Photo of the Day December 5

I've been sick since Wednesday, and I'm miserable!! There's a very good chance this could turn into bronchitis or pneumonia if it keeps going! So while I'm in class this morning and standing in the cold at the bus stop, I will be thinking of my beautiful, snuggly warm bed with my three favorite stuffed animals and pillows!! And once returning from class, that's where you can find me!

Kodak Moment: Photo of the Day April 9

To celebrate our 6-month anniversary, I decided to cook dinner for Morgan. Now as all of you know, I can't cook! Morgan definitely can. So I went to a friend and asked for a recipe I was sure I could make: chicken Parmesan.

It started out great until I realized I forgot the Shake n Bake breadcrumbs. But we made it work. The major problem came after we ate. Both of us, me more than him with my overly sensitive stomach, got very sick afterwards! The marinara sauce as bland as it was did not agree with either of us!!!

Well at least it looks great!! And the stuffing was good too! ....I ain't cooking again!

The Gray Area

At Tuesday's ballroom dance class, I was doing the cha-cha with Jonathan from "Sweet-N-Low." We were stepping back and forth in our little corner, trying to master a new move that involved me pivoting. I just couldn't get it down. There was something about the dynamics that I was missing. Upon finally accomplishing it, I felt such awesomeness! We performed the move a few times with success before stepping apart and taking a break.

Suddenly, things got fuzzy. A heavy heat settled over my brain. Everything became slow. I couldn't focus on what Jonathan or anyone else was saying. The room became stiff and stuffy; the air had been sucked out! My knees began to wobble; my strong legs turned into jelly left in the sun. Jonathan moved toward me to try the dance step again. He took my hands and stepped back in the first move, but I shook my head, staring intently at the ground.

"No, no...nonono," I remember saying.
"No?" Jonathan questioned.
"No..." I struggled to lift my head up to meet his face. "She" - I pointed at my friend Kat who had ran off to get me food - "she's gonna to get me s-s-stuff..."
"Stuff?"
"Um...uh..." My memory was blanking. The ability to form words was quickly declining. It was the beginning of the end. "Sugar!" I managed.
"You. Sit down. Here. Sit down," Jonathan said. (If you had read "Show of Splenda," it is obvious that JC has a full understanding of what I was feeling.)
I sat. And waited for normalcy to return...
This is an occurrence that happens a too regular basis!

* * * *

I tell this story because of something that happened before Spring Break that until now, I have been too angry about to write about it rationally. Even still, I might get a bit carried away if I get going.

For months, I have been waiting for my sugar to be low enough to get it tested at Western Carolina's Health Center. Finally that happened. And when I got there and my sugar was tested, I had a big surprise!!

My blood sugar, as weak and horrible as I felt, was at 88.

Normal is around 100.

...There was nothing wrong with my blood sugar.

However, no one could tell me what was actually wrong with me. I got pricked then questioned like a prisoner about my entire health history but still, I felt no one was actually listening to what I was saying. Whenever I said "this has been happening my whole life" or "I've experienced this since kindergarten," the nurse or physician would skip by it and I would catch a disgruntled frown on their faces. It was frustrating like "I'm telling you the truth. Why isn't this as important to you as it is to me? This is my life!!! I need help fixing it!"

After snacking on some Saltines and peanut butter and answering the never-ending, often repeating questions, I was given this as a diagnosis:

"You're a tall, skinny, 19-year-old female. Sometimes, people of your height, weight, and age can become hypersensitive to these kinds of things."

.......

WHAT?!?!!?

Are you saying that I nearly black out in dance class because I'm hypersensitive?

That I was wheeled through the Denver, Colorado airport in a wheelchair after throwing up for two days because I'm hypersensitive?

That I spent nearly every month vomiting in a toilet when I was between the ages of five and seven because I'm hypersensitive?

That I need other people to literally carry me up stairs or even down the hall after not eating for too long because I'm hypersensitive?!

....

At that point, the doctor was studying me. "You look like what I'm saying is bullcrap," she informed me as I continued to stare at her. "What's going through your mind?"

I explained that after everything I've been through, that just didn't seem to fit. "I just want to know what's wrong with me," I admitted.

