Not long after, my body tried as hard as it could to alert me to danger. I felt like I awoke from a lightening strike. I thought it had to be 2 or 3am but it was only 10:30pm, less than 45 minutes after going to sleep. I tested my blood without a single fumble which was surprising. Usually I end up trying to stick the strips in the wrong end of the meter, sometimes I try to put them in my phone.
*pop* open the container.
*Beep* stick it in the meter (right side up AND forwards!)
*shunk* prepare the lancet
*snap* stab the finger and stick it on the strip. 5,4,3,2…1… *beep* 1.6mmol/l (28mg/dl). “Oh shit!” I say as I sit up right quick.
Ryan wakes up. There’s a juice box on the table and the straw has already been opened (thanks to Ryan for doing that ahead of time). I start chugging, I think.
There’s movement in the room. I begin to push-puppet. I can’t hold my body up. Ryan tells me the next day he tried to force feed (drink?) me the rest of the juice but I don’t remember. I dropped the almost empty juice box on the floor. I slump down knocking my head off the window sill.
I’m sweaty? Ryan’s up and doing something. Time goes by, I think.
He brings me a towel and a fresh dry t-shirt. More time goes by? He sticks two Dex in my mouth after I apparently did some moaning. Sour apple.
I get the dry t-shirt on. Time, what is that again? My hair is matted with sweat. What fucking time is it?
I need peanut butter. Did I ask for it or did he just bring me the lollipop? I have no idea.
Peanut butter and sour apple don’t go together. Time fades into the night.
I asked Ryan the next morning what happened to get all my details right. He said it took half an hour to get my BG up. What happened? I’ve been racking my brain ever since.
Weighed and calculated the next day with a quick check on Nutrition Data (my favourite site for carb counting). I was a bit shy in my carb estimations but close enough.
It happened an hour after we fell asleep. I had my alarm set for midnight to get up and check my BG.
3 measly fucking units.
I still don’t know where I went wrong. The only thing I can think of is my liver stores were devoid of glycogen. Improper post ride fueling the day before? I don’t WANT to know the secrets to the inner workings of my metabolic system. It’s not like I have a “liver storage meter”. Why do I have to be a fucking scientist and a doctor to have diabetes?! I don’t know why it happened. I can’t prevent that from ever happening again. It will happen again, that’s the thing. Maybe next time it will be something else.
Right now I’m lacking confidence. I’m afraid to go to sleep. I owe so much to Ryan as always for keeping a watchful eye on me for the rest of the night. For bringing me PB, a towel and a dry t-shirt. For rubbing my back and not letting me pass out. For pre-opening that pisser of a straw on the juice box. For being there when I couldn’t. I feel vulnerable letting my guard down but I know I’m in safe hands with him. The next night we had one of those talks. What to do if. Honey on the gums. Glucagon. If all else fails call 911.
Stand up, shake it off, keep going.