At something like 4:30 AM on this past Thursday morning, my CGMS woke me up with the “low” alarm. Hypoglycemia. I always keep my receiver in bed with me so that I can check it in the middle of the night if needed. This particular night, I was so completely exhausted that I subconsciously ignored the alarm twice before I gradually became cognizant of what was going on and I pulled myself up in bed to check my blood sugar. 62. I wasn’t too worried, but then again it was 4:30 AM; the only thing I was worried about was getting back to sleep. The CGMS receiver still shone brightly as I slowly collected my thoughts. And thus, with the realization of the “unfair” circumstance that was before me, I quickly plummeted into the realm of early childhood.
First, there was the whining: I don’t wannnnnnt to get out of bed! I don’t wannnnnnnt to treat this low! I’m not even hunnnnnngry! I had flashbacks to my own toddlerdom, where I would find myself drawing out words I knew were important in the sentence. I was so tired! I just wanted to sleep!
Then, the irrational decision-making: Maybe if I wait it out, it’ll go back up! Maybe I should just lie back down and call a friend to discuss the situation. At this point, I was willing to stay awake; I just didn’t want to get out of bed.
Next, the sudden awareness of bodily functions: I think I have to go to the bathroom. Why the desire to remedy a full bladder trumps the need to treat hypoglycemia, I don’t know, but it got me out of bed nonetheless. I stumbled toward my bedroom door, then realized I hadn’t done anything to treat the hypoglycemia yet.
And this is where the toddler-like behavior comes to a climax: Great idea! I’ll treat the low while going to the bathroom! Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the toilet, in the dark, slurping down a Clifford juice box. I still had my eyes closed as I sipped through the bent straw–the envy of 29-year-olds everywhere, I’m sure–and finally reached some normal level of consciousness. I opened my eyes and stared at myself in the mirror. What am I doing? If someone would have walked in on me in that moment, I’m not quite sure how I could’ve explained myself. My thoughts immediately traveled to when I used to teach preschool and I would catch students doing the most ridiculous, albeit earnest, things. Blindly carrying a juice box to the bathroom could certainly be considered creative problem solving… right?
Grasping for any sense of dignity, I trudged back to my room, empty juice box in hand, hoping my roommates didn’t happen to wander out of their rooms while this half-delirious episode was taking place. I replenished my little basket of low supplies that I keep next to my bed. I tested. I checked the time. And then, as if nodding adieu to the Terrible Twos, I climbed back into bed, victorious. Victorious because I had successfully taken care of my body’s immediate needs, yes, but more importantly because I did something no two-year-old gets to do: I actively chose to not brush my teeth again before returning to bed. Take that! I winnnnnnn!