I stirred in the darkness. I felt sticky. I could feel the dampness building around my neck and my thighs. I could feel heat emitting from the pillow where my stuffy head had been resting. Leaving the quilt on my bed last night was probably a bad idea.
I felt shaky. I could feel my entire upper body vibrating, as I lay there under the covers. Could I be?
But I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want move a muscle. I couldn’t gauge exactly why this was, but my brain couldn’t overpower my body that morning as I lay paralysed in bed.
BLEH BLEH BLEH BLEH…
No sooner than I had closed my eyes again, my alarm began to sound. It startled me. I couldn’t believe it was morning. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t registered the time on my clock radio when i stirred only moments ago.
I fumbled hurriedly for my phone, desperate to silence the blaring alarm. I felt disoriented. I felt weak. I switched on my bedside lamp, and reached for my meter.
2.6. My blood sugar was sitting at lowly 2.6.
I frantically got out of bed, pulled my retainers out of my mouth and fumbled around on my dresser for the ancient yellow-rimmed coffee cup where I could dunk them into.
I could still feel those shakes as I walked into the kitchen, like someone had frightened me. I poured milk into my coffee cup, and placed it into the microwave to heat up. Once the 45 seconds were up, I placed it under the coffee machine, watching the sweet brown liquid drip slowly into my cup.
I felt thirsty. I washed that coffee down my throat in big gulps, as a way to quench my thirst. I reached for biscuits. One of Nonna’s amaretti topped with a glace cherry, followed by a choc chunk cookie.
I wondered how long I had been low. I knew I had gone to bed sitting on a 4.9. I had eaten 3 skittles as well, which should have brought my blood sugar closer to 6. I hoped I hadn’t been sitting low for too much of the night.
As the shakes subsided, the brain fog began to set in.
As I went about my morning moving pallets and pushing trolleys, I could feel aches in my very weak arms and legs.
Those aches were a lasting reminder of that hypo.
Those aches left me feeling riddled with guilt.
Some added science from my friend Matt: Apparently your muscles are repairing overnight, and if there isn’t enough sugar for them to slurp on…ouch is incurred.
When my muscles go on a big slurp, I find the jar of applesauce. It raises, and lasts sometime into the morning. It also becomes a moving experience later.
I hate when my muscles go slurp.