Lookout! Diabetic at the Food Bank!

Since I'm not currently employed I decided to take this time to "give back to my community." My community does not want me to help it clean up oil-soaked birds, BUT my community does need help at the food bank sorting donations.

This morning I drove to a part of town known as Elmwood to a warehouse where I received orientation and was given the post of "soup" and "fruit." Here's a tip: If you ever volunteer to sort at a food bank, pick the soup lane only if you want to stay really busy. People love to donate cans of soup. And cans of fruit. The coordinator said that requests for donations to Southern Louisiana's food banks have increased by 25% since BP's near-miss attempt to ruin the gulf.

Me and my neighbor J were busy as all get out in those lanes. And we only had one scale to weigh our boxes before we taped them up and labeled and stacked them. J was part of the legal team of a certain bank that I will not name but you may associate them with vikings who walk poodles and shop on Rodeo Drive.

I now associate them with passing out in extreme heat and banging my face off the floor. That's right. I passed out. Three times.

It was getting really hot in there and I started to feel dizzy but I had no idea what was coming. I had food and my glucometer in the car, so I asked, R, the kid who had biked from New York to Florida on a charity ride and then flown to New Orleans to help out with the gulf, to watch the soup line while I took a break.

I didn't take a break. I took a spill. I woke up on the bathroom floor. Have you ever had one of these moments? Not since college, right? But I think I was actually dreaming on that cool cement floor. Thank God none of the lawyers found me! ;-) I got myself up and then next thing I knew, I was sitting against the bathroom door, crouched like a broken gargoyle statue. It was getting really embarrassing so I had to get myself to the break room and then to some food STAT.

I actually got myself into the arms of Y, HR manager and saint. She literally carried me into the break room and sat me down. I had passed out right in front of her office window. Exciting day for work.

To make a long story short, I had to down a coke and eat somebody's hard candies until my blood sugar was back to normal. Type 1 Diabetes is fun-just ask Shelby from Steel Magnolias. There was an accident report and M, the coordinator, suggested I go home instead of back into the food-sorting inferno. I took her advice. Before I left she told me that there are shifts open on Thursday, when a group of girl scouts are supposed to come help. I'm thinking it over. It might be especially scary to come to on a cement floor, huddled under a bunch of eager munchkins. But, then again, maybe I can help them get their first aid badges.