“I heard the alarms going off, yeah.  But what woke me up completely was when you started screaming,” Chris said over breakfast.

“Oh yeah.  That was a thing,” I agreed, remembering that moment clearly.

On the whole, I’m a very quiet sleeper.  I don’t snore, I don’t move around much while I sleep, and generally I’m silent, except for the occasional whimper (apparently I make small yapper-type dog noises while falling asleep).

That explains why my terrified screams  jolted my husband awake last night.

Dexcom alarms started going off around 2 am, at which point I woke up, had a juice box and some raisins, and went back to sleep.  But it wasn’t a restful sleep, still punctuated by the low blood sugar alarms blaring into the night.  I woke up to the low alarm five minutes later, decided to wait a little longer to see if my blood sugar was going to climb, fell back asleep, the alarm went off … this cycle of interrupted sleep and CGM soundtrack went on for the better part of an hour.

But eventually, I was back up to 75 mg/dL, so I thought I was fine.

Only the snack wasn’t cutting it, and my blood sugar started to tumble yet again.  My Dexcom started bleating out alarms once again, but I wasn’t awake.  I was dreaming, actively, only in my dream, I was aware that I was low.  And also that I was asleep.  I don’t remember the storyline of my hypo-induced nightmare, but during the course of it I realized I was low and, if I didn’t wake up, I would be in some serious trouble.  Dreaming Kerri decided that, in order to wake up Actual Kerri, she needed to scream.  Loudly.  It was the kick my Inception-influenced mind needed to bring me fully into consciousness.

So she did.  I did.  (The pronouns are starting to tangle.)

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!  AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!”

“What?  WHAT?!”

I clumsily reached past my blaring phone towards my meter, with 48 mg/dL the result on the screen.

“I’m very low.  Could I have juice, please?”

(Our communication skills about lows, especially 3 am ones, has been diluted down to screams, jolts, and polite, disembodied-voice requests juice.)

A full glass of juice and two hours after the lows started, it was done and sleep finally returned.  But my dreams were still strange, still restless, still confused, and when I woke up to ready my daughter for school, I wasn’t entirely sure if I was really awake.

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