31. Thirty one.
That's what her meter read when she said to me, in a singsong voice 'Mom, I feel a little looooooooow.'
I immediately suspended her basal through her OmniPod PDM. And my brain goes into 'Did I overbolus for something at dinner" How the hell could she be 31? Ok, do I have the glucagon here? Yep. Crap. 31.'
I grab a juice, nectar of the sweet gods, and rip off the straw casing and shove that little straw into the silver hole.
Grace won't drink it.
'Mama, nooooooooo juice. Nooooooooooooooo.'
Huh??? NO JUICE? What the heck? She's never refused juice before.
And as I think this, her eyes get fluttery and begin to do a little roll back into her head.
And she starts to lay down.
'NOOOOOOOOOOOO. You MAY NOT lay down. You CANNOT go to sleep.
DRINK the juice.'
And she starts to cry. And mumble.
And I shove that little straw into her mouth and command her to
'DRINK THE DAMN JUICE. NOW.'
Sip, sip, sip. Grace starts to drink. I hold her head.
And I whisper in her ear.
'You are having a low. It's 31. You need to listen to Mommy. Drink the juice.
You need to help yourself. Help yourself. Mama is trying to help you.'
She finishes the juice. I let her rest her head against me. She closes her eyes this time, but she has one juice in her. I let her close them. I still do not let her lay down.
'Now we are going to drink another one. Now. Sip.'
And she does. She looks her blue eyes up at me and says 'Help yourself.'
Yes, honey, help yourself.
And if you cannot do it, Mama is here.