Last night was the end of a long week. We had a carb-heavy dinner without much protein, but this typically hasn't been an issue. Gave myself what I believed to be an accurate bolus, ate, and then went about Friday evening business. Including watching some great NCAA basketball and keeping up with some D-Twitter Friends before dozing off for an evening nap in my green recliner chair.
Relaxing night, indeed.
Woke up about 11 p.m. Freezing. Blurry vision. Not quite feeling OK.
My 4-year old black lab knew something wasn't right. Her name is Riley, and she jumped into action.
She came sniffing, nudging me with her cold wet nose. Looking at my all concerned-like with those big brown puppy sad eyes. Those gems seemed to say,"Something's wrong, Daddy. I want to help, Daddy. Love you. Love you."
Riley jumped up on my chair, attempting to climb onto my lap to alert me something was wrong.
Not yet realizing the Low State I was in, the dog on my lap wasn't exactly what I wanted as I began to think a blood test might be a beneficial move.
At this point, I yelled. Loudly.
Got the attention of my wife, who was near-sleep in the bedroom at the time. This scared the dog, of course.
Terrified that she'd done something B-A-D, Riley jumped down and hung her head, glancing up at me with those sad eyes before scooting off to her "bed" that is a metal kennel cage in the corner of the room.
This made me feel badly, but I went to test.
First BG result: 33 mg/dL.
Surprised, and still somewhat suspicious after a day's worth of reading D-Blogs about Glucose Meter Accuracy, I managed to say: "That's impossible. Can't be right."
Another test revealed: 33 mg/dL.
Well, then. Guess it's time to eat.
Inhaled some glucose tabs (about 10 of them), and Suzi supportingly made me a PB&J on toast. With a glass of milk. Mmmm.
Two hours later: 271. Did a slight correction, and two hours later came in at 302. It started coming down later in the early morning hours, until finally balancing out mid-morning at 125.
Of course, the sad Riley Dog who'd been yelled at thanks to a Low was fine by this time. Back to her regular playful self. And always willing to help out in recognizing Lows.
This isn't the first time Riley has come to the rescue - I've written about her skills before. As well as my skewed-sense of reality during Lows that have led me to wrongly interpret her loving actions (See: "Dog's Trying to Eat My Head."). A worthwhile friend, indeed. Always there. While she isn't a Dog 4 Diabetics recruit, she does just fine for this Type 1.
Want to read more about Riley? Or my own version of Living With Diabetes? Visit my D-blog at The Diabetic's Corner Booth.