Correct The Low.

I wake up, unaware of what time it is, where I am, or what's happening. All of my faculties are rendered obsolete with the exception of a single need: correct the low.


My hands are shaking so impossibly much as I fumble on the nightstand, turn on the lamp, and unzip the meter case. My lancet trembles in my hands. I push it onto an area of free fingertip, pressing on the button to release the needle. A single drop of blood pools onto my fingertip as I struggle to stop shaking long enough to place the blood onto the test strip. 1...2...3......4....(this new meter is really slow).... 38. Sweat is dripping down my face and back, and I am struggling for breath. I nearly fall to the floor as I fight to lift myself off the bed, walk the 2 feet to my minifridge and grab some carbs. I am so drained of energy by my trip that I stumble and fall back on the bed, laying down and trying to eat the food. I cannot sit up, and in the lack of saliva, the food tastes like cardboard as I take bite after bite. I finish eating the carbs, but I still lack any strength. I turn off the lamp and fall back asleep, a tear falling down my face as I acknowledge that Diabetes has gotten the better of me for yet another night.