Free to Write

She should have realized the moment she woke up that she was going low. She was bathed in sweat, like a nightmare had seen her running. Her heart was racing. Her lips tingled--it was hard to move at all. She needed to do something, anything. She reached down and pulled at her pump, touching a button. A light flashed on and directions: check blood sugar. Ah, that's what she had to do. Her meter was next to her bed. She leaned over to catch it up, but the movement made her giddy. What did she have to do again?
After some fumbling, she checked and entered the number into the pump. She was so tired. But it immediately alarmed. That meant something. She needed something. She sat up. Food. Something full of sugar. There were M$Ms, but that wouldn't work. Faster sugar. There was a package of glucose tablets beside her bed, but she didn't want them. She was already thirsty--they would coat her mouth in dust, and she'd need to go downstairs for something to drink. That was it. What she wanted. She stood and giggled. She was so tall today. Downstairs. Kitchen. Okay. Kitchen meant refrigerator. Juice. Now what. She sat at the table and stared at the juice.

Suddenly, a cup of juice magically appeared in her hand. She drank. That was right. She could feel the cool spread from her stomach and imagined little sugars marching through her body, taking extra insulin by the hand, and dealing with it. Slowly, she came back to herself. Across the table he sat, juice in hand.

"Need more?"

"Maybe in a minute. Could you get me a slice of cheese? I'm not up to knives, yet." As he passed her, she grasped his hand. "Thank you."