And then she said something I will NEVER forget... something so insensitive and rude, something so out of place for the context we were in: a scared, young female student begging for answers and a supposedly professional doctor... her answered was: "Well, medicine isn't as black and white as we'd like it be."

...It was then that I stopped listening to anything else she had to say. And, I left the Health Center stressed and in tears.

* * * *

She's wrong. I know she's wrong! I can't tell you how or what is actually wrong with me, why I have these horrible, crippling spells. Maybe she's right about one thing; maybe it's not hypoglycemia. But it's more than hypersensitivity! Because I know my body and I am the only person who knows what I go through, and it's more than this! I was so frustrated, so disgusted by that woman's insensitivity, and so broken hearted that I didn't get any answers! It was worse than having my heart broken by a boy.

Dear physician who told me such things, that is my life that you're just throwing out the window with your insensitive words. The way you treated my situation was deplorable, and if I knew the right people to talk to... I would highly recommend your removal from the Health Center. Because of you, I feel horrible about myself, like I'm making up my own sickness in my head and that I'm a liar about what's happening to me. You have only fulfilled the theories and anecdotes that hospitals and health care facilities are horrible places!

* * * *

I will find out why my body reacts the way it does! And, I will find a cure, and I will get better!!! Because I REFUSE TO LIVE MY LIFE LIKE THIS!!!

However, I am extremely thankful that this is all that's wrong. While Jonathan and I have similarities, I do not have to inject myself with insulin every day nor have I experienced the hospital stay from Hell that he did when he was 12. And, I'm not taking pity on him. In the short time that I've known him, I can say I love Jonathan! That boy has more imagination, creativity, and energy than any person over the age of five that I've ever met. He has a spark of magic in him that cannot be replicated in just anybody. And, I bet part of the reason that spark is there is because of what he's been through. Even if we never talk again after ballroom class ends, I will be happy and proud to say that I knew someone that strong and brave and beautiful.

But I cannot forget two of my dearest who have been there every moment since I met them... Morgan and Chris. Chris, while callous and harsh in his opinions when I talk to him about my problems, is a sweet and gentle friend when I get sick. He never grows impatient or gets frustrated when I become difficult (believe me, a 140-something pound, 5' 10" girl is very difficult to handle when she can't stand on her own!) Chris carries on when I can't, and he has never treated me special or different. On the other hand, Morgan has been my special nutritionist trooper. He has taken me to special dietary appointments and held my hand when I can't hold open my eyes. He has loved and doted on me with lots of chocolate and peanut butter! He has been my inspiration to get better, to make sure I get sick less often. His patience and understanding has been invaluable to me, and it's what I love the most about him! To both of them, I am most thankful!

* * * *

This has been a very eye-opening experience. Since moving to Cullowhee, I have learned day by day how to efficiently care for myself and what does or does not work. There will still be moments when I crash. Realistically, there will always be moments when I crash throughout my life unless there is a cure for this "hypersensitivity" or whatever this is. I have also learned that the medical profession... they don't always have the answers. And sometimes, you have to come up with your own. As I try to move forward from my negative experience at the Health Center, I will always remember to trust in my own instincts. No one knows me like me.



That Phone Call

I've been waiting for that phone call for a year and a half. I knew that when I left for Cullowhee for college, I would eventually get a call saying someone in the family had died or was badly hurt, and when could I spare a minute to drive down? That call came yesterday. My beautiful sister Kate was in the hospital. My beautiful sister Kate was in surgery. I had no choice. I threw clothes in a bag and left Cullowhee.
On Tuesdays, I do not have class until 2:05 p.m. I gracefully lay around the house all morning catching up on homework and "Bret Michaels: Life as I Know It" episodes while Morgan is out in classes. I have class with Chris at 2, and Morgan joins us in our 3:35 class with Professor Guinness. The morning of "that phone call" I was awoken an hour before Morgan's alarm was supposed to go off. It was Ma.
"Is someone dead?" I asked, half kidding and half serious because it had better be important for someone to call before the gracious hour of 9 and after 1 a.m.
"Are you sick?"
"Yes," I growled in my gravelly voice. "What is it?"
"Has Father called you?"
"No."
"I'm on my way now. Kate's in the hospital. She has appendicitis. She's in surgery now."
By the time I had hung up the phone, I had tears in my eyes. Immediately, I reached out and wrapped my arms around now very awake Morgan.
"Lex, what is it? Hey, talk to me! Talk to me," he coaxed while I sobbed in his shoulder.
"It's Kate."

