Finished the paper and was home by 11:15 p.m. (“early”) Sunday night. About 11:30 p.m., I tiptoed upstairs, glucose meter in hand.

Nick’s blood sugar: 42.

That’s low. We treat when it’s 70 or below, and anything under 100 at night is cause to give the boy some carbs for security.

He was coherent, fortunately, so I gave him juice, waited the prescribed 15 minutes, and checked again.

53.

Not good. We’re looking for his blood sugar to shoot up to 100 or greater following treatment.
I gave him juice, waited the prescribed 15 minutes, and checked again.

62.

I considered giving him the glucagon shot, otherwise known as “the big, red emergency shot.” It stops the action of insulin working in the body and could save Nick’s life under certain circumstances. But given that his blood sugar was coming up, albeit slowly, I decided to try one more time before calling the doctor or administering the glucagon. By now, the clock indicated a move into Monday morning.

I gave him juice, waited the prescribed 15 minutes stretched out on the floor beside him, then checked again.

96.

Close enough. I gave him applesauce. He did not appreciate being repeatedly woken up out of a sound sleep, but did what I asked. I went downstairs, woke up Bobby and told him what had been going on. He stayed up to keep an eye on things. I went to bed, but couldn’t shake the worry and therefore, couldn’t sleep. At 2:45 a.m., Bobby came in.

110.

That’s a nice number. We slept in as long as we could.