Low blood sugar

I am now a diabetic, thanks to the chemo that helped save my life, so I’m not complaining. I’m a Type 1, but since I was 58 years old when it happened, I don’t have the lifetime of damage to my organs that someone born a Type 1 diabetic endures. That’s good news. The bad news is I’m not doing the greatest job in the world managing it. I’m trying, but my pancreas has curious ideas about what my blood sugar ought to be. As my doctors remind me, “High blood sugar will kill you in five years, low blood sugar will kill you in five minutes.” 

You normal people have blood sugar that ranges from 72-108 mg. As you eat, your body reacts by pumping in enzymes that store excess sugar for another time. A diabetic doesn’t have that functioning system, so our blood sugar can go up wildly to 300mg or higher. The goal is to take insulin before that spike so blood sugar stays within acceptable ranges. 

The curious thing, and I don’t know if every diabetic reacts the same, but high blood sugar certainly weakens me, increases my numbness in my hands, and, if high enough, can affect my comprehension. But low blood sugar? I have no idea it is happening. Fortunately, my phone has an app that sounds an alarm when my blood sugar goes above or below certain levels. It will also alert designated people when low events happen. Pretty cool. IF it works. If the sensor hasn’t expired. If the phone is charged. IF I can hear it.

I’ve had a few low blood sugar events. The scary part is in each scenario, I had no idea it was happening. Finding out you were assisted by the fire department but no recollection of that is concerning. Having family and friends that recognize I need help is a good thing.

My first blood sugar event was a high-sugar event. March 31, 2017, the night my pancreas stopped working correctly. My blood sugar went to 1,162 (500 is often fatal). Yeah, that’s pretty high. It put me into AMS (Mayospeak for “altered mental state”). I was in a coma for three days, but the real hero was my wife, Mary Ann, and her daughter, Lauren, who, with the assistance of the Fernandina Beach fire department, loaded me into the car, where Mary Ann drove me at untold speeds and maybe disregarding traffic lights at 2 a.m. to get me to Mayo ER for treatment. The drive was pretty quick, I’m told, but the fire chief told her to make it fast. Mary Ann was communicating with Mayo, so they knew what was happening and, amazingly, I came out of the coma pretty much unfazed three days later. 

On New Year’s Eve, 2023, five kids and I were at the Falcons and Bears game in Chicago in a snowstorm when I had a low-blood-sugar event. We were in handicapped seating, and it was so loud I could not hear my food pump beeping as the hose was twisted, so I wasn’t getting my scheduled nutrition, but I had taken my insulin. So my blood sugar crashed without my knowledge, but the observant EMTs and my kids started asking questions (it was almost the end of the game), and I remember saying I was fine. That’s the problem with low blood sugar: you think everything is fine. We determined my food line was twisted, rectified that, and I knew it would be okay. But the EMTs wanted to take me to their aid station, so I consented. For the young EMTs, it was nirvana. They got to usher me against the departing crowd all the way to the aid station. When we finally got there, my blood sugar had rebounded and I was feeling fine. The aid station manager asked me if I knew why I was there. I said, “So these nice young men could get practice?” The manager laughed. I consented to some basic medical tests (so they could practice after all), and they let me leave. 

Most recently, I had low sugar at my friend Tom’s office. I went to use the bathroom, and the next thing I knew, I was heading to the hospital. Tom had called the fire department to help, but I have no recollection of that. When I came to consciousness, I asked Tom what my blood sugar was. He didn’t know, which is why I was headed to the ER. I told him to turn around and get me some juice, and once that was done, I was fine. But it is the randomness of the events that is baffling. 

My pancreas is not dead, but it’s not healthy either. So far, it has always pumped enough glycogen to tell my liver to release stored blood sugar, but it shouldn’t wait until I’m below 60 or 50mg to react. 

Enough about me, why do I tell you this? Because one day you might save a life by recognizing someone is having a medical event, not being crazy. If someone appears to need help but declines your offer, do some prying to see what is going on. They might be in a situation where they don’t know they need help. We can help each other more than we do, although I will say I get offers to help. With doors, heavy packages, things out of reach. Thank you for watching out for others!

Kelly Burke, attorney, former district attorney, and magistrate judge, writes about the law, rock’n’roll, and politics or anything that strikes him. Contact Kelly at dakellyburke@gmail.com to comment on this article or suggest articles you’d like to see, and visit his website at www.kellyrburke.com.