I have a need for speed (ironically, I drive a 4-banger with 1300 measly little cc's - uggg - but man what I can do with those 1300 mice!). Every day I keep my foot heavy on the gas pedal while driving home, speakers blasting and bass vibrating through the windows and mirrors.
When the sun is shining, as it was today, things get hot really fast and my foot naturally gets heavier. I drive on one of the worst highways in the Nation; in the summer it's bumper to bumper traffic and in the winter it's sheer ice - not to mention Edmontonian's are statistically the worst driver's in Canada. 'Course, it doesn't help that it's single-lane highway so traffic hour tends to get backed up quickly, at least 2 km's from the highway exit.
Today I was in a rush, my reservoir was getting ready to alarm on empty and I was not dressed to sit in a hot car for any length of time. I was going with the flow, sticking to about 10 clicks above the speed limit and coming out of a ravine, when the car ahead of me stopped suddenly. I was too close to stop on a dime at 110 km/hr but my foot hit the brake, my purse flew off of the passenger seat and spilled it's myriad of contents all over the floor, and my car heroically jerked to a standstill two feet away from the car ahead (gooood munchkinmobile). My heart was pounding and the thought 'whew that was close' skipped through my head...
...and then I glanced in my rearview mirror. My heart literally skipped a beat and jumped into my throat as I watched the car behind me come up on my rear way too fast. It was a vicious chain reaction with each driver lagging a quarter of a second behind the former. I knew the driver wouldn't be able to stop, and I started to panic when I realized I had nowhere to go. I was too close to the guy ahead of me to head for the ditch or even the opposite side of the road. Thoughts were flashing through my head at lightning speed; only seconds had passed since I'd almost rear-ended the car in front of me and now I just didn't have enough time! She'd hit me, I'd hit the guy ahead of me, and we'd be playing vehicle-accordion-tag on a Wednesday afternoon.
So I watched in my rearview mirror as the driver, who had most likely swallowed her own heart, headed for the shoulder at what must have been 80km/hr. Bless that woman for heading for the ditch! (and bless me for not!) She ended up flush beside my car on the shoulder of the highway, head on the steering wheel gasping for breath. We exchanged a mutually frightened and forever thankful glance with eachother, a communication in perfect accord. The traffic ahead began moving in fitful starts and stops, and I flexed my shaking, sweaty hand on the steering wheel and let my new traffic comrade ease her way in front of me (nice...nah, I just didn't want her kamakaze-braking habit behind me ever again!).
I realized within seconds that my shaking, sweaty palms and sudden, blurred vision were undoubtedly not a lingering side-effect of adrenaline. My left leg was spasmodically twitching in its little black and white spike heeled sandal and the temperature in my car had spiked 10 degrees. My heart was doing the Macarena in my chest while my breathing shallowed out. Traffic had come to a stop and I chanced leaning over to the passenger side and snatching my monitor from the floor to test. I had tested my BG - as I always do - immediately prior to leaving work and had recorded a 5.8*, a little excess of normal for me. I sat in my car, 10 minutes and 0.6 seconds later, with my monitor on my thigh and stalled traffic surrounding me, watching the numbers...
Holy moly. I broke my own personal record! My lowest low (that I can recall; the kid year's don't count) was previously a 1.9***. I was my own inductee into the Hypoglycemic Hall of Fame (echo's and flashing strobe lights included). I felt like awarding myself with a little silver star sticker. Instead, I disappeared under my dash yet again and reappeared with a tube of glucose tablets, which I promptly hoover'd (I ate 10 of 'em, that's right, TEN little round grape glucose tablets!) No 15/15 rule this time; I broke my own code and ate more than double the amount I usually would to treat a low.
When I got home, I tested at a 4.8. And the moral of the story, ladies and gentlemen...don't chase fluffy pink bunnies down dark alley-ways. Never sit cross-legged in oncoming traffic. Above all else remember...don't eat yellow snow. And they lived happily ever after.
Yankee Math Lesson 101:
* 5.8 x 18 = 104 mg/dL (and change)
** 1.4 x 18 = 25 (and change)
*** Nu-uh, I'm not even gonna do it for your lunch money. It's your homework!