Of everyone, it was my beautiful, strong, intelligent, sister who I loved more than anything. She was in pain. Now. And I was three hours away.

Her appendix hadn't burst. Her situation wasn't life-threatening. She wasn't going to die. Morphine would eventually dull her pain. But as I sat there staring at the wall thinking, I realized I couldn't just sit in my apartment and go to classes pretending everything was ok. Instead, I leaped out of bed, threw on some clothes, and pulled my small suitcase from the closet. I shoved a pair of jeans, a shirt, clean underwear, my phone charger, a book, and snacks into the bag then locked eyes with Morgan.

"I know you're gonna say no," I said, "but I'm gonna ask anyway: will you go with me?"
He sighed. "No, baby. I can't."
I nodded. "I figured. Take care of Sparta. I hope to be back at least by ten tonight."
I ran out of the apartment, jumped into Little Honda, and hit the road.
The trip was a long one even though I shaved off half an hour of my usual destination time. My head was pounding from being sick all week. The weather was horrible with rain all through the state and wicked fog. And there was the time, ticking and ticking. While I was getting closer and closer to Kate, I felt farther and farther away as Little Honda swerved and sped through the mountains. I could not push that car hard enough. Thankfully, I avoided all police and arrived at the hospital five minutes after Kate was boarded up in the pediatrician ward.

After looping around the full parking deck, I hoofed through the one half of the hospital, across the walkway, up a flight of stairs, through the entrance of the main hospital, and into the gift shop to buy Kate a fuzzy animal. There! A bunny!! Kate had always wanted a bunny for a pet and here was a black & white floppy eared bunny!

Holy crap, that thing was expensive, too! No worries. Anything for Kate! I stood at the register where a hospital employee was before me wanting to purchase two items by deducting the money from her paycheck. Well the woman behind the counter couldn't find the "deduct from paycheck" forms. She and her also elderly coworker spent nearly five minutes trying to locate the forms while I impatiently cursed my luck desperately wanting to get to Kate! Finally, I was up and I handed over the bunny. The woman then asked where I had got the rabbit from.

"Over there on the shelf."
"Which shelf?" She walked around the register and over to the corner of the store where I had found the bunny.
I pointed. "That one."
"Right well let's see how much he is. We're having a sale on the stuffed animals." The woman crossed the store to her coworker. "Is this bunny on sale?"
"That one's 20% off."
"Ok, how do I type that in the computer?"
"Like this."
Another two minutes... I was about to just throw a twenty on the counter and say, "Here! It's a donation! Thanks, bye!"
"Is this a present for someone upstairs, a patient?"
Nope, I should have answered, I buy my Christmas presents at the local hospital.
"Yes," I said instead.
"Ok I'll just gift wrap it."
I mentally slapped my hand to my forehead. Fine, Kate will have something fun to open. Whatever. Just put the bunny in a bag and let me go see my very ill sister, woman!
"Is it a boy or a girl? How old are they?"
"It's for my fifteen-year-old sister," I added, my knees bouncing from impatience.
"Ok, I just want to be make sure I got the right age-appropriate bag."
Woman... I don't care if it's got ducks on it. I don't care if its Elmo. Put. The. Bunny. In. A. Bag! AAHHH!!!!!
The woman handed me a red polka-dotted bag. "I put him tail first with the paper open so he can breathe," the cashier woman told me.
I paused a moment to stare before smiling brightly and nodding. "Thanks!" I sprinted from the gift shop and headed to the elevators.
Third floor. Left. Right. Left again. Pediatrics! FINALLY! I pushed open the door... well, I would have pushed it open if it hadn't been LOCKED! A nurse came and opened the door, and I spat out a room number then power walked down to 3106. I saw Seth, Kate's boyfriend, first. He was sitting, half asleep in a chair half in and half our of the hospital room. Then, there was Kate. She lying in a hospital bed wearing a spotted gown with a grayish pale face and dull glint in her eyes. This was not my sister!
Ma and Father were also in the room with Ma getting up from another chair to give me a hug. I handed Kate the polka-dotted bag. And she pulled out the bunny. And the look on her face was worth every second I spent down in that gift shop. I hasn't been there all night to hold her hand. I hadn't been there before she'd been wheeled into surgery. But I had bought her a fuzzy bunny!! I was the ultimate sister!!!
I was able to stay for a few hours to laugh, hang out with my family, eat strangely good hospital food, and be there for Kate before packing up and heading back to the visitor parking garage. Again in the rain, I drove back to Cullowhee and slid into my seat for Human Society nearly 20 minutes late. Exhausted, stressed beyond belief, I listened to my professor talk about the social institution of family and how important it was for the individual. She talked about how family could be blood or it could be emotional or it could be through marriage. Sitting there with my best friend Chris at my side who is like my brother and Morgan behind me who could be my future husband (there's always a chance) with my darling sister Kate on the brain, I couldn't think of a better lesson plan for the day.

