Hypoglycemia diaries

Almost Trying
Nov 27, 2017 · 3 min read

> Do you have any medical conditions or dietary restrictions that we should know about?

> I have been diagnosed with hypoglycemia, I have chronic hypochondria, low blood pressure and I get migraines. I have to stick to a low-sugar diet and eat 4 to 5 times a day. Skipping meals = bad

What’s worse than pancreatitis? A tumor. — And what if it was a tumor? — I took a new job before I had a CAT scan and in the lonely, cold room I thought “this is it. i’ll thank them for hiring me, anyway.”

This was January, 2015.

It had been explained to me that if my pancreatitis progressed I would, like the man featured in the photograph of my then-doctor’s graduation class of 1968, staring at us from the doctor-memorabilia-covered wall of said office, die of pancreatitis.

But was it actually pancreatitis, anyway? I started getting sick after a drink or two {like sick-drinking-serum-swearing-off-alcohol-losing-five-pounds-in-a-day-sick}. Ok, whoah, I can’t get out of bed, and I had only had a few drinks, had felt tipsy, do NOT tell anyone what I just told you, stranger (!) And it until the second round of [Holy shit, I feel I’m dying] that I stopped drinking.

I didn’t quit, I just, you know, was being cautious. Could it be dengue? Was it my head and would a shrink help? Maybe it’s my –

<Something was definitely wrong, because being pinned to the bed after a night of chasing water with tea, sober concert-going, is not normal; I couldn’t make that secret date, not with that migraine-headache-dehydration hybrid>

When I described the symptoms –intolerance to alcohol, 24 hour nausea, headaches, serum dependency, utter will to die, conviction of being on the verge of death, often not being able to hold down any food or water // Hasta aquí llegué or, in the words of Emma Thompson’s character in Wit, “Really, is there anything left to puke?” // I got a direct “That’s pancreatitis” as an answer.

My blood tests always showed that something sure seems to be wrong with that pancreas, huh?

Poke poke poke

They poked around my stomach and abdomen. They looked for signs of inflammation. They did ultrasounds to catch stones in my organs. They checked and saw if my ovaries were in shape. They took more blood tests and bruised my arm in a Trainspotting emmulating sort of way. Damn you, arms.

Maybe it’s ’cause of them birth control pills I took unrregulatedly for two years. Maybe it’s my low blood pressure (winning lows of 50/90). What did I do to counteract my family’s renowned hypertension? Will I, too, lose my gallbladder? (It runs in my friendship circle).

The results from my blood tests (and from my personal scientific experiment Beer vrs Whiskey: Tolerance in the 26 year old body) confirmed it was not my liver.

Well if it wasn’t my liver, or my ovaries… it couldn’t be from alcohol abuse that my pancreas was crying and singing the now so familiar Pancreas Blues, could it? All they found was “you better not drink xoxo”.

And I didn’t touch alcohol for about a year — save for that time I had a sip of a Hurricane thinking it was pink lemonade, GEE I MISS NEW ORLEANS.

Almost Trying

Written by

Free spirit, student, writer, idiot, translator. http://t.co/2cjBkf1CXE

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