When I woke this morning, I found my son's bg level was the dreaded 5 (90). You know? That perfect number that you don't know which way it will go and you quickly drive yourself insane wondering? Normally I would have stayed awake for a bit to retest, check and see what was going on. Today I was tired. I was worn out and I literally prayed for the best as I headed back to bed.
I woke up a few hours later with the intention of checking to see where his bg levels were but I fell back to sleep. When I finally woke up again, I lay there heavily buried in guilt. The what ifs began....
What if he did drop lower while I selfishly slept?
What if he seized while I dreamed peaceful walks?
What if he didn't wake up when I went to check on him?
What if he had brain damage?
What if my sweet, quirky young son was hurt because of my selfish desire to rest a little longer?
This would ruin my oldest son's graduation celebrations in a few weeks.
I would never celebrate a birthday again because I had done this. It would be all my fault.
Plagued by all of the horrific sceneiros racing through my mind, I quickly headed across to his room. As I entered, he stretched and yawned. He held out his hand for me to test but pretended to remain asleep. I lanced. Not enough blood. I lanced again. I squeezed. I waited. He was 6.5 (115ish). He was fine. There was no coma, no brain damage--just a perfectly fine teen desperate to sleep until his mother peels his body off of his mattress.
I took a cleansing breath and headed off to the couch to sit and regroup for a bit. This disease can drive you crazy. I thought I was doing well at living in the now. Not letting it freak me out very often any more. I thought I was rolling with the punches pretty well. I guess we all have our days. Today was mine. Tomorrow will be better.
