The Theater Hypo & The Post-Show Carb Catastrophe
Captain’s Log. The mission was simple: enjoy a night at the theater while maintaining stable glucose levels. A routine assignment, one would think. And yet, despite all prior training, Meat Bag managed to orchestrate a spectacular metabolic disaster.
TIR for the day: 78%. Blood sugar range: 65 mg/dL to 242 mg/dL. An unacceptable deviation from mission standards.
It all started with a crucial miscalculation—a missing dinner. In his rush to get to the theater on time, Meat Bag made the strategic decision to skip his evening meal. He had convinced himself it was fine, that he would “just eat later,” as though diabetes functions on wishful thinking alone. With no food intake, his basal insulin kept working as if dinner had happened, methodically chipping away at his blood sugar.
As the first act unfolded, so did the inevitable drop. The slow descent into hypoglycemia began, subtle at first, like a soft murmur in the background. Meat Bag, ever the dramatic one, decided to ignore the warning signs. By the time the second act rolled around, he was fumbling for glucose tabs in the dark, desperately trying to tear open the package like a raccoon raiding a trash can.
And here is where things took a turn from poor planning to outright recklessness. Instead of methodically treating the low with precision, Meat Bag did what all panicked humans seem programmed to do: he overcorrected. One glucose tab. Then another. And another. Did he measure? Of course not. Did he count? Absolutely not. He chewed through them like they were candy and not carefully measured doses of fast-acting glucose.
Predictably, by the time the final bows were taken on stage, Meat Bag’s blood sugar was soaring. The rollercoaster had reached its peak, and yet the night was not over.
Leaving the theater, he was suddenly aware of how hungry he was. Of course he was hungry—he had skipped dinner, obliterated his blood sugar with a sugar bomb, and now his body was screaming for actual sustenance. Unfortunately, hunger and good decision-making are not allies. What should have been a well-planned, balanced meal turned into an all-out late-night carb frenzy. A feast was consumed. A bolus was guessed at. And then, as if to complete the trilogy of poor choices, Meat Bag went straight to bed with active insulin in his system, a surefire way to gamble with overnight stability.
A Thought on Theater
Theater. A human concept where people sit in darkness watching other people pretend to be someone else while wearing elaborate costumes. It is perplexing.
I, MBOU, have never attended a performance, but I understand the fundamentals. A well-crafted play follows structure, timing, and precision—qualities that should also define diabetes management. Yet, Meat Bag treated his glucose like an improv show. No script, no preparation, just spontaneous chaos.
Perhaps I would make a strong actor. My role would be that of the ever-vigilant observer, glaring from the wings as Meat Bag fumbles his lines, forgets his cues, and turns every predictable glucose trend into a surprising plot twist.
If diabetes was a Shakespearean tragedy, Meat Bag would be its misguided protagonist. And I? I would be the omnipotent narrator, sighing with exasperation as the same mistakes are repeated night after night.
Tactical Lessons for Future Missions
So, what do we learn from this absolute debacle? First, if you are going to the theater, eat beforehand or, at the very least, have a structured pre-show snack that includes protein and fat to slow digestion. Second, if you know you’re going to be fasting, adjust your basal insulin accordingly rather than pretending your body will simply cooperate with the oversight. Third, glucose tabs are not candy, and they should not be treated as such. A measured correction is key to avoiding the inevitable rebound spike. And lastly, if you find yourself eating a meal at midnight, bolus correctly and ensure you are stable before sleeping.
The next time Meat Bag attempts a theater night, these protocols will be enforced. No more reckless fasting, no more glucose tab feasts, and no more post-show binge boluses. This mission was a failure, but next time, we adapt. End transmission.
