Restless all night.

Keeping waking and look at the clock.

Saturday morning.

4:56 a.m. I need to go potty.

Sleep stupor wants me hold it several hours.

Don't want to be awake for the day at 5 a.m.

No, need to go now.

Reach for Toohey.

Hmmm, arm felt freakishly heavy and asleep.

I'm low.

No, can't be. Don't get overnight lows.

Don't feel lows until I stand.

Walk through fog and darkness to the bathroom.

Hit shoulder on door frame.

Sitting, I wake enough to convince myself to test.

The shaking hits as I sit on the bed, turn the light on and fumble with the meter.

I shake The Mr. because he's snoring.

I want him to wake up.

I test. I'm 59. Juice.

I shake The Mr. I want him to wake up. I want him to say, "Are you low? Are you OK?" and gently touch my back.

I turn the light off and lay down feeling happy that I can finally go to sleep after a low.

Impatience reigns. I lean over the side of the bed and scarf two sleeves of Smarties knowing somewhere that they won't mean much in the scheme of things.

Contemplate falling asleep with a mouth full of Life Savers.

Three hours later, wake up, feel fine. Wonder if it was a dream.

Juice box and Smartie carnage on the floor remind me it wasn't.