Michelle Kowalski

There really just is no way to describe the way an extreme low feels. It was surreal, like I was outside of myself; like I was watching myself through a camera mounted on my head--that carnival ride-like feeling you get when you watch a video of someone, say, walking through the woods from their point of view; like part of me was asleep while the conscious part of me fought like mad to make things right.

I saw the 29 and while I almost immediately pulled the strip out of the meter, for just a second I thought the number was the code for the strips. I, obviously, wasn't thinking clearly.

"29," I said to The Mr.

"Drink my soda," he said referring to his non-diet soda.

I complied, but I felt drunk, heavy. I dug in my purse for glucose tabs; I swore I had a worn package in there, but I couldn't find them. I changed my focus to finding the pack of Smarties I swore was in there while intermittently drinking The Mr.'s regular soda. I kept wondering why I wasn't instantly feeling better.

I never said it, but I know if I had just stopped moving, stopped trying to fight, I could have very easily passed out. The lake was getting brighter and I was feeling pretty dizzy. I kept digging for sugar, kept drinking soda. Finding those Smarties was like I had just reached the summit of Everest.

The Mr. was so calm in these moments, asking me questions like "Do you think you could walk around the car to the passenger side?" I thought he was being curious, wondering how it felt to be low, but now I realize he was trying to figure out how he was going to get me out of the driver's seat so he could drive me to the ER. I'm shocked now at the things I said and did, and equally humbled by The Mr.'s presence of mind.

The amount of sugar in my body finally started to come up, and I felt like I could relax. Actually, I just wanted to go to sleep and had to fight not to do so. I laid my head on The Mr.'s shoulder; the warmth of his body kept me awake while I allowed my eyes to rest. He kept talking to me, perhaps from nerves; for the life of me I can't remember any of it now.

I was able to drive us both back to work, but my body was clearly not ready to walk. I contemplated taking the elevator up the one flight of stairs to my office, but didn't. I felt, frankly, hung over. At least with a hangover it would have been a fun ride on the way.