As we all know, one of the major features of type one diabetes is the occasional (or, indeed, frequent) hypo. No matter how well controlled your diabetes we all get the usual sweaty symptoms of joyful hypoglycaemia.
Fortunately, unless you’ve really screwed up, hypos aren’t really all that bad. With a hypo it’s pretty unlikely you will end up frothing at the mouth, fitting wildly or waking up in an unknown, anonymous motel room clutching an axe covered in your victims’ blood.
I’m not defending hypos, mind. They’re certainly not very nice, when I meet up with other diabetics we don’t all enthuse about the radical or gnarly hypos we’ve recently experienced. I’m just saying that things could be worse. After all, the simple cure for your basic hypo is to shove a load of sweeties down your gapping maw, after which you’ll feel fine again after ten or so minutes. Hellish nightmare come true, it ain’t.
Perhaps because of this someone commented on another diabetes web resource (I know, they do exist – crazy, eh?) that they actually quite liked hypos as it gave them the opportunity to feast on the sweeties so usually denied to them.
I thought this was a bit mad. I don’t know about you, but I tend to have a favourite hypo cure and stick to it – in my case it’s fruit pastilles at the minute. However, as a result of sticking an average of three tonnes of fruit pastilles down my neck each year (I wish I had bought Nestle shares) I now have an almost pathological hatred of the damned things. It’s the same with all favourite hypo cures – I used to drink Lucozade but now can’t stand the stuff. I used to guzzle Hypostops but now can’t even bear to look at even the packaging (not that they were really nice in the first place). Now all these are denied to me.
So, in my view, hypos don’t give you a green card to gluttony, they only ruin your appetite for your favourite sweeties. Another in the long list of tragic diabetes casualties.