Waking, the world slows to a snail’s pace. I pitch forward, landing on all fours. The carpet scratches my knees and palms. I can feel the tug of an insulin reaction jerking me under.
“Ross, I’m low,” I say. Sweat trickles down my back as I find strength enough to sit upright. Breaths come in shallow puffs. Gravity pushes down; I fight the urge to bend to its will.
In a flash, Ross has my glucometer ready. He forces a glass of apple juice into my hands. “Drink,” he commands.
“No, no, no,” I chant. My hands shake, and juice dribbles down my chin as I attempt to drink it.
Ross steadies the glass with his warm, solid hands. “Drink,” he commands again.
White lights begin to dance in the darkness of my vision. My arms and head begin to twitch, and my mind compartmentalizes like it always does. I’m fighting against the current, willing my body to respond. It’s as though I lift out of my body to witness the scene below. Racing thoughts distract my rational thoughts; it’s like trudging through mud.
I manage to chug four glasses of juice, but I can feel it’s not enough, not this time. I grasp Ross’ hand, gritting my teeth, willing his calm, steady vibe to flow into me.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
My thoughts are mired, struggling to emerge from the sludge. A name? My name? Bridgit? “Bridgit.”
“What’s my name?”
I lift my heavy head to look at him. My forehead furrows. “Ross.” My words feel like hot sand pouring from my mouth. I try to slow my breathing, inhaling deep. I force my mind to focus on the present, and I resist the stone still dragging my limbs down. For a moment, it seems like my mind clears. I start to feel a steadiness return to my limbs, but the shaking turns into jerking as I grip his hand, hoping to stop this abyss from swallowing me whole.
“Bridgit? Oh, God!” Ross folds me in his arms, engulfing my body in his embrace.
As reality fades, I feel my body convulse against his. I feel like a swimmer caught in a whirlpool. It’s too much, and I give into the weight.
Ross gently lays me down. My final memory is of him calling the paramedics. Wrapped in layers of fuzzy, heavy darkness, I drift into the depths.
I come to drenched, soaked. Did I truly drown? My clothes cling to me, and a chill burrows into my bones. “Ross?”
“I’m right here, baby. I need to go let the paramedics in, but I’ll be right back.”
“What happened?”
“You had a bad reaction. You seizured pretty bad for a couple of minutes. You’ve only been out for five minutes, but don’t get up; I don’t want you to get sick.” He smoothes my hair back, kissing my forehead before letting the paramedics in.
Sounds make sense again as I lay on my side. Cold sweat coats my entire body. I finally sit up. Another day, another insulin reaction. I am stoic, unemotional. Waiting for the paramedics, I lean against the brown, velvety couch, reveling in my safe return to reality.
Dear Bridgit & Ross, Thank you for sharing. Lorna & I pray for your family & yourself. You are an encouragment to many who know well what you are battling. May God bless your day & testimony.
In Christ’s Love,
Don & Lorna
Bridgit,
This is a very powerful and emotional scene. Your writing is excellent, and as a long time diabetic myself, I appreciate their accuracy more than most. The mud, the weight, the sweat, the mouth full of sand–oh how I hate those feelings. The one thing I would disagree with is the statement about another day, another low. Yes, a well controlled diabetic is bound to have more low blood sugars, an unfortunate price for long term stability. But this particular case was not your everyday average low. This was the type of low one hopes to never experience, and certainly not more than once a decade or so. You should be commended for knowing when to call to your husband for help (as a guy, I’m more stubborn and 9 times out of ten my wife simply finds me on the floor) and Ross deserves a pat on the back for keeping his cool and doing the correct things.
Let’s raise a toast to not reading about another low like this until 2022.
chris
What a superb description of what a low blood sugar can feel like- espicially for those of us working in the field. It puts an exclamation point on the meaning behind the importance of trying to help our patients avoid lows.
Thank you for your words.
Powerful. Well written. Good job Bridg.
Great, graphic piece. I’m glad to see people responding to your excellent work, Bridgit.
Well Done Bridgit.
A nicely crafted, graphic look into what a diabetic reaction can be like — for you and for those who are there at your side.
What provisions do you make for a situation where you may not have your husband nearby when one of these reactions comes about?