My REM Cycle

Many, many countless nights this happens to me.  The Dexcom alarms integrate into my dreams.  They seamlessly become part of my REM sleep cycle.  At times, I believe the alarms have continued for 30 minutes, perhaps longer, before I am nudged to wakefulness.

The alarms can be actual alarms in the dream; like an alarm on an alarm clock or an alarm to alarm me about a dreamt-up patient who has some impending decompensation. The alarms can also be a motor-like noise; like a noise of a broken vacuum cleaner or a dishwasher gone bad.  The alarm can also be some app on the kids' phones.  In my dreams, I'm searching through bags and backpacks, going house to house, traversing through malls, through yards, in search for the sound so that I can put an end to it's intrusiveness. 

Our Backyard/Moon

1:38am, a few nights ago..

WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!

It becomes part of my dream.

It's annoying because I can hear it and it keeps me just enough awake, but somehow I'm kind of  sleeping.  

WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!

Again, I can't quite figure out what the noise is.  I'm trying to locate the source of it as I play the main character in my dream.  It keeps my brain just active enough to prevent total rest; complete sleep.

WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!

Finally, I wake enough.  I remember Joe.  My son.  My kid who has diabetes.  The alarm is the "DEFCON 1", he is really, really, really low alarm. Another  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP! sounds off, for good measure.

I wake.  I plod into his room.  I ready the glucometer.  I lift his finger for lancing.  His hand recoils.  A "bud ... your low" is softly spoken.  His hand relaxes.  I check.  He's 51.  One glucose tab is popped into his mouth.  He sleeps. He chews.  I'm nodding off sitting by his side, waiting for the first tab to be masticated.  Tab two goes in.  He remains sleeping.  The tab is slowly chewed and swallowed.  Finally, the third tab is given.  I wait til it's gone, making sure he doesn't asphyxiate.  The basal rate is decreased by 50% for two hours.

A day-in-the-life of our nights with type 1 diabetes.