This is Halloween (with Type One)

It's cold outside. Colder than it was before the sun completed its journey, down below the line of mountains in the distance. There is a bite in the air, and as I take off on my run I see my breath come out in puffs.

As I get farther away from the warm glow of my house I touch my running belt compulsively, feeling for everything - gels, glucometer, pricker, test strips. It's all there. My finger tips are aching already and I haven't even made it to the lake. I feel my pace quicken.

Running in my town is different than I imagine road running in other places is - there are no 24/7 convenience stores, no stores at all actually, and I'm far more likely to see woodland creatures than other humans while on my journey. I think this increases my trepidation - I can't dash into a 7/11 and buy an apple juice if I under-pack. And as I make my way around the water in the stillness of the night, I start to wonder if anyone would see me if I went down. It's getting increasingly darker the further I go, under the hood of the trees with the woods edging up to the opposite side of the street. What animals come out at night? I can't remember.

As I approach one mile I've already decided I'm only going for two today - I'll loop around and turn back instead of completing the circle around the lake. I'm feeling the muscles in my back cramp up and thoroughly spooked by how poorly I can see. I wave my reader over my Libre sensor and am happy with the result - 146 - at first. But as I start into the second mile I feel a niggling in the pit of my stomach. Is the dark inhibiting my ability to feel my low? What about the cold?

I dig out my glucometer supplies and prick my finger as I run, a delicate skill I've learned to master. The number flashes on my meter - 76. The darkness acts as my friend then, hiding the annoyance on my face and bearing witness to the soft curses I whisper as I tear a gel open with my mouth. I toss the used test strip and methodically squeeze the gel into my mouth with my hands and teeth. When its done I cram the wrapper into my belt. I pick up speed. I'll sprint the rest of the way, I think, and this lasts about half a mile, until I feel the gel turning over in my stomach and the muscles seizing in my back. I slow my pace down again.

I feel the dark closing in on me, and I feel the urge to test again. Not until at least five minutes have passed. I reprimand myself and I keep running, fighting off thoughts of being too cold to feel my sugar dropping or of a feral raccoon surprising me in the darkness.

Finally the five minutes pass. I do my dance of testing while running again and feel simultaneously proud that I waited the full five minutes, and annoyed that I went low during my run. The number flashes - 89. I let out a loud sigh.

The lights from the beach come into view and I fall into an easy stride, trying to lower my heart rate and slow my breathing. I hit two miles and slow to a walk. My house is around the corner. I think of how we have no street lights here and how my friends in Bergen County find this terrifying.

When I make it through the front door I declare to my mother that I don't like running at night. She's thrilled. My sugar stays steady throughout dinnertime, and I tuck my fears away. Until next time.

The Monster Under the Bed

It is a thief in the night.  The monster under the bed. The lingering thought in the back of your mind that sticks from when you are brushing your teeth, through your dreams and nightmares, and into the early morning. Will I go low tonight? Will I wake up in a cold sweat dying for cupcakes and ice cream? Is my meter near my bed? Is there juice near my bed?

Nighttime low blood sugar isn't the most pleasant of things to talk about, but it's something that has really be gnawing at my restful sleep the past couple of nights. I am fortunate enough (knock on wood) to wake up when my blood sugar goes low. However, this typically is never a pleasant experience.  When I was young, I would sit straight up in my bed and call for my mom until she came and fed me juice and wiped away the cold sweat that had accumulated all over my face.  Now, I half-wake, toss and turn, mumble to myself, and have a strange internal conversation until I finally roll over and grab my meter:

"Get up. Open your eyes. You are low."

"No."

"Just roll over. Just test and you can go back to sleep."

"No. Too tired. Too asleep."

"I SAID GET UP."

I'm not quite sure why this conversation happens and why I don't just sit up and test. Is it sleep deprivation? Is it my subconscious trying to be in denial of my diabetes need? Either way, it scares me when I wake up and find that I am in fact low. Why was I trying to stay asleep? Which leads me to further worry about those who do not wake up when they feel low. Thankfully, modern medicine has come a long way and many sensors can now stop incoming insulin when they read a low blood sugar.

However, this doesn't make nighttime hypoglycemia any less stressful, both for parents and for those with type 1. It is a haunting that we have to learn to cope with. And it doesn't exactly do wonders for one's psychological well-being. Things such as nighttime lows remind me why those with type 1 diabetes are much more susceptible to depression and anxiety. And that's okay. It is something we have to talk about, and something we have to deal with. Much like our blood sugar levels. It's all part of the job.