Saturday, July 28, 2012

The night time low.

You wake up from a deep sleep on what feels like a lake of sweat. Your arms feel cold and tingly, your legs feel like they are made of lead and you are convinced if you lay still enough, your liver might kick in and correct your low blood sugar before you have to exert what little energy your will to live gives you. You have a sense that your eye lids are wide open but the only information your brain is processing is how close your nearest source of sugar is, vision is useless right now, you're in survival mode. Your hair is sticking to your forehead as you stumble towards the fridge. If anyone saw you now, they would be sure zombies do exist. Your desire for carbohydrates could rival the most realistic zombie's thirst for blood.

Reaching the fridge feels like it took hours, the steps between your bed and fridge are quickly forgotten as you're blinded by the light that washes over your ashen, damp face. As your eyes adjust to the fruits of your labour, everything looks divine. As you forcefully break the thin plastic straw and plunge it into your juice box of choice, yesterday's pasta between an old hot dog bun sounds gourmet. As you pile the snake like noodle son the bun, you spread peanut butter on a piece of cheese and sandwich it between two granola bars. With your juice box hanging out one side of your mouth, you stuff your granola bar sandwich in the other side and groan with pleasure as the sticky mixture starts to run down your throat. You can feel your tongue again and chills run down your back as your low-sweat starts to disappear.

The beep of the microwave snaps you out of your slow-chewing daze. All of the sudden you can not remember what was put in the microwave, but it must be delicious. You take large bites of your sandwich and decide it might be time to check your blood sugar. It rings 3.4, even though you just finished your first juice box, you drink another.

As the time passes you start to feel relief from the icy grips of low blood sugar. Not concerned with the pasta sauce dripping from the counter, or the peanut butter knife laying on the counter you crawl in to bed satisfied.

As you wake up there's that taste. Like you were licking sugar coated metal. Your teeth feel thick with fuzz, and your blood sugar is 18.7.

We've all been there. The night time low.

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