We had grand plans, Elise and I. Usually Friday night is "date night" for our family, but this time Fred was stuck at home dealing with a work emergency. So I asked Elise if she wanted to go out, just us girls. The response was an enthusiastic YES! Mattias needed his beauty rest, so he stayed home.
We hit up her favourite restaurant, the Macaroni Grill. Her dinner was grilled chicken, broccoli, and spaghetti. Of course she started off with their bread; dipping it in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Which is the whole reason she chooses the Macaroni Grill.
And we finish off in style, a piece of chocolate cake. If you ask me, every dinner should culminate in this way. To allow for this carb-fest, I gave her 1/2 a unit more. It isn't often we girls get to go out on the town solo!
We then decided to so some shopping. And this is where it got bad. One minute she was fine, the next, she said she didn't feel so well. Her CGM wasn't receiving for some reason, so I got out her meter.
That's when I noticed all the light had gone out in her eyes and was replaced by a vacant stare. When I saw the number, I knew why. 36. Oh. CRAP.
I whipped out a bottle of apple juice and commanded her to drink. We were in the middle of an aisle, blocking traffic, but I didn't care. She was shaking so bad, a lot of the juice ended up on her shirt. Freaking out, I picked her up and ran to the customer service area so I could sit down with her and get her to drink some more juice.
Carrying her was like carrying a lifeless rag doll. A very heavy rag doll. Her head kept lolling to the side and I was pleading with her to stay awake. Finally I sat her down and continued to get the 1000-yard stare. Only 5 minutes had elapsed, but I checked her anyway... 64.
Okay, coming up, but she was still acting "gone". When I'd ask her a question, it took her about 5 seconds to answer. She just sat there. Not crying. Just staring. I checked her again... 95.
I cradled her in my lap, and she leaned on me as if her life depended on it. I felt the tears threatening, but I wasn't going to cry. One final check revealed a 130. And in an instant, she came back to life. Almost like nothing had happened.
She saw a stuffed Tigger and asked for it. That extra 1/2 unit of insulin at dinner brought me tremendous guilt, and what kept running through my head was, "of course you should buy it for her, you nearly killed her."
Not true? Hyperbole? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I sometimes I think I've got this disease figured out and dole out insulin and carbs rather cavalierly. More carbs should equal more insulin, right? Except for tonight, it didn't. Maybe I'm too cocky. Or I don't give this disease the respect it needs. I don't know. I do know this experience has left me rather shaken.
And Elise? Well, tonight she's sleeping with a stuffed Tigger cuddled in her arms.
2 days ago