***

Kate is doing well and was released from the hospital yesterday. She is at home and is probably sleeping away the morphine. I wish I could be there and I miss her very much. I love you, Kate! You're my brave, brave little sister.

This Post was Supposed to be about Something Else

It snowed last night. I'm curled up at my computer desk listening to Morgan snore gently behind me. Now, we are both sick with what everyone calls "The Cullowhee Crud!!!" He is just coming out of it; I plunged into it last night. I have a raging fever, a wicked cough, sandpaper for a throat, and an unbelievable headache that occasionally cripples me. Getting to see beautiful falling snow last night was a blessing and for a moment, I could ignore the pain of my own body. However, by this morning, it was gone leaving only a few traces that it had been here at all.

Tomorrow is my one-month anniversary with Morgan. Sick as we are, we are both looking forward to it. He's finally going to cook for me!! I am beyond excited at this prospect, even if I don't like whatever he cooks. It was how I met Morgan.

He came over to the apartment one night to cook dinner for CC. In comes this guy with hair much shorter than I'm used to with my boys and their long "flowing locks" like River's black mane and Christian's shaggy mop, and this guy just strolls into our kitchen with all the purpose and comfort of someone who been living there a lot longer than CC and I actually had been. Immediately, Morgan is all business. He doesn't even introduce himself to me, sitting at the dining table wrapped around a text book, reading. Instead, he and CC pick up on conversation like they'd already been talking for hours; it's mostly about Morgan's work while I occasionally peek over my book with interest as Morgan begins unloading ingredients from his various bags and a cooler full of frozen shrimp. I don't remember exactly when we finally first spoke to each other or what was said. I know that when he was finished with dinner, I didn't like the taste of it and picked at it for half an hour before Morgan finally called me out on it. I think I said something along the lines of "I don't know you so I don't have to impress you." That still doesn't make any sense to me.

While I don't recall the details of how we first met, I remember that my interest was piqued about this boy. He came over, often teased me, and had this dry humor I was attracted to. It wasn't "love at first sight" or "I fell head over heels" the moment I met him. He's a senior graduating next month. I'm little sophomore who often proved how naive and silly I am. But when he badgered and badgered me about going to shoot with him and CC, I finally relented. As as we stood in the cold shooting guns at paper targets flapping in the shrill breeze, I began to feel something.

"HEY I THINK I LIKE MORGAN," I texted Chris... except that I nearly sent the text message to Morgan himself!!! That would have been interesting.

Chris was skeptical. He knew it'd be silly to get into a relationship with someone who was packing up and moving out a few mere months away. And he was right and I knew that. What if something did happen between Morgan and me? It was October. We'd have two months together before we were split apart, and I'd already seen the horrors of a long-distance relationship with Chris and his ex and my mother and her ex. It's nowhere near easy. Anyone who says otherwise was probably cheating on their faraway significant other.

