Vegas and the Glucose Roller Coaster

So I managed to escape from the city; I’m now chillin’ in the desert with the folks after flying across country in business class.

I’m pretty sure very few people understand my blood sugar stories, so I’m not sure why I’m bothering to blog today’s.  I doubt they will crank many search engines.

Anyway, what I SHOULD have done is eat that emergency beef jerky I keep in my underwear drawer.  I should have started the day just like that, when I woke up at 5am.  I SHOULD have.

But I didn’t.  I woke up at 5am, and left the house at 5:40, walked to the Chambers St. Station to take the A train, which I took to Howard Beach.  From there I got the AirTrain to Terminal 2/3.  At each point in the trek to JFK, I thought I’d be able to grab a quick bite, but turns out I had to keep moving.   I finally got to the terminal around 7am, and there were long lines to Burger King and Wendy’s and all the other delicious breakfast places.

I went into the Delta SkyLounge… my first time in an airport lounge, giggle giggle.  There was some food out, all of it a sugary mess.  I ate a yogurt and a mini-muffin, because I might have died if I didn’t, and then got on the plane.

An hour later on the plane I was offered a cheese omelet accompanied with a mountain of sugar and carbs.  I enjoyed that with a can of tomato juice, which I didn’t finish.  This may sound insane, but I’m starting to believe that a bloody mary is actually better for me than a can of tomato juice.   Fruit juice is the express train to high blood sugar, but alcohol… alcohol, you witty temptress… alcohol lowers blood sugar, in unpredictable ways.

Anyway,  the tomato juice was a giant delicious mistake that I should have never, never, never made.   Blood sugar shoots up like a rocket… and then comes down like a missile.  No problem right?  They’ll offer me more food right?

No, they won’t.  Four hours later I land at McCarren.  My folks pick me up and hand me a can of almonds to snack on, so I don’t pass out.  When I get home I’m starving (which is dangerous for diabetics), and I eat three helpings of pork adobo and rice that my mama made.  I stopped at three because I knew I wasn’t eating eating, that I was panic eating; I could have continued to the point of exploding and still felt hunger, as the blood sugar responds what, 15 minutes later?

So I laid down with a stomach ache and slept for a solid few hours, dead to the world.  It’s now 4:30 in Vegas, the sun is setting over the mountains.  My parents have gone back to the airport, so i’m alone at home with bedhead and bloodshot eyes.  I’m craving a piece of birthday cake and a sugary cola, so I’m pretty sure this is where I eat a piece of cheese and take control of my blood sugar back.  The dogs are snuggling me.

It would have been so much better if I had choked down that emergency underwear jerky this morning….

3 thoughts on “Vegas and the Glucose Roller Coaster

  1. “Underwear jerky” sounds so very, very wrong.

    My dad kep his diabetes in check via alcoholism. Drink your 15 servings a day of red wine and you’re all set. Well, except for the liver, and the brain, and the personality.

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  2. Thanks Russito, it’s more uncomfortable than life threatening… it’s only life threatening if I start to string days like that together. I’m going to eat well today, and tomorrow promises to be a wicked Christmas. Feliz Navidad!

    Orange, I’ve looked into alcoholism, it’s too expensive for me. Convenient, though.

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