The Kitchen

Ow. My eyes.

Here I am at 6:30am, catapulted out of bed by a low alarm, and—hang on, my thoughts are all out of order. Brain booting.

Windows is for noobs.

Right, so, this happened 5 minutes ago.

I’m asleep at my parents’ place. I always feel good when I visit. A low BG alarm smashes through my dreams like a wrecking ball (which according to Mythbusters—as unreliable as this source is—was apparently never a major demolition tool.)

Gee it’s chilly. This place is a lot better... ventilated than mine. I’m wearing pyjama shorts. I really don’t want to face the cold but that fast drop is dangerous. So yes, I catapult out of bed and run downstairs to the kitchen. I check the fridge for liquid carbs, but it seems my parents have got the message that fruit juice is a lot less healthy than people think. (Five stars on the Government health rating! Hah!)

Oh well. Need to turn the light on to find something. Yeoww! My eyes sting. Hunt. Hunt. Unwrap. Eat.

And then, as I’m standing there, right in the centre of the kitchen at the crack of dawn, memories come back to me. I’m not a “flashbacks” kind of person, and I wouldn’t call these flashbacks, but it hit me that there had been many, many times where I had been treating hypos in that kitchen. Under a lot of stress. Or ravenously hungry, eating half the kitchen. Many times at 2am. Many times at 6am. Many times feeling freezing. Many times being scolded by my mother. (I don’t blame her, and she doesn’t do that anymore, but that’s another story.)

I remembered lying on the floor, groaning and whimpering with the sick feelings of a “hypo aura.” And those lights. Those lights! The colour, the intensity; what an interesting association. I guess I used to treat a lot of hypos in the evening or overnight.

Well, my sugar is pretty safe now. Hopefully I can still get back to sleep. Have a great morning...

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