You've got to laugh...

As some of you may know, I am a diabetic. I have been since I was 15 when my pancreas turned on itself and stopped producing insulin. Ever since that date, I have injected insulin into my system several times a day to stay alive. Life as an insulin dependent diabetic has never been a walk in the park. There are days when it's a bit of battle. I soldier on. So far, I'm winning.

The consultant I see at the hospital, asked me a couple of months back if I'd do a video interview that will be used in a presentation to health professionals about different perspectives on hypoglycemia (low blood glucose). They had lined up interviews with diabetics, paramedics, nurses and doctors to try and gain as a wide a picture as possible. Today was my turn. They asked if I'd any stories about hypoglycemia I'd be willing to tell on camera. And so...

About 9 months ago, for some reason I was getting a higher than normal number of night time hypos. I used to wake at the faintest twitch in blood sugar levels but this had changed. I'd had several where I'd not woken and then went on to fit in my sleep.

Now if I stayed in bed, everything would be great; what safer place is there to have a fit? However, on the rare instances where this has occurred, I've not managed to stay in my bed. No, I've woken on the floor, the bedside lamp smashed and me lying there in dangerous proximity to shards of broken glass. It's a worry.

On this one night, I'd tested my blood glucose levels before getting into bed; a little higher than I'd've liked but better that than a nocturnal hypoglycemic reaction. Listening to BBC Radio 4 I'd gently slipped into a deep sleep. My next memory was feeling very cold; chilled to the bone cold. At first I thought it was a dream but gradually I started to come round. I slowly began to realise that the reason I was cold was because I was outside my flat on the communal landing. Another reason for my chill feeling being, I was absolutely naked. Furthermore, my front door was locked.

I must have started to slip into hypoglycemia, panicked, fled the flat and then in my confusion allowed the door to slam shut behind me. How long I'd been there, I don't know? I had scrapes on my back and arms where I'd fallen and scratched myself on the letterbox. What should I do? I pawed at the door for what must have been 30 minutes, still delirious from the low blood sugars. Eventually, I had enough presence of mind to shoulder barge my own front door in; thereby earning myself yet another bruise.

I had something to eat and returned to bed, stunned, shattered, bruised and bleeding. I got up when my alarm went off and made my way into work. Despite feeling terrible, I viewed going to work as normality; something to cling on to, something aspirational.

When I tell the story now, I smile and joke about it. I see the ridiculousness of it. At the time, however, it was embarrassing, humiliating and grim. But, you've got to laugh, haven't you...?