Olivia met a girl at Clara Barton last year named Sam. As luck would have it, Sam lived the next town over. The two girls hit it off really well and exchanged phone numbers at the end of the session.

I admit I was eager to foster the friendship because Olivia doesn't have any other friends with diabetes. She knows some D kids, but they're all considerably younger than her and she doesn't have anything, other than diabetes, in common with them. The other kids in school with diabetes are not in her classes and she hasn't made friends with any of them.

Olivia invited Sam to sleep over a couple of times and the girls got along really well. The only fault I could find with Sam was her picky eating habits and considering we're talking twelve year-old, squealy girls here, that's saying something.

Sam is on injections - a very complicated (to me) regimen that includes sliding scales and carb:insulin ratios. She had it all printed out on a sheet of paper and was able to do her own injections and calculations so it wasn't a bother to take care of her. When I checked Olivia during the night, I'd check Sam, too.

The last time Sam slept over, though, she had a low that scared the crap out of me. I had just had Charlotte a couple of weeks earlier and was trying to catch a nap while the two older girls watched a movie and Isobel was sleeping. Suddenly, Olivia was standing by my bed. "Mum," she said, quite calmly, "I can't wake Sam up."

Well. My feet hit the floor so fast it's a wonder I didn't leave skid marks. I raced into Olivia's room and Sam was flopped across the bed, her face pale and her skin clammy. I checked her blood sugar and she was 19. Aaack! I tried to get some glucose gel into her mouth but she just smeared it all over her face with the back of her hand.

I knew it was time to break out the big guns. I grabbed the glucagon kit and a syringe. I plunged the solution into the vial and shook it up. Instead of using the big, honking needle that comes with glucagon, I used a much smaller syringe. I injected half the contents of the vial into her leg and waited. And checked again. 32. Ok, better, but still, holy crap low. So I injected the other half. She started to come around and as soon as she was coherent, I started feeding her glucose tablets.

Forty-five minutes and three peanut butter sandwiches later, she was up to a very nice 195. I didn't care that that was a bit high at that point - I was just trying to avoid another crash and burn.

Olivia has had diabetes for ten years and I've never had to use glucagon on her. Sam was here for one overnight and suddenly I'm in the middle of this situation that I've never experienced before. I stayed pretty calm, all things considered, but as soon as her blood sugar was back in range, I went into the bathroom and shook. Scary stuff. But at least I know I can handle a crisis like that.