Last night he dropped to 30. 30!

Took two treatments to bring him back to normal range – and then he skyrocketed over 300. We were up till 2 a.m. trying to manipulate his blood sugar within range.

And now, after three “good” readings, the nightly check revealed he’d dropped to 50. Woke him up enough to suck down four ounces of juice. Deterred from bed, I wait for the 15 minutes to pass, hoping the next check reads 100 or thereabouts, at which point, I’ll spoon some applesauce into his mouth and expect the carbs to see him through the night.

He’s turning 13 soon, still a boy and especially so when he’s sleeping, slack-jawed and splayed out. I love him so much. I wish I could fix this – the frustration of only being able to wish makes me crazy – but if he can cope and even joke about the diabetes, the least I can do is rise to the challenge of staying optimistic.

All my fears will not come to pass.

He’ll be okay for a good, long time.

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