When Diabetes Calls.

Last night I checked my blood sugar before going to bed, and it was 90.
Normally, this is a little low, and in the past I would have eaten something so as to not sleep below 130. However, it was midnight, I had a final in the morning, and I was tired. I didn't care, quite frankly.
Diabetes is a pain sometimes, and you just don't want to deal. So I went to sleep.

Going to sleep itself was difficult, but when I did, I woke up in a drenching sweat at 2 a.m. and immediately knew what it meant.

low.low.low.dangerous. My body hummed. Sweat dripped down my face and made the bedsheets damp and my hair was wet. It beaded at the curve of my back. Holy mother of God, this was a bad one. The depth of how incapacitating it was floored me. I stumbled to the bathroom and turned on the light, knowing I needed to - go downstairs to get something, right?
In my delirium, I couldn't remember that I always kept a granola bar in my nightstand.

The good tasting ones are downstairs.... my sleepy, low self mumbled. If I'm going to be low and I"m hungry, I might as well eat something good.

Instead I stumbled back to the bed, laid on my back and closed by eyes, bathroom light still on. In a second... I mumbled. Will...go down... in a second. When I feel better.
I was so sweaty, so incapacitated, so unutterably weak I felt I might fall down the stairs and not make it at all if I tried to go down now. I'd feel better in a few minutes, right?
In and out of sleep I fell for about 10 minutes, until I came back to consciousness again. I didn't feel any better, I was still shaking, and my mind shifted back into the right state that it was supposed to be in.

Ugh, God, what am I doing? I sat up slowly. I can't wait to treat, I'm just going to get more low. And there's a granola bar in my purse. Why would I think I need to go downstairs?
Just feeling myself, I estimated that I was so low - almost the lowest I've ever been - that I was probably in the high 20's/low 30 mgdL's. I felt positively awful. My purse was lying on the floor against my bag, and I rolled over and grabbed it, fishing around until my fingers grasped the granola bar. I unwrapped it, stumbled back to my pillow and ate it laying down. I just laid there then, still feeling completely like shit - low, sweaty, shaky, not in control.
After about 10 or 15 minutes I still felt terrible. I tested. 40 mg/dL.
I sighed and slinked down the stairs, grasping the rail for balance as I made my way into the kitchen. The light above the oven was on, so in the dark, I slid down to the floor, onto the cool wood. I started looking for Peanut Butter and remembered we didn't have any, so I made some homemade popcorn, stumbling around the counter above me for the popcorn oil and kernels, then putting them into a pot and waiting until they were popped - I poured them into a Tupperware and crawled back upstairs, eating the popcorn until I felt ok again. Sleep was shot for the night - final in the morning, whatever, looks like I'd be sleep deprived all week. So much for that.

When Diabetes calls, even in your sleep, it doesn't matter. You answer.