I had one yesterday - but not a run-of-the-mill, shaky sweaty kind of thing. Nope, this one walked right up and punched me in the face with one of those huge Incredible Hulk fists.
See, that's the worst part for me - that WHAM! feeling of helplessness, where I'm trapped at my desk and I'm just praying that no one who comes within a five foot radius of me decides to strike up a conversation, because every bit of my energy is focused on trying to appear normal. My mind is this scared, panicking child trapped in an adult body and that child is pleading with all its might that no one notices what's happening.
If only Jodie Foster would come rescue me.
(I might also hope that no one notices that I've had three snacks that morning already - none of which seem to be doing a darn thing, I'd like to point out.)
Rationally, I know that I just need to treat the low and sit tight for a bit. Rationally, I realize that people are generally kind and understanding, and that if I really needed to, I could go hang out in the break room and not be bothered.
But "rational" isn't the state I'm in when my blood sugar is in the same range as my age.
When I feel that way, I know I can't do my best work. (Actually, sometimes I can't even form thoughts or words very accurately - so work is pretty down low on the ol' totem pole.) I know I shouldn't try to do anything right then because my mind isn't operating at full speed, nor are my motor skills cooperating. And yet, I can't help but feel guilty if I do what I need to do - which would be sitting there and recovering for a few minutes. Because "sitting there and recovering" looks an awful lot like "slacking off and not working", and I'm not all about that.
Lows at work feel worse than any others, because not only am I dealing with the symptoms of that lack of glucose in my bloodstream, but I'm also trying to (over) compensate for myself.
The hardest part is balancing the appearance of a "normal" outside with the temporary raging chaos inside.