3 am Eternal.
The Dexcom was buzzing, but from across the bedroom floor, where it had shimmied itself into a corner after BEEEEEP!ing and vibrating for close to an hour. Without the silicone case around it, the housing vibrated loudly against the wood floors, but it still wasn't what woke me.
"Mama!!!" Birdy's voice rang out through the video monitor on my bedside table, waking me instantly. I listened for another minute, but she had re-snuggled herself underneath the blankets in her crib, and I could see that she was asleep.
I then realized my shirt was stuck to my body, damp with sweat, and my hair was tousled (read: sticking straight up in the air, in crazy directions) and slick with perspiration.
Normally, my low blood sugar symptoms are such that I can self-treat. During the day, I don't get too dizzy or rattled, and I'm able to chomp glucose tabs or take a swig of juice without disrupting the flow of things. But the nighttime low symptoms are strange. Maybe it's because those lows are more sustained, and I don't catch them until I've been hypoglycemic for some time. Maybe it's because I'm deeply asleep, and not reading any of the physical cues, like sweat or confusion.
Whatever the case, this low had me so dizzy that the room started spinning as soon as I attempted to sit up, like I was in the Gravitron at the fair. I quickly eased myself back onto the pillow, and my arm swung out and tapped (read: smashed) Chris on the shoulder.
"You okay?" (Poor Chris. It's like he wakes up already halfway with his hand in the fridge, foraging for juice.)
"Wicked low. Can you help?" The words sounded slurred, like they'd gone through a blender before hitting my mouth.
He was already out of bed before I could mention the glucose tab jar on the bedside table. But he was back in an instant with a glass of milk and some honey.
This low took forever, and the clock minutes never seemed to tick by. Every time I looked at my pump or my phone, it was 3 am. And every time I looked at my Dexcom graph (after it was recovered from the floor), it was hollering "LOW" with that stupid flat line of hypoglycemia.
The milk and honey became a peanut butter sandwich. And then some glucose tabs. In all, I consumed over 80 grams of carbohydrate, but I was willing to correct the wake-up 360 mg/dL rather than continue to hover in the slick sweat of this low.
I woke up at 169 mg/dL. Without bolusing for all that crap. The only evidence of the low was the trench on my Dexcom graph and the rogue sandwich plate in the kitchen sink.
Oh. And the fact that I feel like I've been trounced by a large truck.