What, you haven’t heard about this miracle? Let me fill you in, then: It takes place in my living room — any time I choose to wash down a meal containing pasta, bread, potatoes, rice, risotto, or any other form of starchy goodness with a big old glass of Cabernet.
Case in point: the other night I sat down with a plate of rotini with Italian sausage and peppers. Lots of it. A pre-meal blood sugar check put me at 84. I started to bolus, and then decided to perform a little experiment — I’d skip the extra insulin, just for a little bit, and see what happened.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve had a glass of red wine with a meal — and bolused appropriately — only to find myself slurping grape juice (the unfermented stuff) not even an hour later. And for me, the right-after-you-eat-low is the worst kind of low there is. You’re full, you’re tired, and you just ate, for Pete’s sake.
Which brings me back to Tuesday, when I decided to see if I could make the wine-induced hypoglycemia work for me. And it did. An hour after I ate, I was at 110, and a few hours later, right before bed, I was back in the high 80s. I wish you could see the joyful little jig I did while I was brushing my teeth. Why didn’t I start drinking wine when I was 12? Think of all the units and boluses and low blood sugars I could have avoided.
There’s no telling if I’ll be able to repeat this tiny Tuesday night miracle, but I’ll give it a shot. I figure if, as Benjamin Franklin once said, beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy, wine might be proof that God thinks I need a night off from carb counting.