I started this post once before and then typepad ate it. So here goes take 2.
I'm home today.
Stomach issues from a bad night. I'm pretty sure the bad night started acerbated them. Anyway, I'm home sick today.
Last night, or technically this morning, at 3:30 I went to the bathroom. Did what I had to do. Came back to bed and touched D's back before I went off to sleep.
It was sweaty. Insulin reaction. Shit.
I shake him awake. At first he doesn't wake up, but then he responds "I'm getting up, I'm awake!" and I run to get him some orange juice. He's standing around looking everywhere horribly unfocused. I give him the orange juice and tell him to drink it. He looks at me as if I am speaking Mandarin. I yell at him to drink it, five seconds away from jumping for the glucagon, when he does. I breathe a little easier for about half a minute. He looks at me for a moment as if he has no idea who I am.
He starts waving his arms crazily. Not fully aware of what he is doing. I run back to the fridge and get some punch. (Home made stuff, more sugar) After cajoling and ordering I get him to drink it. He drains the glass and then drops in on the bed. He starts yelling "I need to shoot up!" (our parlance for he needs to give himself insulin.) I say no. "You need to test your blood sugar and then eat some more."
He then starts pounding the bed. I truly think that there was some kind of serious disconnect. He was pounding the bed, almost searching for something, but not in control of his actions. It was rhythmic and terrifying. He was not in control of his limbs, so when I say he hit me--he did, but he didn't. There was no one home.
For the first time in my life with him, I was afraid of him.
While this seemed to go on for hours, it was probably closer to a few minutes when I realized his brain was not getting any of the sugar. He started flailing--the closest thing I can come to is think Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man--so I couldn't grab his arm and give him a shot. I was also scared of getting closer.
I called 911.
In the middle of the call, D came back. I could feel it. "What? What? What are you doing?" He asked as I spoke to the 911 lady. (Do they take calmness lessons? She was amazing.) He started hitting my arm. "I'm fine. You don't need to call them. I'm FINE." He didn't realize that he was hitting hard though. He thought it was one of those "attention getting" things.
He was not fine. But he was there. He was D again.
The paramedics came like lightning and they were able to help. They were wonderful. Really wonderful.
It's his first week on the insulin pump. I was told that you don't get through the first month on the insulin pump without at least 2 really bad reactions. I hope they are wrong. I don't know if I can get through another one like this. I'm making him test more often and I don't care. He's been running high today (totally normal says his DE [Diabetic Educator]) But frustrating to him.
What is frustrating to me is my thought that I let myself, and more important my husband down last night. I was more afraid of him than I was for him. I couldn't get in between his flailing arms to help. And I'm not sure that I could have helped.
His DE says that I did great. D says I did fine and he's sorry.