I’ve been a Type 1 diabetic for over 30 years. Sometimes my low blood sugar tricks me. Like, I’ll get really cranky and moody and not notice at all that my blood sugar has plummeted to the sub-basement-level of around 32 mg/dl. Considering that “normal”, which varies from person to person, is anywhere from about 80-120 mg/dl, being able to even READ that number on my handy little glucose meter is a feat of miracle. Never mind my walking downstairs to attempt to coherently (not to mention politely) explain to whichever coworker or administrator I run into the exact reason I’ve been in the kitchen 5 times since I forgot to get my 15-grams-of-carbs snack the previous 4 times in.
So I’m here for the past 2-and-a-half hours feeling unusually bitchy and intolerant of anything resembling a request to do anything work-related.
– Look for that paper on my boss’s wading-pool disaster of a desk for HR? The growl creeps up behind me in the back of my head but like a good little, professionally attired secretary I politely relent.
– Listen to my boss head-scratch in wonderment over a misplaced service-rate scribble since he insisted on keeping the piece of paper it was written down on, which is now trapped in the quicksand pit of refuse on his desk? Can I get a face-palm?
Today I smile and feign excited, thumbs-up anticipation over an “invitation” to spend a day picking through the refuse-pile for keepers to file (which will most likely be duplicates of stuff already neatly tucked away for the past 6 months) and trash to ultimately discard. Why not invite me to my own public flaying? Seriously…
This would be equivalent to the 7th administrative-level of hell. Hacking my fingers to untimely death with the edges of a thousand dust and bacteria-tainted manila file-folders and slamming them in an old-fashioned, steel-drawer file cabinet. You have literally GOT to be kidding me if that’s your idea of skills and training put to good use.
I pray that nobody in this office will bother me with any of their stupid requests since it is a commonplace occurrence for someone who is currently in a state of hypoglycemia to behave or speak inappropriately. I once repeatedly shouted at and henpecked my ex-husband on a New York City MTA bus because he asked me what was wrong with me; or, maybe he just looked at me funny, but it sent me into an unreasonable rage against him. I (unfortunately) remember very vividly acting like some whacked-out gangsta-bitch, whose record was currently stuck and skipping at “WHUT!??” It lasted that way for around 5 minutes. Until he figured it out, stuck some cereal bar in my mouth and we ultimately got off the bus.
Please, folks – it is currently in your own best interests to not ask me for the bazillionth time to order correction tape which nobody ever bothers to look for in our supply closet where the case of it sits almost full.
As I shove the cookie into my mouth and wash it down with my cupful of over-sweet coffee in the hopes that it will bring my mood back down to a more reasonable level of cranky-bitch, I remain uncertain as to whether the mood was brought on by the low OR if the low was in fact brought on by my moodiness. Is my confusion brought on by my hypoglycemia? Will things ever look up today??
Dissatisfaction can do that to a secretary… Better keep the glucose tablets handy.