"I fall down, go Boom"

I hate having hypoglycemic reactions in the middle of the night. Perhaps not nearly as much as my poor wife who must nurse me back to lucidity, but still...I have no fun.

The middle of our night on Friday (or call it ridiculously early Saturday morning) was again rudely interrupted with another visit from the Ghost of Hypoglycemia. I have no recollection of my wife's help--the first thing I remember is laying in bed, noticing that she was not there but suddenly struck by how much I needed to get up and get to the restroom. Timing is, of course, everything.

With a start I pushed the covers off and sat up, ever so wobbly but determined to get there one way or another. After about 10 steps my feet gave way, I went down and cracked my head on the edge of the bench-seat that runs under our bedroom window. With that crash my wife and the girls all came running to find me kneeling as if in prayer to the bench with blood on my hands.

My wife--God bless her a hundred times--before she could be annoyed was willing to clean me up and get me back to bed in one piece. All in all the episode turned out to be better than it sounds, but still is prompting an appointment with an endocrinologist to address my struggling control of my blood sugars of late.

The worst part though was showing up at Flower Festival the next morning looking like I'd been beaten up in a bar fight.

"You should see the other guy!"