I was low on Saturday. For hours and hours of Saturday. I cannot tell exact numbers for the exact time because on Friday my CGM sensor died and I removed it ceremoniously (i.e. ripped it off in the shower) and didn’t replace it. A few BGL checks give me some information, but not a complete picture. Because that’s the imperfection of modern BGL meter technology. 

At about 6pm as the kiddo and I were sitting down to our 145th 6th episode of the Gilmore Girls for the day and eating home-delivered noodles out of a box I started to feel crapola which is the a highly technical term for ‘jeez, I’m low’. 

BGL check showed that I was about 2.7 on the crapola scale, so I downed a juice box, and ate my way through my carb-laden noodle box. That should have fixed it. Several times over. But it didn’t. 

At about 10pm when I was thinking that an early night was in order (because: effing jet lag) I started getting ready for bed and realised that I was low. Again. Or still. I wasn’t sure. Another juice box and I figured I’d be right. 

And then an hour later, warm in bed, reading some Truman Capote, I was still sitting just under 3.0, so I drank more juice. By this stage, I was pretty sure that spikes were about to start growing out of my head. Around 12.30am when Aaron got home from his gig, I was sitting up in bed, munching jelly beans. 

‘Hypo?’ he asked. 

‘Yep. For hours.’ I said. ‘Hours and hours.’ 

This was one of those lows that is so non-eventful. It is what healthcare professionals and all diabetes books refer to as a mild hypo because at no time was I in any way afraid that I couldn’t manage it myself. I just munched on or chugged down glucose, willing my BGL to get moving upwards. 

I didn’t feel scarily low – there was no profuse sweating or shaking or numbness. I felt slightly woozy when I stood up or moved suddenly, but nothing scary. My heart rate didn’t increase. I didn’t feel out of control. I wasn’t afraid. 

And it was all for no apparent reason. Hard as I tried, I couldn’t explain why the low just would not budge– I’d not done any sort of prolonged physical activity or forgotten to eat. I’d barely bolused for my uber-carb meal. 

If I had sensor in, the squiggle would have been pretty straight for hours and hours and hours – frequently dipping below the low-alert level into the nasty red part that would have had alarms squealing and me swearing. 

But all I have are a couple of BGL checks with numbers in the 2s and 3s until I decided I was sick of looking at numbers in the 2s and 3s so stopped checking. Plus I was feeling better. 

The next morning, there was no reminder of the night before. I woke up without a hypo-hangover. No headache. No screaming high BGL. In fact it wasn’t until I looked over to my bedside table and saw the empty juice boxes that I remembered. I got up and collected the remnants for the recycling bin. Just another day. Another night. Another hypo. Nothing to see here. Boring as all get out.