Every morning, I weigh myself, check my blood pressure, and test my blood glucose. The latter two measurements are checked on various occasions throughout the day -- moreso the glucose than the pressure, even though my only prescription medications are for my blood pressure rather than my blood glucose. There is a range for each that I consider "safe". When the ambient temperature drops, Raynaud's kicks in, and with it, the risk of hypothermia. Unfortunately, three of those parameters -- blood pressure, blood glucose, and body temperature --
have a common symptom when they drop below the safety zone. That symptom is shakiness.

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At 10 p.m. I lie in bed wondering if I was ever going to fall asleep. The Mr. had gone to bed an hour ago after a long day. His breathing was soft and soothing. I thought about turning on the news or reading on the computer.

At 12:10 a.m. I woke up in a fog. I couldn't tell if I was dreaming. I was lethargic and nauseated. I was so sweaty that I was sticking to the sheets. Luna, a tea cup chihuahua, was tangled in my feet as I tried to get out from under the sheets.

Panic began to set in. I knew I was low, but what seemed like hours passed before I had enough energy and mental powers to pull myself up to test.

I turned on my light and reached delicately for my meter. I was shaking badly and still horribly hot. Something woke The Mr.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

"I'm low."

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I came upstairs to go to bed. I've been staying up too late and I have to leave early in the morning. But a new friend had just posted on Facebook that she was in the hospital with DKA and I wanted to check on her.

The Mr. was already in bed, watching Myth Busters.

"Hey honey do you have a juice?" he called from the bedroom.

I knew I didn't have one in my bedside table and I knew he'd need more than the Bottlecaps I did have. As I ran downstairs to grab some juices I said, "What did you eat?"

He hemmed and hawed before saying, "Those, um, southwesterny things."

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I could feel it. That slightly lowish feeling. After I confirmed, I slammed my meter down on my bedside table.

"Gah!" I said.

"What's the matter," The Mr. asked.

"I have a fasting blood draw this morning and I'm 56 mg/dL," I said. "And last night before bed I ate that brownie and didn't bolus for it."

"Maybe your pancreas is spitting out insulin every now and then," he chuckled.

In reality, what I think is happening is that tired old story about moving my infusion sites from my lower abdomen out to my hips. I've had at least one low per day for close to two weeks.

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I really try not to let my brain go straight to diabetes when someone describes how they're feeling. I really do. But tonight when The Mr. came to me and said he felt light headed I had a feeling he needed to test his sugar.

It's been a while since I've updated on this and I'm sure there are readers who don't know the The Mr. had gastric bypass on Feb. 3. In the six months since surgery he has lost 150 lb. I know! He has lost nearly half of his body weight. There are plenty of struggles and triumphs but we certainly weren't expecting what happened tonight. Especially not at six months post-op.

So as I sat in our home office The Mr. and I discussed how he was feeling and we chalked it up to maybe not having had enough water today, our afternoon photo shoot with a wonderful family or maybe some sort of bug.

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The Mr. and I had one of those discussions tonight. The kind where a lot of stuff was laid out on the table, things were gotten off chests, things were explained. Yep, it was one of those where we had both let the little things ball up and they had finally gotten to the boiling point.

One of the things we discussed was what I eat, how I bolus and why my blood sugar can be such a roller coaster sometimes. Not they why behind those things but The Mr.'s lack of understanding of how diabetes works. The simple answer, at least for someone who understands diabetes, is that this is the nature of type 1 diabetes. It just is what it is and sometimes it's unpredictable.

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