Can't Open the Can Opener

I am hypoglycemic. If you don't know what that means, please look it up on WebMD because I don't mean to be rude, but I'm tired of explaining it and people still not understanding. The simple explanation is it's the opposite of diabetes. My blood sugar drops too low. Theirs rises too high. And today, I crashed.

 After lunch with Kayla, I went to my Film class in McKee, which lasted over an hour. In between my Film class and my Human Society class with Professor Guinness, I had 3/4th of a ham sandwich I had slapped together at home. For some reason however during class, my attention began to get fuzzy and I could feel the empty, swirling dizziness begin in my stomach.

"You saw me eat that ham sandwich, right?" I asked Chris on the way to my apartment.
"Yeah..."
"Then why am I so hungry?"

Chris and I got to the apartment, I checked my bank balance online, then we headed to Wal-Mart because I was out of bread. I should have known then. It was 5:00, around the time I normally start thinking about what I'm going to cook for dinner. I should have known better!

At Wal-Mart, I was dizzy, but functioning and walking through the aisles searching for bread helped take my mind off things. Then, we got to the check out. I should have gone to Food Lion; they are so less crowded. But there I was stuck in a line at Wal-Mart, just chit-chatting with Chris and my mind went back to the overwhelming wave of dizziness starting to crush down on my head, and of course the guy in front of us is taking forever needing minuscule coins for change.

The first sign of my downfall was I typed in the wrong pin number. Normally when I pull a slip up like that I type in my mom's pin number forgetting which card I'm using. This time... I don't know whose pin number it was but it certainly wasn't mine, my mom's, or any card's I have ever used. It was the beginning of the end.

Got checked out... headed out into the parking lot... unlocked the car... grabbed a protein bar from my bag... hopped into the driver's seat... took off down the road hoping the protein bar would help. Unfortunately, those protein bars are to keep you balanced, not to help you balance out a problem already.

Soon, I started pulling weird stunts of going the wrong direction to Chris's dormitory and not being able to focus. I dropped him off, insisting I was ok and chattered to myself down the mountain back to my apartment. Another sign: incessant chattering, particularly to myself.

Upon arriving at the apartment, I decided, "Ok, I'm gonna need some help getting dinner ready." My hands had started to shake. My knees were beginning to wobble. Where were my roommates?

I knew Kayla was at work. I knocked on Cody's door. No answer. "Cody?!" No answered. I knocked on CC's door. No answer.

Ok, ok, I can do this. I'm going to pop some fish sticks in the oven and open a can of yams to microwave. I can handle this. I've been like this before.

The fish sticks were easy. I placed them on a baking sheet, set the oven, then turned to the yams as the oven preheated. Our can opener is not user friendly. Our can opener is even less user friendly when your hands are shaking badly because your sugar is dropping. Wrestling with this can opener, I was spilling yam juice all over the counter and barely making a dent in the lid. I knew the game was up. I needed help. I grabbed my cell phone and made a call.

You might be wondering at this point... why the flip didn't you just grab some peanut butter? Eat something! Anything! No, at this point... I needed real food. Snacks were only going to bring up my blood sugar in one big wave to then quickly crash back down again harder.

After a slurring phone call, here comes Charlotte! He found the front door open and me sitting on the floor with a mug in my hands. God bless him, he didn't panic; he didn't rush to my side. He didn't make me feel out of place, embarrassed, a burden, or anything out of the ordinary. Calmly, he strode across the living room and into the kitchen.

"So I'm hypoglycemic," I began and pointed up at the counter above me. "And, I can't make my dinner."

"Did you fall?" Charlotte asked.

"No, I just needed to sit down."

"Ok, just making sure," and he got to work on the can of yams. He, too, needed assistance when it came to that gosh darn can opener. Making me laugh (which was probably the best thing for me), Charlotte fiddled with the can opener finally calling it quits and chopping the edges of the lid off with a butter knife. We got the yams into a bowl, the bowl into the microwave, then I stood in front of that machine blankly wondering why I was standing there, what needed to be done, and oh yeah... what buttons... buttons... lots of numbers... which numbers... must push the buttons... how long for the yams... until finally it clicked into place.

"Sorry... my functioning and rational is gone," I answered, slumping into a dining chair while Charlotte filled me in on his day.

When the microwave beeped, he handed me the bowl and a fork, and I went to town probably looking rather scary stuffing my face with mushy orangish red roots. That can was supposed to last me two nights of dinner. I finished it in less than fifteen minutes.

Charlotte stayed until I had also cleaned my plate of fish sticks before returning to his own apartment.

"Thank you so much," I said, finally feeling up to being a human being again. "I'm so sorry I had to call you out here."

"Don't worry about it," he insisted. "If it happens again, well I'll just be sitting in my apartment."

If there were ever a person to be able to handle hypoglycemia, it would be that boy! Bless him, he had me laughing and keeping me alert the whole time. And, if there were ever a "good" attack from my grand old enemy, it would have to be today.

Just to let everyone know... I am doing much better!