Saturday, November 15, 2008

Day 14: It’s always something

And tonight it was the challenge of eating out. I had just finished a 2.5 mile, late afternoon walk in the mountains and was craving steak. Seriously. This happens maybe once or twice a year. Bison is the only red meat that holds any appeal for me; filet beef just doesn’t measure up.

But there I was with this craving, and it would not be ignored. So I corralled my husband and talked him in to having dinner at one of the few restaurants in town that we’d never visited, mainly because the ownership changed so frequently that we weren’t even sure it was still in business.

It was, and on the way there I felt my blood sugar plummet. I immediately told the server I was diabetic and needed bread—fast.

You know what happened next, right? She was in server mode and would not be shaken out of it. Before she could take care of this urgent request, she just had to get our drink orders. And then she had to serve our drinks before she got the bread.

A few minutes later the bread arrived, warm and delicious and all that. But I needed it fast, and cold and stale would have worked just fine.

Several restaurateurs have told me that I should always let the host/hostess and server know that I am diabetic, especially when I’m on a business trip and eating alone or with colleagues who may not be aware of my condition. My husband was with me tonight and would have know what to do had I passed out, but I don’t think the restaurant staff would have wanted it to reach that point.

Of course, I had diabetic gel with me and could have squeezed a few ounces into my mouth. But one of the overriding characteristics of low blood sugar is the inability to think straight, so I didn’t think to do that. And I didn’t think to tell my husband that the situation was worse than it appeared to be. We’ve been together for 30 years, and he knows the symptoms well enough. But I’ve also become a master at hiding them, and this time I had visions of a juicy filet clouding my thinking. Not good.

I survived, satisfied my craving and suffered the consequences—a three-hour “nap.” It’s now almost midnight, and I just woke up.

So tell me: how do you get a clueless server to take your urgent needs seriously?

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