On Friday evening, my father-in-law stopped over for a surprise visit – with the question “What’s for dinner?”
Actually, the part about the visit being a surprise was a lie, but the question was true. Not being in the mood to hear criticisms of a homemade meal, we elected to head out to a local Bar-and-Grill type place to eat.
I ordered a corned-beef reuben sandwich with a side of fries. And since the Happy Hour special, a 16 ounce (light) beer for $1.50, was too good to pass up, I got one of those too.
French fries will be the death of me. I don’t think I ever ate a fry that I didn’t later regret — at least not since I started keeping a close eye on my blood sugars. (But the sandwich, prepared on rye bread, should be better than a different type of sandwich on a bun, right?).
But this time, I thought I finally got it right:
My blood sugar came up, peaked a bit, then started to come back down. Just like it should — but rarely does — after a meal like this.
Finally!! I got it right!! I was really, really proud of myself that night. I was in disbelief, but quietly congratulating myself for getting the bolus right.
I went to bed with a big smile on my face, just delighted over how well my D-management was.
But six hours later, I learned that – while I was sleeping like a baby – the shit had hit the fan…
Apparently I noticed a small climb in BG and had given a slight correction for them (I also, apparently, slept through a few alarms), but I wasn’t prepared to wake up at 3:32 am with a blood sugar of 297 mg/dl.
Next time, I’ll wait a full 24 hours before assessing my diabetes-related decisions…