You're back.

*I want to preface this by stating that i dont have type 1 myself....but I do have hypoglycemia....I have since i was a teenager actually. I'm not comparing the two...just sharing what a low blood sugar feels like to me*

Palms are sweaty...hands are shaking uncontrollably. I sit there staring at them...willing them to stop...but they won't. I can hear my heart pounding in my own head...it sounds like the drum beats at some concert hall downtown...boom boom boom... The voice inside my head is screaming at me to get juice...get something...quick...but my body won't move. I sit there arguing with myself...oh just lay down...just for a second...close your eyes and wait it out....that sick feeling will go away...the nausea will pass...just breathe...but you need juice...you need it...but the mere thought of the sweet liquid in your mouth makes you want to throw up even more. The simple act of blinking your eyes takes so much effort...your eyelids feel as if they weigh a ton. Each breath brings on fresh waves of nausea. You need juice...you need it...but the kitchen feels like it's miles away...so you roll yourself off the couch and stumble over your own feet into the kitchen...the refrigerator door in front of you. You see your hand reach out for the handle and it feels like it's not even attached to your own body...it's like your watching someone else do this...someone on TV...reaching...someone who needs juice...you need juice. You grab a brightly coloured juicebox off the shelf and rip the straw from the back of it...staring at the plastic wrapping around it...knowing that you know how to open it...you've done it a million times before...but you can't remember how...your brain is swimming around in your muddy head...searching for a memory...trying to recall what your fingers need to do to open it...it's just plastic wrapping, Amy...it's not under lock and key....open it...quickly...before you fall over and lose your lunch all over the kitchen floor...open it dammit...open it! You stick the straw in your mouth and bite the plastic off...pulling it apart like some sort of animal...you laugh as you think of your cat attacking her toys the other day...biting them...tossing it over her head and chasing it. You start to see spots in front of your eyes...furiously blinking...trying to make them disappear...Everything seems to be moving in slow motion as you try to stab the straw into the box...once...twice...three times...bending the straw...breaking it...you manage to puncture the hole on top and just hold the box to your lips...squeezing it...letting the sickening sweet juice pour into your mouth as you slide to the floor...waiting....waiting for it to kick in and take this disgusting feeling away...sweat pouring off your face...your fingertips starting to tingle and feel hot...your breathing starts to slow down to normal...your heart stops pounding...the drum beat in your head ceases....the feeling begins to pass....and there you sit...petting the cat who has stood by your side the entire time without you even noticing. You're back.

....and then you are reminded that this is how your child feels sometimes too. And this is how she will feel many more times in her life. And how some of those times she might be alone too.

...and that thought scares you more than anything else on the planet.

We need a cure.