool to check your blood sugar levels in front of your mates, but it’s even less cool to spend the next eight years in and out of consciousness.