Editor’s Note: Kerri Sparling is our featured guest blogger for March. We love the frank and hopeful way she chronicles her experiences living with type 1 diabetes at SixUntilMe.com.
I was 48 mg/dl after dinner.
I thought I had over-estimated a bit for dinner and when his words started swimming in the foreground before they slammed into my ears, my hands unzipped the black meter case without thinking. Grape juice stained my mouth but the moment ended with a sheepish smile and a "I think I over-bolused a little at dinner."
Before bed, I was 107 mg/dl. Safe. I curled against Chris, said a silent prayer for the cat to remain off my pillow, and fell asleep.
At 4:07 am, I woke up with the lamp on.
Then I remembered that I had woken up about 20 minutes earlier and turned the lamp on, like I was trying to wake up in stages. My shirt was melted against me, my face was cold with sweat. My meter case was open and lying next to me, but I couldn't remember testing.
Siah hopped up on the bed and purred loudly.
Moonlit lows had been leaving me alone lately, letting me cling to the few hours of sleep I was able to catch. But this one must have been hiding under the bed, knowing full well that my earlier low had sapped my liver of its glucagon storage. My thoughts were unraveling like a scarf. Did I test earlier?
Chris stirred next to me. For some reason, I was determined to let him sleep. I pressed the "on" button on the meter to recall the last result, my brain stuck in a routine of "test, then treat," even though I knew with every breath that I needed juice now.
Last result was the 107 mg/dl before bed.
Click. 5 ... 4 ... 3 ...
Siah put her little gray nose over the meter screen and pawed at my wrist.
42 mg/dl.
Nodding to myself almost matter-of-factly, I swung my shaking legs over the side of the bed and put my feet on the floor. I felt like I was made of yarn. My feet wouldn't plant themselves in place but instead kept staggering, one after the other, throwing me into the wall. I tried to take a step forward and crumpled to the floor.
My brain is fully functioning. I know words. I know sounds. I know exactly what I need to do and what the number 42 means but my body has betrayed me and won't move as I have asked, as if I were a robot who had been over-oiled.
Crawling back into the bed, I meant to tap Chris on the shoulder but instead my hand took on a force of its own and whacked him solidly in the chest.
"Help me?"
He woke up instantly.
"Sit down." In a matter of seconds, he was back with a bottle of juice, despite the fact that there were two juice bottles resting on the bedside table. Autopilot for both of us.
Again with the grape juice. Wiped my shirt against my forehead. He held my arm and kept me steady.
Drained the bottle. Rezippered the meter case. Routines, routines, robotic routines.
Turned off the lamp. Collapsed against my pillow and listened to the sound of my labored breathing, aware of the hurricane of juice in my stomach and the tears in my eyes even though I didn't feel sad. I just felt low.
"It's okay. You're okay."
And I lay there, at the bottom of the well but slowly coming back up to the surface, like a sad robot. Wishing I could tell him "I know," but instead these tears fell out and my mouth wouldn't make the words.
From: Katie W. | 3/19/12 at 6:39 pm
Oh Kerri,
Last week at 230am on Thurs, I woke up from a bad dream with a BG of 33. I literally ran around the apartment in confusion, until I finally stopped, drank some juice, and collaped on the couch in tears. I was so frusterated because I had to be at work at 7 am, which meant I only had 3 hours before I had to be up and semi-functional. And I was alone. This, ironically, was the repayment I get for riding my bike almost 2miles Wed to start training to ride 10mi for Tour de Cure. And I had decreased my basal. So, I completely sympathize and empathize with you.
From: Shamae | 3/19/12 at 8:51 pm
Great post. I just read it to my Type 1 8 year old daughter and after I finished she gave one matter-of-fact nod and said, "yup, that's how I feel too."
I'm not sure she completely understood what I read, but I think it was the camaraderie of the situation that made her feel like agreeing. Thanks for the description for those of us parents who desperately want to know what our kidos feel like during these times.
From: Cally | 3/20/12 at 9:31 am
Blimey, that post really got to my. I have Me, so an entirely different set of issues, but so many of the feelings are the same and it was amazing to see someone voice them so clearly in writing. I've never managed to do that. Thanks for sharing your experience in a way that helps those on the outside to get a handle on what these things feel like on the inside.
From: Joyce | 3/20/12 at 5:01 pm
Wow,this is an eye opener for me! Many of my inlaws are diabetic and tomorrow my husband will officially be told that he is diabetic, what type?we don't know yet,both sister,brother and mother were and are insulin dependent, this will be a difficult transition for my husband,the workaholic, vegetable hating couch potato! but we will work together to make the best of this situation.
From: Emily B. | 3/20/12 at 5:55 pm
I'm so glad to have found this, and also your blog! I've had T1 diabetes for 6 six years, since I was 23, and have been dealing with nighttime lows for six months now, averaging three a week. It's been a nightmare to deal with and has even caused me to develop anxiety before bed every night -- so scary to wake up to a crashing low! The good news is that it was the impetus for me to get on a pump, and I go in for my official pump hook-up and training tomorrow (!). Thanks for verbalizing a part of diabetic life that's hard for so many people to understand ...