So I was reading some of the ingenious posts I made in the past and I came across one, Can't Fool the Dingo, that Mom wrote some three years ago. She was right. You can't.
Mom's topic of this post was basically that she didn't have hypoglycemia. Turns out, she does. I tried to tell her this back then, that day in the kitchen, but she just didn't listen - you know how humans are. Human women especially, and especially when it comes to their sugar. Anyway, Mom had one of those blood/pee tests done that they do to check your fasting blood sugar at the doctor about 8 months ago. I don't know what it's called and I can't be bothered to look it up right now. But, when she had this done, and after she drank the "7-up syrup shit loaded with sugar" as she called it, her blood sugar plunged to 43. She felt fine, though, albeit a little nauseous from the stuff she'd had to drink. Her doctor says this is common in anorexic teenage girls.
Mom says that's why she has it.
She's fine most of the time, but when she's not I sit in the bathroom with her while she's pale, dizzy, sweating, dry heaving into the toilet, wondering how low her blood sugar must be for her to be this sick when "43" didn't phase her. And I tell her that this'll pass, and remind her she needs to store jellybeans in the bathroom cabinet for just such moments (the jellybean story is one she says there isn't much to tell, except she was going out with The Lawyer and got a little too drunk, accused him of roofy-ing her, slipped into semi-consciousness, and he offered her his kid's jellybeans. Three beans later, she was perfectly fine, although not much more sober.) She tells me I should learn to bring her sugary goods, and I remind her that I don't have opposing thumbs, and then I put my furry little skull in her lap and we wait until she can drag herself to the kitchen to the shelf with the honey and peanut butter - and here she gives her Mutt a treat and tells me how wonderful I am to not abandon her when she's sick.
Mom and I make a pretty good team.