I hear him slip out of bed and I look at the clock. 1:41AM. The same mysterious capability that would wake me when my babies were rustling in the other room even before they cried out works here too. I’m attuned to these particular night sounds. When he’s up like this, I am on guard.
It’s the usual routine; first a trip into the bathroom where he tests his blood sugar level, then a trip downstairs.
Usually, he moves like a cat. He can see in the dark and manages to navigate soundlessly through the bedroom and the house at large.
Me? Just a trip to the bathroom in the dark becomes a scene from a Jerry Lewis movie. If there is a Lego to be found in this house, I will step on it with my bare foot. If there is a squeaky floorboard, I will manage to never miss it. I will trip over any obstacle, no matter how inconsequential, left on the floor.
If he dies in this bedroom, there is a 50% chance it was his diabetes, but there is an equal chance I bludgeoned him with his own shoe after tripping over it. “How. Many. Times. Have. I. Asked. You. ..”
But we’ll save the bludgeoning for another day.
Now it is a quarter to two in the morning and I lie in bed listening to him head downstairs for some juice or whatever he chooses to bring his blood glucose back to normal. I wonder “Should I put my pajama pants on, just in case?”
See, my father-in-law lives here so when I have to run through the house at night to perform emergency life-saving procedures, I like to be dressed. It was the diabetes that was to blame the time my father-in-law saw my boob before. No repeatsies, ya know?
I hear him down there fixing something to eat or drink, and he’s not quiet as a cat this time – he’s banging things around, much louder than usual. To me, this is one of the subtle clues. That must mean lower-than-usual blood-sugar. Wonder how low he was? Should I get up? Or do I wait for the CRASH-THUMP of his body hitting before I go running? That’s how it usually goes. Where did I put that emergency glucagon shot after our last trip? Is it back where it belongs in the medicine cabinet? Should I put my pants on?
Maybe we shouldn’t have put granite counters in the kitchen.
I mean, the kids are all old enough that I don’t worry so much about them and their precious noggins hitting – but my husband is a diabetic.
Laminate would have been less deadly.
I hope there’s not a thump.
I’m putting my pants on anyway, just in case.
Fortunately, I hear him coming back up the stairs and he climbs back into bed.
“You OK?” I ask.
“Yeah. Just low.” he says.
Low is a word that carries a ton of meaning when you’re the wife of a diabetic. I find myself asking him all the time whether he is low. If he is sweating when I’m not even warm, I ask “Are you low?” When he’s acting goofy about something, “Are you low?” Sometimes diabetics are just goofy – it doesn’t always mean they’re low. But I ask.
For awhile there, we were having lots of issues with these lows sneaking up on him, and I would ask a lot. To him, the question started sounding like an accusation. To me, I asked it as a sort of verbal warning bell.
Ding. Ding. Diabetes, Round 8.
We are fortunate in that we rarely have marital spats that get the adrenaline pumping, but when we have, I’ve had to worry about his blood sugar. Adrenaline will do funny things, and if he drops fast when emotions are already high, he gets aggressive, kind of like a mean drunk. Fortunately, in 18 years there have only been a couple times where this situation has caused him to push things too far. In the heat of the moment, I just think he’s an asshole but later I blame the disease.
We’ve had some doozies of run-ins with this opponent.
But tonight, he’s back in bed. “Just a little low.” he says. “Go back to sleep.” he says.
“I was lying here wondering if your head would hit the granite.” I say.
“You can’t get out of sex that easily.” he replies.
And this is how I know he’s not too low. He’s not good at smart-assy jokes when he’s really low, so it’s a sign that he’s fine. For now.
“Go back to sleep.” he says, but I can’t. My head is swimming with these words you’re reading right now. “I have to go downstairs and write.” I say.
“Why?” he asks.
“They need to know. It’s hard being the wife of a diabetic.” I reply.
He laughs. “I imagine it’s marginally less difficult than being the actual diabetic.”
He’s got a point there. At least my support group gets cupcakes.
~~~~~~~~~~
If you’re so inclined, go donate to the American Diabetes Association and thank you.
I just found this post looking for others in my situation. I knew that they were out there. It sucks feeling like you’re on your own island. I married my husband 2 years ago, we’ve been together for 10, he’s been a T1 since he was 8 years old. I knew that he was diabetic a couple years after we met, however, he refrained from openly telling me until our daughter was born shortly after we were married in 2009.