Still, I am ultimately stubborn and decided to let what happened happen. For once, I wasn't going to make the first move. And for once... I DIDN'T! Morgan did! I should have known then that he'd be this special to me now.
It was the day I finished my book... a Tuesday. My friends had blown me off in celebrating and I told CC let's celebrate! Morgan and I texted each other randomly at the time, and I invited him over because I wanted a real celebration. He arrived at the apartment and was once again sick. So he plopped down on the loveseat beside me as I was sipping on my first horrible-tasting beer. CC, Morgan, and I bantered back and forth in a harmless manner, CC and I waiting for "Sons of Anarchy" to come on FX at 10.

"Ghost Rider" came on at 8, and suddenly CC had to go somewhere... class, I think it was... before returning just in time for "SoA." Suddenly, Morgan and I, inches apart from each other, were completely alone in the dark with only the glow of the TV before us. And we just started talking. It was all innocent fun, but I remember thinking how great he was.

It was he who began the tickle war once he found my greatest weakness.

It was he who gave me this look, stretched out his arm, and said, "Come 'ere," and I immediately curled up beside him.
It was he who ran his fingers through my hair.
It was me who was smiling all night long.
One month later I couldn't be happier. Chris thinks he's great. "He's the first non-douche bag you've dated since I've known you," Chris stated.
He drove six hours and crossed two state lines to pick me up from Kentucky when I got sick.
Coughing and still sick himself, he took care of me all last night, sleeping on the floor so I could have the twin bed to myself.
He took a split shift at work so he could be there for me when we went to Harris Regional for information on hypoglycemia management (that's what this post was actually supposed to be about! We're getting to that).
He loves me.
December can kiss my.................!

A Different Kind of Lullaby

It’s 5 a.m. Once again, I’m awake at a horribly early hour because Morgan’s been sick, sick, sick! It used to be an all night thing where he’d cough and hack and sniff and snort and wheeze. Now it’s limited to one-two hours in the early morning. I’d feel bad for him if I didn’t know that I’m soon to come down with the same thing, haha! No, I do feel sorry for him. The boy goes into work usually around this time and is dead on his feet from being just so sick and lack of sleep.

 Today, we tried a medical cure: Mucinex. You know that obnoxious commercial with the animated “cough” that’s moved into someone’s lungs? Yep, that’s Mucinex. And it’s supposed to work really well. I don’t know if the gigantic, uncoated pill that nearly made Morgan vomit everywhere actually worked… but boy was M in a good mood! Lordy Lou, that boy was high for at least two hours. It was nerve-wracking but hilarious at the same time to see him that way. There was a goofy, lop-sided grin that couldn’t be wiped from his face no matter how hard he was coughing.

I used to be quite snobbish about my sleep. When Anne was born, I was a teenager on the cusp of enjoying extremely late nights with sugary snacks and long mornings wrapped up in my comforter. Well, that was a destroyed dream as a newborn was introduced to the family, and if ever she woke me up at an hour I deemed was unreasonable, I would cry myself back to sleep in bed from disappointment, anger, and pure exhaustion from having already been awoken by her crying multiple times before that night. Going to college, I didn’t let anyone ruin my sleep. …Except for the fact that I lived in a freshmen dorm where the newly found freedom of my suite and hallmates was too much for them so they were prone to whoop and holler along the hallway all night long. Throw in an uncomfortable mattress and no air conditioning during the months of August, early September, April, and May, and I still wasn’t getting any sleep. My beautiful apartment dropped out of the sky and I have been sleeping like a rock for the betterment of three months.

Then, Morgan showed up and before our long separation over Fall Break, I asked if he would stay the night with me. It was one of the longest nights of my life, tossing and turning in a tiny twin bed that hardly fits my long, gangly legs and arms. My feet fall off the end and sharing with 9 lb. Sparta is already difficult. Another human being is just an outrageous thought! But we did it anyway. And we continued to do it. And I became used to it. But when I left for Kentucky last week, I was placed in a luxurious hotel with a huge queen-sized bed all to myself. And I immediately grew out of sharing a bed. Apparently, I wasn’t as used to it as I thought I was! And now Morgan is sick and I’m lucky to get five hours of straight sleep.

