The first thing I remember about this morning was being on then phone to my Dad and hearing him saying "put Angela on the phone, you're having a hypo!"
It was 10 o'clock and work had tried and failed to get me on the phone, Angela had left early to go to Quakers Hill to help her builder put a deck up, and as the reality of my situation sunk in the longer I talked to Dad, the more serious diabetes became, and the more I realised that I'm not an endocrinologist and shouldn't adjust my insulin rates on my own.
My sugar level had dropped through the night due to my own basal adjustments (insulin infusion) and when I finally started making sense of things, I tested my sugar level and it was 2.6 (normal range is between 3.5 & 8). I had slipped into a mild coma, and thankfully Dad got me on the phone before things got dire - I got up and had some breakfast, rang work (who had arranged it so I could take the day off-good people!), rang my endocrinologist and adjusted my basal rates over the phone (my endocrinologist has officially retired, but when I told him this was an emergency - he dropped everything to look after me - good person), and went to a cafe & had a coffee.
I've been taking diabetes with a grain of salt and been pretty blasé given it's standing in the pecking order of things I have to worry about at the moment, but diabetes is responsible for most of the health related dramas my wife & I have gone through over the last few months, so I'm going to leave the tinkering of rates to the people who went to university specifically to avoid what I did this morning, but while they're doing their thing, I've still got a life to live, so I'm going to keep getting on with it.
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