Sidenote: At any given time, in any given place, if anyone ever uses the phrase "...if you're like me," you can pretty much bet that B or I will interject with "AND YOU HAVE DIABEETUS!!!1" And then fall all over ourselves laughing like assholes. It's also not uncommon for one of us to blurt out "if you're like me ..." in the middle of any mundane task, like loading the dishwasher, and then wait for the other to finish the sentence simply for the act of giving each other the pure joy of pronouncing "diabetes" as "diabeetus." And yes, B's Wilford Brimley impersonation is absolutely one of the reasons I married him.
While searching for this commercial on YouTube, I found a breathtaking amount of Wilford Brimley Diabeetus Dance Remixes. And nothing says awesome like a DANCE REMIX, ERRRBOOODDYYY!!1!
ANYWAY. As I was saying: Hypoglycemia. So then I read past that first word and realized that hypoglycemia does not in fact mean you have diabeetus, so PHEW for that. Sorry Wilford, I guess besides the white mustache and passion for Quaker oatmeal, we're not all that similar after all.
But by the time I reached the end of the WebMD hypoglycemia page, I was just about convinced that I too had hypoglycemia. Yes, I am hungry, like, pretty much all the time, and I do get headaches if I don't eat, like, pretty much all the time, but I thought that was just because I'm a fat man trapped in a little blond girl's body. Yes, I do sometimes feel unsteady and have trouble walking, but I thought that was just because I was drunk. And gah knows yes, I have sweat so much during the night that my sheets are
And then I saw one of the causes of hypoglycemia is stomach surgery. Been there. Done that. HOLY SHIT I TOTALLY HAVE HYPOGLYCEMIA.
So on the train ride home yesterday I mulled over the fact that I'm probably dying of low blood sugar levels. Later that night, B treated me to cooking dinner for us all by hisself (all I had to do was cut the vegetables, make the salad, get the sides, and set the table. Isn't he just the best? Siiiggghhh).
B: Stop eating M&Ms, dinner will be ready in like five minutes.
Me: I can't, I need to replenish my dangerously low blood sugar levels before I pass out.
B: What now?
Me: Oh, I forgot to tell you? I was on WebMD today ...
B: Heeereeee we go.
Me: ... and I probably have hypoglycemia.
B: So now you're diagnosing yourself as a hypoglycemic?
Me: I didn't diagnose myself. A blog commentor diagnosed me. Gah, what do you think I am?
B: You're not a hypoGLYCEMIC. You're a hypoCHONDRIAC. Why don't you WebMD that shit?
I think decided not to pursue the concept of hypoglycemia anymore because visions of Mojo opening her mouth every morning to check her throat to make sure she had enough room to breathe were dancing in my head. And I know I already said that I wouldn't go on WebMD unsupervised anymore, but this time I really mean it. I'm totally Parental Controlling myself from myself. Eat THAT, Dr. Oz! Tweet