He works in emergency medical services, so you can imagine, he’s not the best “patient” thinking that he knows or can do/fix/whatever. Lately though he’s been having a lot of hypo episodes. The last bad one I recall was a few years ago and he was pulling out of a driveway and I had to physically get into the driver’s seat on top of him and stop and remove the keys.
It happened again about two months ago, he was outside working on his vehicle, came in was fine, then he was unconscious on the couch. I fixed it and assumed he had just gotten too hot and was too busy or stubborn to care. Apparently he didn’t remember more than thirty minutes prior to that outside with his father.
They have been happening more and more lately. Just the other night, he came to bed and was fine, then I got bit and all the little cues went off. I fixed it and now here I am.
And you’ve pointed me to the term hypoglycemic unawareness.
I’m trying to find things to do to help, without pushing, without freaking out, and without pushing him away. Now that he’s in his 30’s you would think he would be more concerned… but it’s just me that is becoming increasingly alarmed.
Thanks for writing this. I feel like though we exist, we are too silent in our struggles.
I love how your guard gets up, and then you notice EVERYTHING. Every sound, every ‘clue’.
I enjoyed reading this! And I definitely feel like I know a lot about diabetes. I mean, I knew nothing about diabetes. But this was an interesting way to find out some stuff.
Thanks.
You know, as far as diabetes goes, we’ve been pretty lucky. He’s type-1 lifer, but he’s fit and healthy and active.
But it is part of the architecture of our lives… the disease is woven into the fabric of us.
What I thought was interesting, what compelled me to write, was the contemplation of the granite countertops. How I lay there in bed wondering if we should have avoided granite because what if he has low-blood-sugar and falls and hits his head? (He’s hit his head on floors and bathtubs, but so far no granite.)
It’s not a THEME to us, it’s just part of our background music. So we’re lucky in that regard. But I spent a quarter of a century without dealing with diabetes and I never worried about granite countertops, so it is interesting how it changes your thinking.
I’m a newbie to your blog, and it’s great.
You don’t seem like a gal who wants pity, but I’m sure you’d like a hug now and again. So here (( ))
While I don’t have a life-threatening illness, I have my “issues”, let’s say, but I don’t talk about them all that much. I only just blogged about them once not too long ago. Your post was very compelling because it does give a look-see as to what a “significant other” deals with. Thank you for that insight.
As a Type 2 diabetic I don’t worry too much about my blood sugar being too low thankfully. I’m just trying to get it down!
The whole do I get dressed part is definitely what I’d be thinking about too, weighing pros and cons of getting pants on now versus later.
I honestly found myself gripping my desk at work while reading this. I know it’s not meant to be a cliffhanger, but I’m too invested and I found myself thinking “Please don’t say you heard the CRASH THUMP…Please don’t say you heard the CRASH THUMP.” I’m lucky that I’ve never been there for a CRASH THUMP, but Amber told me about the time that she was and it’s enough to freak me out. Ugh, I’d hate to have to keep that in the back of my mind all the time 🙁
I was giggling through the whole decision to put pants on. That’s totally a train of thought I would have.
Interesting piece, Linda.
Thanks for the comment, Genie.
I was joking about it being hard to be a spouse of a diabetic. I mean, I was sharing the perspective of it, but I didn’t mean to seriously indicate that it was harder.
And I don’t really have a support group so even the cupcake part was a joke. LOL
It was just that I was lying in bed contemplating the granite countertops that we put in a few months ago and I wondered… I wondered if anyone was interested in hearing this perspective, about what it’s like to be married to someone with diabetes. It’s the only perspective I have to share, ’cause it’s my life.
It’s a good life and I hope he doesn’t leave it due to diabetes OR a shoe-bludgeoning. I’ll choose “died peacefully in his sleep at 100” if I can.
As the one ripping into cereal boxes at 3am so it looks like a bear dined with us the next morning, I understand all that. And God forbid someone ask if my blood sugar is okay.
Rich teased me the other day and I told him “I’m low, so instead of teasing back I’m more likely to just cry.”
He started to say “then why don’t you get some juice” but thought better of it since I gave him the “don’t EVEN” look and already standing in the kitchen with the fridge door open. 🙂
So yeah it’s hard for everyone. 🙂