Fifteen Minutes, Fifteen Grams.
I just needed fifteen minutes, after fifteen grams of carbs.
“I can’t go with you, because I need to eat something else and wait for my blood sugar to come up. You guys can go without me and come right back, if you want?”
The sentences sounded soft and measured. Sure, go for the bike ride around the neighborhood, dear daughter and trusted neighborhood friend. I’ll just sit here and eat fifteen grams of carbohydrate, then wait patiently for fifteen minutes while the food works its magic.
Instead, I was shouting up at them from the bottom of the well, hoping my voice carried in a way that didn’t make my kid nervous, hoping she’s hearing the reassuring tones of my voice instead of the panicked inner monologue that was playing out:
“HEY! Go on outside and play and don’t watch me mop the sweat from my forehead while I inhale two juice boxes and a packet of fruit snacks. Ignore me while I fight back the urge to lie down on the kitchen floor and let this weird wave of unconsciousness wash over me. Pretend not to notice that I’m looking through you instead of at you while I’m talking to you. Go on outside and let mommy fall apart for fifteen minutes, after these fifteen grams of carbs.”
My daughter and her friend strapped on their bicycle helmets and took off down the street, enjoying the sunshine and almost-summer weather while I stuck a spoon into a jar of Nutella, not giving a shit if this was the best option or healthiest decision but mostly because I wanted to have something sweet on my tongue, reminding me that I was still here and capable of coming back from this low blood sugar and that I could start making dinner soon because I would be capable of standing unassisted, without fear of falling into the abyss, in just fifteen minutes, after fifteen grams of carbs.