My snobbish ways, however, have vanished. Morgan has changed that whole side of me so where before I would have grumbled and bitched about being awake at 5 a.m. and now I use it to my advantage to write a blog post. I have extra play time with Sparta. I can get up and about to make a snack. I can make fun of infomercials on TV. I can Facebook like never before! And when I return to bed, there is an amazing guy waiting for me with open arms, coughing, but still good and happy to see me.

And he remembered our one-month anniversary is on Sunday!! Yes, I cried.

I should have been more patient when it came to Anne. I should have grown up and accepted it. She’s my family. But that was then and this is now, and I’m not going to act like a stuck-up little high schooler anymore (well, at least not about this!). Instead, I’m going to wrap up this post, save it to my computer as my Internet is currently not working so I can’t immediately post, turn off my computer, and jump back into bed with my snoring boyfriend. Maybe I’ll fall asleep. Maybe not. What will happen is I’ll be happy and that’s all that matters to me.

I’ll sleep in December, I tell him. Definitely in December.

"The Nighttime, Sniffling, Sneezing, Coughing, Aching, Have a Nice Coma, Medicine"

Here Kitty, Kitty!

Operation "Sparta" Update:

Status: On-going

So I've been given the green light on bringing Sparta to the apartment. My roommates have all signed the official waiver that they're ok with having a cat around the place, and Ma says to come get him. This weekend, I will be returning to Charlotte to pick up my "little mate" and bring him to his new home. I sincerely hope this will work out all right, and that he won't be too distraught without Piddy Paws and vice versa. That's my greatest concern: Piddy's only means of exercise has been chasing Sparta around the house. What's the fat old thing going to do now? I want to bring Piddy Paws up here more than anything, but I can see everyone getting along with Sparta better as he's an extremely friendly and fun cat! Plus there's that whole Piddy won't use the litter box thing. Freaking cat!!

So far no chicken pox!! Hallelujah! Will continue to keep a look-out...!

Today I got to exercise my duties as News Editor... and I loved it! That was such fun. I've always enjoyed trading papers with my classmates so I can mark it up with a red pen. It's making me seriously contemplate a complete major flip flop and dropping Journalism or taking on a double major so I can work as an editor for a publishing company. My boss at the newspaper said that with my experience I should be able to jump right into an editor position at a newspaper. A newspaper?! I hadn't even thought of tha! What an ingenious idea!!! That's the best of both worlds, right?! It's something to definitely consider. Hopefully, I'll be able to make up my mind before I'm too far gone in my Journalism major and can't turn back.

None of you guessed correctly of who I have feelings for in the poll, though I did find your answers amusing. I won't tell you the correct answer because he may or may not read this blog, but I will say it doesn't matter anymore. I've given up. I don't have the stomach to really put some effort into it when he hasn't shown the slightest response to the few times I've tried to start something. He either doesn't like me like that (which is cool) or he is completely blind! Either way, I'm too busy with my school work and job to let it get me down. I didn't have much of a hope that it would work out anyway. Oh well... on to the next unlucky sucker!

Operation Sparta

Operation number 456923 a.k.a. "Sparta"

Status: On-going

Participants: This blogger, this blogger's mother, the cat

So Operation Sparta is in affect! You all remember my adorable cat Sparta?!

Well, I am desperate to have a furry face living with me up here at the apartment, and Ma is desperate to have one of the cats gone because the house back in Charlotte is a nut house! I would take Piddy Paws, but he has this thing about not wanting to use the litter box. Instead, he prefers to use clothing, towels, and trash bags. Don't ask me why. He never had this problem before until like a little over a year ago... strangest thing! So because he's a guarantee I'll never see my deposit again, I'm going to take little Sparta. That's IF we can swing the cost.

I swear this apartment company is as money-sucking as the university next door most times. But, after my stint in a dorm room... it's worth it!!

I learned my boss, who I had a meeting with last Monday, has the chicken pox. Yeah, I've never had the chicken pox. And, I've never had the vaccine. And, the University Health Center doesn't give out that vaccine. ...It could be very long week. And, my boss is so sweet. He's more concerned about me, healthy as of right now, than his own sick self. A lot of folks my age are cursed with a sorry boss, but I've got a great one! To be under his guidance is a real joy and an honor. This chicken pox thing could ruin our working relationship, though... haha!!

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!