His number was 85.
Before bed, when I checked Jedi’s blood sugar last. His number was 85. I wasn’t too concerned at the time, because I know by now how it goes. I adjusted his insulin dose a notch lower, then dispensed a cup of apple juice and a cheesestick for a snack. Afterward, he headed to bed where we said our goodnight. If you need me, I reminded, you know where I am.
Passing by his door a short while later, I stopped to listen. His snores said he was asleep.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t sleep. That 85 that was of little concern at first continued to fester with what ifs. There I laid awake after midnight with that number like a neon sign bright on the ceiling above me. It’s always so hard to know for sure, even with a pattern of history to rely on. I had to check, to be certain. But I didn’t want to wake him. Especially so late.
I didn’t want to wake him.
Procuring a hand from where he had it placed under his pillow, I hesitated while it instinctively clenched then relaxed again. Fumbling through the dark with his diabetes supplies, while he was sleeping and oblivious, I poked the tip of his finger with a lancet. I drew what I needed. And the boy, so used to it by now. He didn’t even flinch.
The meter beeped and I tiptoed out of his room to the light, my little secret kept safe.
His number was 144. I returned to bed and was finally able to sleep.