Could be worse

I was in the range of 13 the whole day yesterday. My b.g. was just in love with that number and refused to move from it more than a point either way. But, of course, just before falling asleep I felt a bit funny, a very little tiny bit (I learned to listen to my body extra carefully over the last month with all the outrageous jumps and falls). I tested just an hour before bed 10.5 – a more than definite secure number before bed to avoid a low at night. It couldn’t have gone too much up but ok, just to calm myself down, a quick test.

Lights on. Sit up. Take the test kit. The cat is awake and checking if I’m testing correctly. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, beep – huh? 3.4 – how did that happen? And a low?

- “How much is it?”
- “3.4”
- “?”
- “But I’ve already brushed my teeth! Grrr …”
- “So what’s now? You have to eat something?”
- “But I don’t want to eat. (another grump)”
- “But you have to. Take some glucose tablets; they are in the bedside table’s draw.”
- “They make me nauseous … I can have juice”

With a big sigh got out of bed, cat following. A trip to the kitchen. Starting to feel the low. Glass. Fridge. Cranberry juice (tastes awful in a combination with “Aquafresh” aftertaste still in my mouth). Sigh. Kitchen lights off. Back to the bedroom, cat running after me (he checks every step I take).

Back in bed I’m greeted by a big hug and a deep sigh (not mine this time).

- “It’s not fair! Now I feel sick and blown up and my heart is racing.”
- “I know. It could be worse.”
- “It could be better.”
- “I know (sigh).”
- “It’s going to be high in the morning.”
- (hug tightened)

Well, it could have been worse. I could have fallen asleep without realizing something was wrong, and then wake up (hopefully) with a much lower number. I’m such a complainer when I’m low.