Down the Stairs.

It was a weak alarm, but I still heard it.  I forgot to take the Dexcom receiver out of its case before I went to bed, so the vibrations weren't directly against the wooden nightstand, but the repeated BEEEEEEP!ing was enough to rouse me, after about fifteen minutes.  "LOW BLOOD SUGAR UNDER 55 MG/DL GET THE HELL OUT OF BED" the screen screamed at me."Sure, yeah."  I clicked my pump (aka 'my watch') to see what time it was - 2:32 am - and I tried to run my hand through my hair to get it out of my face, but my fingers ended up stuck in the mess of sweat-matted, tangled hair.The lamp switched on after some fumbling, and I stood up gingerly, removing the brace from my foot (thank you, plantar faciitis) so I could walk.  The walls of my bedroom seemed like they were throbbing and pulsing, like I was standing inside of someone's beating heart.My meter showed me a "34 mg/dL," like it was a prize I won for being so sweaty. Despite the bottle of glucose tabs on my bedside table (open, and ready, but ignored), despite the sleeping and capable husband in our bed, and despite the fact that I was walking on a compromised and even-more-clumsy-than-usual foot, I decided to go down the stairs to get juice.Foolish.And despite the fact that I actually looked at the juice bottle to calculate (ha?) how many carbs would be in a glass, I still drank too much of it.  And then, fueled by adrenaline and bad decisions and the desire to not feel li...
Source: Six Until Me. - Category: Diabetes Tags: Blood Sugar Source Type: blogs