Recently, I went to the College Media Conference in Louisville, Kentucky. We stayed in an unbelievable hotel snuggled next to the Ohio River and for half a week were supposed to attend various seminars being held at the conference. The Western Carolinian brought home two awards, one with my name on it, and we are beyond thrilled.
However, the trip was slightly ruined because once again my hypoglycemia struck. It's partly my fault. It's partly the hotel's fault for not providing promised breakfast or for lying to my roommate and me saying there was none (apparently there was speculation that the staff lied because Sam and I didn't appear "fancy enough" to actually be staying in the Executive Tower, which we were). Anyway, one thing led to another and after attending only one seminar, I was out on the hotel room couch for the rest of the day. The following morning, Sam drove me partway to meet up with my darling Morgan who drove six hours in all and crossed two state lines just to pick me up. He even called Sam multiple times, told her what I needed, and kept watch over me via text messages the entire time. Sam and Morgan, I owe you everything!!! Without you two... just thank you from the bottom of my heart! Especially you Sam since we had only met four days before! If you ever need anything...!!!!!
After the scare in Kentucky and other instances throughout the weeks, Morgan became insistent that I see someone about my condition. I agreed. I am sick of living my life like this. I am sick of being unable to spend the night over anywhere that is not my home. It doesn't have to happen.
My hypoglycemia has only been a major factor in my life in the past two years. Before, I was a high school kid living with a strict schedule of eat breakfast, go to school, eat lunch, come home, eat a snack, Ma makes dinner, go to bed. That was life for years. Then, I was shipped off to college and everything changed! Immediately, I was fending for myself forced to eat at a dining hall that did not cook like my mother. In 15 months, I lost over ten pounds from stress, poor dining choices, my condition, other illnesses, and more stress! I lost more weight over the summer while suffering from depression due to what had actually happened over the course of my freshman year (cough... The Viking... yeah, you know).
So I took Morgan's advice and last Friday we went to Harris Regional, the local hospital, and visited the dietitian. Technically, this woman "Mrs. Nutrition" was a specialist in diabetes, but she seemed to know what she was talking about over the phone, so I made an appointment. Morgan and I walked into her office, a cramped room covered with shelving which is in turn covered with rubber molds of fake food. I couldn't even look at it for it was so realistic yet not... it looked like real eggs and cereal and muffins that had been left sitting out for months. But Mrs. Nutrition made us feel right at home and got down to the basics.
"Here's what you got," she announced. "There are two types of hypoglycemia, and I think you have reactive hypoglycemia."
I already knew this from previous, personal research.
Mrs. Nutrition continued to talk, asking about my diet on a daily basis and filling me in on the right kinds of food I should eat. The whole process took less than an hour. I figured after her talk, we would get to testing my sugar levels. But no, we were showed the door.
"If you have any questions, just email me, ok? But yeah, that's it."
The whole ordeal was overwhelmingly crushing, me looking for some sort of help that wasn't the whole diet crap that I'd been fed my entire life, and Morgan and I stood in the parking lot afterwards, both clearly upset and exasperated by the experience. We drove home in silence, Morgan patting me hand while I silently cried over the verdict I had been given, the verdict I had been living my whole life: carry around a canister of almonds wherever you go. Yeah, well... that's not going to fix the problem, now is it? For two years now, I have desperately been looking for a cure. Mrs. Nutrition had completely crushed such a dream. I must add though she was a lovely woman, just not right for me.
After pulling myself back together, I began to read the documents Mrs. Nutrition had given me to take home. As I read, ideas began to swirl about in my mind. Reactive hypoglycemia didn't look right at all. Instead, fasting hypoglycemia sounded more like what I have. According to the papers, hypoglycemia is rarely diagnosed in children, and I've been stricken with this disease since childhood. Reasons for child hypoglycemia include metabolism problems, something my parents have brought up in the past and quite recently why my low blood sugar is so strong. So I decided to get a second opinion... immediately!
To the Western Carolina Health Center I went yesterday and made an appointment with a doctor for "testing." Background: I am DEATHLY AFRAID OF NEEDLES!!! Thanks to a horrible, mind-shattering experience as a child with needles, I have since been forever in panic when it comes to shots and drawing blood. The word "testing" had me in a thither for the rest of the day.
To the Health Center I showed up at this morning. Morgan was supposed to come back with me but the nurse forbid it. In front of some strange woman, we kissed each other good bye and I had to bravely go into the back by myself while Morgan went off to the class he was missing for me.
In the exam room, I went through all the ordeals of a normal check-up with the scale, thermometer, and blood pressure. Then, the hilarious doctor I had seen last year for bronchitis entered my room. Yay, a welcome, familiar face!!! Praise God! That was truly a welcome surprise! "Dr. Grin" asked me the different, more personal diet questions... what my symptoms were, how long has I been noticing what he called "spells." Dr. Grin honestly believed I might not have hypoglycemia at all. So he ordered a CBC and other tests.
"And how are these tests administered?" I asked fearfully.
Dr. Grin pointed directly at the crook of my left arm.
Yep, that's what I feared. Immediately, my tears began to fill up with tears.
"I'm not going to ride you about being afraid," Dr. Grin stated. "Personally, I don't like them myself. Here's what you do: tell the lab technician right off the bat that you're scared! Then do not look!! The moment you walk in, do not look at anything! Don't look! Don't look! Then, when she gets going, immediately start talking about something. So how's that weather? You'll be fine."
I waited painfully in the waiting room until I was called into the lab where I got blood drawn. I forced the poor technician to tell me about her cocker spaniel and I told her about Sparta. It was all fine and dandy until I returned to the waiting room. As soon as I sat down, I immediately felt the room close in. My vision became blurred. A ringing sounded in my ears, blocking out everything else. Heat flooded my face like someone had thrown a hot towel over me. I felt vomit rise in the back of my throat. I put my head between my legs and tried to breathe as calmly as possible as the pain around my prick of a wound throbbed in larger rings up and down my arm. The receptionist came out and checked on me!
When Dr. Grin called me back to go over my blood work, he asked how I did."Well the receptionist had to check on me," I answered.
"Yes, I forgot to tell you that afterwards you have to start reading a magazine, get your mind off it." We reentered the examination room, and he sat on a stool. His finger tapped his temple. "The mind is a powerful thing."
My blood came back perfect. Now, I wait for Dr. Grin to call me back in a few days to let me know if everything else is healthy, such as my thyroid glands and liver. He wants me to come back to the Health Center in the middle of a "spell" to test my blood then. And I'm thinking... huh! That'll be a fun trip! Dr. Grin still isn't sure whether it's hypoglycemia I really have or not. And wants to see if my sugar gets as low as 33 or in that area.
"And what if it's not hypoglycemia?" I asked tentatively.
And he spoke three of the worst words in the medical profession. "I don't know."
I've been in bed since returning home from campus, skipping my two classes. Wrapped up in Morgan's fuzzy and fluffy pajama pants that I got him for our anniversary and his button up shirt, I have been watching movies all day with pain in my arm and coughing nonstop from the "Cullowhee Crud." Hopefully, my tests will come back all clear and I will actually be able to pull off going to the Health Center during one of my attacks.
I'll let you all know...!
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