The beeeeep, beeeeeep of the Dexcom wakes us, showing the above-the-threshold red line indicating a high blood sugar.

“Why so high?”

And I thought about the low last night.  It was a gross one, with the shaking hands and the pajamas that needed to be changed because I sweated through my t-shirt and the hairdryer needed to be used because my hair was damp with perspiration.  Glucose tab dusts all over the bed sheets and on my neck because I stupidly tipped the jar into my mouth, thinking it was juice.  The sound of my daughter waking up from a nightmare rang through the Birdy monitor but Chris needed to respond because I was busy sweating.

“Why so high?”

Because I ate too many glucose tabs, that’s why.  And I know I ate too many glucose tabs.  Not because they are my favorite snack, but because I needed that feeling to go away.  That hypoglycemic, scared, confused, unable to make my body respond to commands from my mind, stuck-at-the-bottom-of-the-well feeling that lasts only minutes but sticks with me for hours.  After lows that rattle the bars of the emotional cage I keep my diabetes in, I feel vulnerable and exposed and more content to wake up with a blood sugar of 235 mg/dL than to revisit the 35 mg/dL.

“Why so high?”

Sometimes, but not inexplicably, a high blood sugar feels like a seat belt.  Bubble wrap.  Armor.  A moment of “safety” that protects me from that feeling of low.

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