Such a good day yesterday, topped by a really cruddy night last night.
I tested at 10:15 before turning in - rather early - for sleep. 152 mg/dl - a little higher than I've been lately, but comfortable enough to not have to snack before I go to bed. Or so I thought.
2:30 - these letters glowing at me from the dark. Where the hell am I? And who moved my painting? My painting that was on THAT wall. Where is it? What happened to the paint in this room? This paint is supposed to be green - not gray blue. Where is the dog? The dog was here a minute ago. I don't know whose dog, but it was giant gray dog and it was here just one. minute. ago.
Oh, man, my face is tingling. And I fall back to sleep.
2:41 - it's SO dark in here. I can't believe how dark. Who is that standing in the corner? I try to move, but I sort of can't. I'm not sure, but I think I might be talking.
"You need to test." A faceless voice insists.
"Test what?" I ask.
"Where is your kit?" The voice again.
"Where is my painting? Why did you move it?" I inquire, my aggravation rising.
"What painting? Nicole, the only paintings that were on the wall are still there. Now, you need to test..." Voice takes my hands and I hear something that sounds like a pill bottle shaking. A juice box is held beneath my mouth, I drink some and then spit some out, and drink some more.
Then I remember. "Test." Ah.
Like a half-powered robot, I move my hands through the motions. Blood - dribbling on my t-shirt. Somewhere, the clock counts down. I realize how wet my hair is, how wet my clothes are, and I wonder how that happened.
"38. OK, keep drinking." The juice tastes very red. The world is still a bit upside-down, out of focus, odd. But I know I'm in my bedroom. And I know that I'm wet from sweat and not some late-night swim, and I know that all of the artwork around me has been there all along.
I'm exhausted. I drink the juice box and then wander to the kitchen for a bit more juice and some peanut butter. All of this, still half asleep - checked-in and checked-out at the same time.
Back to bed, and sound, hard sleep.
The alarm screams at 7:15 - and I get up - still dribbled with juice and my hair a fine mess indeed. There are used test strips strewn about the bed and my meter somehow never made it back to the case. My head is pounding. I test. 144. I'm pleased it's not much higher. But I'm certainly not looking forward to the day ahead.
These late night incidents really take the wind from my sails. I know I can't be the only one. Does anyone else ALWAYS follow a night like this feeling like utter hell? I'm making it through the work day - but couldn't even eat lunch until 3:30- I feel so gross.
I'm rather tired. Of this.