The Interruptor of Sleep

It's 11:00 PM.

Trinity is fast asleep.

No matter.

Diabetes doesn't care.

I must walk into her room and wake her.

You see, it's time to calibrate her continuous glucose monitor – her CGM.

Without this calibration, we won't have readings to monitor her blood glucose levels during the night. Without those readings, we can't tell if she's safe as the hours and minutes tick by.

So.... despite her slumbering peace... I must wake her.

She's difficult to wake on this particular night.

I rub her arms.

Carress her hair.

Speak her name – softly so as not to wake the other girls.

She stirs ever so slightly.

But..... still doesnt' wake.

I rub her leg.

Give her shoulders a slight shake.

I say her name a bit louder.

All to no avail.

At this point fear creeps in.

Since I can't see her blood sugar levels, I worry. Is she low? Is she unconsious? Is she so high her brain has shut down?

Finally, after a slightly harder push and my voice a bit louder, more urgent, her eyes flutter open to minuscule slits for a brief moment.

The adrenalin that was rising crashes now.

A flood of relief.

She's still not fully awake.

But I know she's not unconscious.

I continue my gentle coaxing to try to wake her more fully.

She sits up.

Eyes still shut.

Turning her head this way and that trying to make sense of her groggy situation.

Again, I say her name.

Explain to her we need to check her blood sugar.

Her eyes are still mostly closed.

Barely slits.

Trying to block out the light from my phone.

I call her name again.

“Come on, Trinity. We need to check your blood sugar.”

She swings her legs out of the bed.

She's cocooned in her sleeping bag.

I fear she'll try to stand in her half asleep state and fall.

Reminding her of her tethered condition, she looks at her lap and shimmies down the bag encasing her.

I hand her the pouch that holds her dexom and ipod.

Giving her my hand, I help her to her feet as she steps out of the sleeping bag that is puddled at her ankles.

I begin to walk from her room, pausing to shine my light back for her to follow.

She's slowly twirling in a cirlce.

Scanning the ground.

Holding her little pouch at arms length.

Looking.

Searching.

I call for her to follow me.

She responds, “I need my pouch. I can't find it. Where's my pouch?”

One foot still planted firmly in slumberland, one teetering in the land of consiousness.

I remind her it's in her hand.

Recognition registering, she trudges forward to follow me out.

Usually she knows to head to the bathroom to wash her hands.

Tonight, still battling with the pull of sleep, she passes the restroom on her way to the living room, simply trundling behind, following in my footsteps.

I stop, touch her shoulder and remind her to wash her hands.

When she emerges into the living room, I can tell she's finally fully with me.

Awake - completely.

At last past the grogginess of sleep and standing coherent enough to check her own blood sugar.

This is what it's like to live with Type 1 Diabetes.

Just a small glimpse of the challenges, the fear, the heartache it brings.

It breaks my heart to know I must disrupt our beautiful little girls, more often than I'd care to think, in the middle of a perfectly pleasant night of sleep.

All to cater to an unwanted guest in our home.

A guest that just won't leave; that doesn't have manners.

I kiss her head as I send her back to bed.

Hoping she can get back to sleep, none the wiser of this intruder that steals more than just precious hours of rest.