So last night’s basal adjustments were a bit … eh.
Actually, they totally sucked it up.
I went to bed at 140 mg/dl, knowing that a low might be lurking due to the basal tweaks, but the Dexcom was flatlined, so I felt reasonably comfortable. At my 2:30 am check, I was 108 mg/dl, and again saw the flatline on that graph.
So when I woke up to the Dexcom BEEEEEEEEP!ing at me and my head almost sunk into the sweaty pillow, I wasn’t pleased. Honestly, I was frozen there a bit, trying to communicate with my hand to force it to reach up and wipe the sweat from my forehead.
“Chris.” The ceiling fan was whirring, but he woke with a start at the sound of my voice. He reached over and touched my forehead, almost like he knew exactly what was going on.
“You’re sweaty,” he said, already getting up from bed.
“I need juice.” Conserving my movements to hang on to as much glucose as I could.
He was already in the kitchen and coming back with a glass of grape juice before I realized I was holding my breath.
Nothing tastes more desperate than that feeling of grape juice hitting my still-sleepy mouth. I worry briefly about the sheets I had taken out of the dryer earlier in the day, knowing I was probably staining them purple with every clumsy sip.
Chris reached over and took the Dexcom receiver from my side of the bed. “I didn’t hear this go off.”
“I need to hear it, too.” He put the receiver between us and rubbed my shoulders, the empty juice glass safely on the bedside table.
It took almost fifteen minutes for me to be able to function in any way. By the time I actually tested my blood sugar, I was 71 mg/dl. I don’t want to think about how low I was at the outset. I was able to walk into the bathroom and brush my teeth. Catching a look at myself in the mirror, I looked like I had been dragged through hell.
Back in bed, I turned my pillow over to the sweat-free side.
“You know how I said that the sweating symptom disappeared?”
Basals have been tweaked to reflect a lower range. Here’s hoping tonight is an easier night’s rest.