4 AM Sunday morning his blood sugar drops down into the 30's. He's lying in bed flapping the covers...because they are soaked with sweat...and he's giggling maniacally. Keeps saying he's drowning...but he's laughing about it. We keep emergency supplies on the headboard, so I gave him a glucose tablet which he bit a tiny piece off and spit it out at me, still giggling. Now he wants to play "Aw, c'mere so I can push you away violently" I leave him for a few minutes to fetch his monitor, some juice and a glucagon. He's still giggling and pushing me away when I return, which makes taking the blood test very challenging. He continues to push me away every time following it with "Aw, c'mere" and that repulsive giggle. I tried to give his juice, it made him cough, so now he's back to drowning. My only choice is to shoot him with the glucogon or call an ambulance. I prepare the glucogon, get pushed away, inject the needle, get shoved away, inject the needle again, get shoved away, get up off the floor, throw myself on top of him, slap his hands away and finally give him the injection. Now I leave him alone and prepare a bed for me on the floor. About 10 minutes later he "comes to" and I offer him some juice. Naturally he has no clue why I'm on the floor or why I'm sobbing or holding ice on my face.
It's not very often that he gets violent like that, but it's rather devastating when it does happen. These lows happen so often that I'm seriously sick of it and often find myself debating whether I really should get up and help him or just let him slip into a coma and be done with it all. Terrible, I know. I highly doubt I'd ever have the guts to act on that thought, but I certainly entertain it frequently enough. I'm so tired of playin this stupid game. I hate the disease. Worst of all I resent him. I feel that I am being forced to accept that this is the way it is. No matter what, I'll never change it. I'll never prevent it. I'll never stop it. I just have to sit there and let him slap me around because he has no idea he's doing it and doesn't remember when it's over. It's the disease...not him.
We're gonna be OK...we always are. It was just a bad day. I never did tell him all the details of what he did. I don't see the point. He can't fix it any more than I can. I spent the whole day in tears on the couch and he did all the laundry. He owed me that much.