This is the view from my room in the Hull Hospital Emergency ward where I spent a little over 12 hours earlier this week. (See my feet?)
You see my blood sugar was rising so high at dinner time the read out I was getting on my doo-flicky wasn't even a number. All it said was "Hi". So after a consultation with my pharmacist it was off to Emergency about 8:30 Monday evening.
12 and a half hours and 30 units of insulin later they let me go.
Not a moment too soon.
Why do they call it emergency? That word to me conjures up something a little quicker.
They should call it something like Emergency, Not.
Needless to say, when I got out my blood sugar wasn't rising anymore.
But my anxiety was.
The lengths I go to for this challenge.
Nip on over to Ziva's where she's probably got a picture of a cake or something else I can't eat.
Comments
Hope you are doing better. And watch that sugar!
Sorry. Couldn't resist.
Hee Hee. Your feet are like mine but much bigger. Kidding. Kidding. The caffeine is kicking in. What I mean is that your second toe is not longer than your big toe.
And 8 hours before you even saw the doctor? UGH!!!
You deserve a cookie.
No, wait. Maybe something without sugar like beef jerky.
So glad you're doing better. That's a lot of units of insulin, buddy. Lay off the sugar for a bit, m'kay?
I'm glad they managed to stabilise your blood sugar.
You're right - Emergency Room Not. When I went to the emergency department with chest pains bad enough to make me catch my breath, things moved sooo slooowwwlly (even though there was hardly anyone else there) that I honestly thought I'd probably be found dead in the cubicle when someone finally remembered me. Turned out to be muscular, thank heavens.