A minor hallucination

As you know, I have a touch of the diabetes. I was diagnosed just over four years ago. I’ve learned a lot, but there’s also a lot of territory I’ve left unexplored.

Frankly, I have no interest in discovering those parts of the diabetic map. They are marked, “Here there be monsters.” But I strayed into that region on Monday night. Let me ‘splain.

No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

As I was getting ready for bed, I felt like my blood sugar was low. I tested and, sure enough. So I went downstairs and downed some orange juice. Went back up, finished getting ready, and settled down to read a bit.

In what would turn out to be Divine Providence, Liz decided she needed a drink. I still felt a little low, so I followed her downstairs.

She got out a glass for herself, and I pulled my previous glass from the dishwasher and set it on the counter. I then started feeling a little woozy. I leaned on the counter, and to my surprise, she had been nice enough to get me a glass.

Wait, no. That was the glass I had just gotten myself. Or not? Now I was confused, and she could see it. She poured me a glass of orange juice, which I dutifully drank.

The next portion of our story is hearsay. I don’t remember any of it, but Liz swears this is how it played out.

After I drank the OJ, she said she was going to the bathroom. Apparently I begged her not to leave me and threatened that, if she did, I would extricate myself from my undergarments and sit on the carpet.

She went to the bathroom, and when she came out, there I was—sitting on the carpet, bare-bummed and grinning.

Note: The saddest part about this whole story is that she didn’t know anything was wrong with me at this point. Yes, friends, this juvenile display is something I might actually do, even when lucid.

Anyway, she claims I started saying weird stuff and my speech was slurred. She started getting mad because she couldn’t tell if I was being serious or not, and she tried to make me drink more juice.

She handed me a full glass, which I spilled on the floor because my hands had started shaking. She made me get up and go to the sink, at which point my hands started really jerking and I was spilling juice everywhere.

She then handed me the whole bottle, which I dropped in the sink because I couldn’t hold it. She put the bottle back in my hands and helped me down several gulps.

I stood there for a few seconds, and then the sugar from the juice started to kick in and I began coming back around.

Liz was visibly shaken, and it slowly dawned on me that something was wrong and I had just ventured into unknown territory.

We sat down on the couch and I slowly regained my senses. I started asking her what had happened—what was real, and what had I imagined?

I remembered the confusion over the glass and the convulsing hands. I also remembered carousel music, a big crowd, and lots of lights. I guess I visited Lagoon or something when I checked out.

Long story long, it was a scary night for both of us. She had watched me descend into insulin shock and then pulled me out of it. I was forced to acknowledge the fact that things aren’t always going to be within my control.

I’m grateful we were being watched out for. Had I wandered downstairs by myself, it might have been 10 minutes before Liz thought to check on me. And she might have found me completely out of sorts, or seizing, or worse.

Then again, she may have just found me with my bare butt planted firmly on the couch.