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|Type 2||Women's Issues||Oral Meds||Technology|
"So, Nicole, what does a low look like?" Said the director, a man in big giant aviator sunglasses and a pink beret who was wearing a shiny black jacket and smoking a lot of cigarettes.
"Well, I guess it depends. How low are they?"
"What do you mean how low are they? Said the director, "Very low..."
"Well, it doesn't just happen all of a sudden, unless it's really for dramatic purposes... Have them start to sweat a bit to begin... And maybe have them look all distracted..."
"TUT... TUT... TUT.... Not to me... To HIMMMMMMM...." Director again, turning to the actor in the chair.
He was a big man, tall and long-armed. He had proportions only a person in a dream could have. A too large head, arms that seemed to reach the floor, feet that looked like blocks.
"Well, OK... First you're going to sweat... I guess the make up team can do that... And then, um, then you're gonna look all distracted, like you can't pay attention to what the other person is saying..."
And I realized, this dude wasn't looking at me at all. And he was as white as a sheet. And he had bead of sweat rolling down his too-large face...
"Wait, are you diabetic?"
He didn't answer, he just slid to the floor, like a person melting from the inside out...
"Hey..." I said to the director, but when I turned around he was gone...
And the big man was flopping about on the floor like a fish out of water and I could see that his eyes had slid back in his head a bit. And he was moaning, long terrible moans...
I looked around to find I was in a pretty empty studio and the only thing nearby was a coffee station. I rifled through the mini fridge, which was filled with an odd assortment of condiments and a bunch of eye masks. Weird, stuffed eye masks that had names written across their french terry fronts. I looked and looked and tried to keep an eye on the gentle giant "actor" as he flipped and moaned. I finally found one jar of cake frosting, but only four or five mouthfuls left inside. Every time I checked my phone it said "No Calling Out" in bold text on its screen.
I got on my knees by the man's head and scooped frosting out of the jar... Trying to remember how to get a half conscious person to chew. Thinking, he's going to die if I don't fix this. One scoop of frosting, some on his chin, most in his mouth and I rubbed his cheek to get him to mouth it down. Two scoops, then three... Frosting everywhere....
Before I could finish scooping the last two scoops in, the man's eyes opened and focused and he said "Good Job! Did I do alright?"
"What?" I said...
"Did I do alright? You did good... That was great."
The director appeared again and said to the two of us, "You passed our test, you've got the part! And Roy, you were genius, you're still in there too."
"What?" I said again... "I thought I was consulting here."
The director smiled at me and said "Well, we had you fooled didn't we? And I'm guessing you think Roy here did well? He had you convinced..."
I was apparently, for the entire dream trying out for a part I didn't know I was trying out for. And Roy was only going to get the part of diabetic if he could fool me.
I think the dream was about how sneaky diabetes is and how sabotaged I sometimes feel. I also think it was about my own frantic nature when my sugar is low and I can't find treatment, that chaotic behavior that comes from being on the cusp of life and death. I am sure that the low I was actually having was a factor in it too. When I started awake after this one, it took me mere seconds - instead of the usual 5-15 minutes to realize I was low. 48 mg/dl to be exact. Thankfully, unlike in my dream there was plenty of low treatment within arms reach... I ate, I retested, and by an hour later I was back at rest....
To dream about a beached whale and two swimming horses...
Megan was diagnosed in 2009 with Type I. As an RN, she was familiar with the medical side of her diagnosis; learning to be a good patient on the other hand, was and continues to be the challenge of her day to day life. (Read More)