“Please,” she said. “Rowan. I don’t want to get ill.”
He picked her up and carried her back to the house and laid her on the sectional in the shade. “Do you need your nasal spray?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to use it if I don’t have to.”
He wasn’t so sure though because he’d read that emergency nasal spray would work in less than ten minutes. The amount of carbs he’d put into her could take longer.
“Anything I can do?” Logan asked.
“Go inside and get her kit. I want her to test her sugar. The blood reading will be more accurate. It’s on the kitchen island.”
Logan ran into the house while he sat next to Saylor. “You were doing good,” he said, his hand rubbing her arm.
“I suck,” she said. “And burned too much energy by being stubborn.”
“I should have told you it’d been about an hour.”
“That explains it,” she said. She closed her eyes and dropped her head. He panicked. “I don’t like the people.”
Shit. He turned and saw his friends all at the gates watching. “She’s going to be fine,” he shouted. “Go on. I’ll be out soon.”
“Is she hurt, should we call an ambulance?” Eli asked.
He knew Saylor would hate this, but he wouldn’t lie. “She’s a diabetic. Her sugar got low. She’ll be fine soon. It’s all good.”
His friends hesitated for a minute and then Brian convinced them all to go to the water.
Logan handed over Saylor’s kit that held her test strips and her emergency acting nasal spray. He really wanted to rip it open and give it to her, but with all the carbs she’d taken and then that, she’d be dealing with a high number all night.
Fuck, he wanted this fixed now!
“Can you test?” he asked.
“My hand is shaking too much,” she said. “See if it’s dry now.”
She had her hand wrapped in the blanket. He wondered why she’d done that.
He pulled it out. It was wrinkly, but dry.
He grabbed her lancet, held his breath, put it next to her finger, then hit the button. No blood came out, but she was pressing on her finger and got a drop. He put the test strip that he’d had in the meter right to it and let it suck up the blood to read.
He was staring at it, willing it to read higher than her CGM that now said 40 one arrow down. It was still dropping but didn’t seem as rapid.
When the number 50 flashed on the screen, he turned to show it to her, his breath escaping his lungs in relief. It was still bad but not as horrible as the CGM was reading.
She nodded her head. “That’s good. It’s moving up again or wasn’t as low as the CGM said. You shoved enough sugar in my mouth.”
He laughed and laid his head on the couch cushion. “Jesus, you scared me. I thought you were going to pass out.”
“I’m not sure my legs would have carried me to get to my treatments, but I would have crawled if I had to.”
“Have you ever been this low before?”
She looked at him. “Once. I was a kid. Not paying attention. They had to give me the glucagon shot. It was a big needle in the thigh back then. Thank God that has changed. Once it works, it’s great, but then I was throwing up and felt worse. So not worth it. The nose spray is used instead of the shot now, but I hope to never need it.”
“Me too. I think I just aged twenty years.”
She laughed. It wasn’t steady, but not nearly as shaky as she was. “Welcome to my world.”
