I was going to title this “My Thanksgiving Nightmare” but that was just too harsh and a bit misleading. Anyway, I had a very nice Thanksgiving up until about an hour (maybe less) after the meal.
It was a nice Thanksgiving. We went up to my mom’s house in the mountains where the scenery is gorgeous and the atmosphere induces instant relaxation. There was planned to be about 50 people in attendance. Big family, yes, I know, we like it that way and always welcome others. We all visited and caught up and shared interesting, funny, entertaining, happy stories, for the most part. Two of my cousins I haven’t seen since the early 2000’s came and it was great to see them in person and talk for a while.
Looking back, there were plenty of warning signs I just didn’t catch. For instance, for a couple days leading up to the event my appetite had switched, my stomach was doing things it only does before (or at the beginning of) a gastroparesis flare-up. I’ll feel full even though I haven’t eaten, then I’ll feel like my stomach is a black hole that can’t be filled. The night before the event I ate a fairly large meal and went to bed immediately after. Not a good idea for a diabetic or a person with GP. The morning of the event my hubby was hungry and suggested going through McD’s on the way up the hill for a small bite. I was hungry as well so I was all for it. That meal filled me more than it should have but I didn’t notice at the time, my mind was on seeing family and other things.
The few hours leading up to the meal I ate one bite of a peanut butter yum-yum (a corn-flake, PB, and chocolate dessert), one bite of a pumpkin fudge piece, and two stuffed mushrooms. None of that should have made me feel as full as I felt, but it did, I didn’t catch on because I’m dumb.
The meal came and we ate. I filled my plate with a little bit of just about everything. I only ate a little more than half of what was on my plate. It was all delicious but I was so, so full.
I tried to get comfy. I kept arranging myself in slightly more comfortable positions, I even unbuttoned my pants which I’ve never done before. I started to feel nauseous and that’s when things started to dawn on me. That’s when I realized what was going on.
Eventually I moved from the couch in the great room to the couch in the living room because it was closer to the restroom. I got up and went to the restroom once because I had to pee, and also because the nausea was growing. I did my business but there was no vomiting. I went back to the couch.
One of my brothers was talking to me, about work, I think. The nausea was growing. I knew I needed to throw up soon. I got up and headed for the restroom but someone was in there so I went for the kitchen thinking I could just puke in the trash can, but then I thought better of it. People would be grossed out.
Here it comes! Do something!!!
I put my hand over my mouth and rushed down the hall toward the master bedroom bathroom. I made it all the way to Mom’s bathroom door before the gates burst.
My hubby was following me and saw it happen. as I was rushing to the toilet I managed to tell him to get a towel to clean it up. I didn’t want it to have any time to sink in to her carpet.
I finished throwing up over 24 hours worth of undigested food in the correct place, the toilet. Then I turned around and cleaned up the carpet. Mom told me not to worry about it, she’d take care of it (after raising so many children and grand-kids and being a nurse, vomit doesn’t phase her), but it was my mess and I was going to clean it up.
And I did.
I was a little embarrassed. I told my husband as I was cleaning up, “This is the kind of thing only young kids do, puking on the carpet.”
The worst part about all of this isn’t that I threw up on my mom’s carpet. The worst part is that I had bolused for all of that food and none of it got into my system so all of that insulin was taking effect now and I could feel the low coming on.
I went low. I suspended my basal insulin until I could get stable.
I was still nauseous a little, so I opted to drink the carbs this time. I had two cups of wassail (a very sweet hot cider drink, no alcohol).
Then we went home.
By time we got home (1.5 hours after the wassail) my BG was barely 64.
I was nauseous. I was weak. I was tired.
I went to bed.
Hubby stayed up all night checking on me every hour.
My poor sweet hero.