Blood sugar 52 mg/dl
Guardian didn’t wake me.
Neither of my Type-3’s woke me.
The cat didn’t wake me.
The sweat woke me up.
I’m drenched, my shirt wet and cold, clinging damply on my shivering skin. With shaking hands I do a fingerstick using Abbott’s new rubber-backed Freestyle Lite; the Queen of the Night. She uses self coding strips and features a large readout with a bright white “strip light” that lets you test in total darkness.
I stare dumbly at the number the Queen reports, trying with a muddy brain to process the fact that my blood sugar is dangerously low. I fumble blindly for my jar of cherry slices; my default cure for hypos small and large. I get the lid off the jar, my hands now shaking. I fumble one piece out of the jar and try to eat it slowly. Then a second. That’s about 20 or 25 carbs now. More than enough. I could go back to sleep and wake up in the morning.
But riding on the wind with the Hypo comes it’s dark partner: Fear.
My IQ roughly equivalent to my blood sugar, I stumble to the kitchen, half blind, my glasses who-knows-where. In the pantry I find an unopened sack of yogurt covered raisins. I zip off the easy open tab, but my hands are shaking too much to get the sack open. I cut closer to the re-sealable zipper with the kitchen scissors. No luck. Damn these Fresh-Lock (a registered trade mark of the Presto Products Company, no shit) containers! I wonder how many diabetics have died in the night trying to open Fresh-Lock sacks to get to carbs?
In desperation I try tearing into the sack using my teeth. No go. Tough stuff, these Fresh-Locks. Finally, I eviscerate the sack with the scissors and begin stuffing the raisins greedily into my mouth. Next comes cookies and corn chips. Between the two bowls of Apple Jacks my IQ crosses the 100 mark and I take 10 units of Humalog from the grey pen. I know the rebound excursion is coming.
Then I collapse back into bed. My heart is pounding in my rib cage. A frantic animal trying to escape it’s cage as the ship sinks. A double pulse. THUMP-tump. THUMP-tump. THUMP-tump. THUMP-tump. THUMP-tump. THUMP-tump. THUMP-tump.
So heavy and strong I can almost hear it. Am I having a heart attack? Is it the huge surge of sugar coursing through my veins? Is it the adrenaline of fear?