I went to bed last night with a splitting headache. I checked my blood sugar before I lay me down to sleep and it was a little on the high side, which I attributed to the splitting headache. I quickly wondered if the headache went away while I slept, would I drop? I quickly answered no, I was high enough that it shouldn’t make a startling difference.
I drifted off to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream. Vivid snapshots swirled through my mind like classical music notes in a cartoon; I was scared, I was worried, I was full of sorrow, I was elated, I was in another world far, far away. I woke up all at once, sitting straight up before I was even out from under the dream. I was thinking, “this is it,” as I knew the reality of my mind had crashed over into another realm and I was forever lost. After minutes of seconds, I came to, fully bathed in sweat.
I reached behind me and turned on the lamp, damning courtesy all to hell (the husband would have to sleep through it or get woken up; he had no choice). I pulled out my meter and my lancet. He awoke and asked if I was okay. I looked at him, hoping the sweat running down my face would give him the answer. The meter beeped: 133. Perfectly fine. “133” I said out loud and turned off the light, heading back under the covers.
Sometimes, a dream is just a dream, and it rocks you to the very core. Sometimes a dream is not diabetes.
As always, more to come…