Thank God he understands my moans and sign language

Act 1, Scene 1
Location: Our bedroom

I am lying on the bed, recovering from a migraine (ever since having Jack, I now get a premenstrual migraine every month...WTF? This was NOT part of the deal!).

Tim is in the living room, caring for the baby in my incapacitation. With his incapacitation, which must have been fun. When you have a migraine, you don't care.

Me: Ehhhhhn. Ehhhhhhn. Help. Tim. Help.
Him: (comes running in to room) What?
Me: Ehhhhhhn. (points to palm of hand) Help.
Him: Where is it?
Me: Bag.

Tim hastily exits the bedroom.

Act 1, Scene 2
Location: Still the bedroom, I can't move.

Tim returns with my glucometer and a handful of glucose tablets. He starts feeding them to me. Meanwhile, all I can say is "Ehhhhhhn" (don't ask me what that means, it sounded appropriate at the time) and I feel seconds away from a seizure. Tim takes my blood sugar.

Him: Wow, you're low. 44.
Me: Ehhhhhhn.
Him: Milk?
Me: Chocolate. (Even moments away from seizure, I can express my undying need for chocolate!)

Tim exits the room again, returns with a glass of chocolate milk.

Him: Here.
Me: Ehhhhhn. (waves hand around frantically)
Him: You need a straw?
Me: Ehhhhhn! (waves hand around frantically some more)
Him: Here (reaches down with his good hand to help me sit up, then exits room to fetch straw)

Meanwhile, I guzzle milk and flop back down onto the bed.

Act 1, Scene 3
Location: Still the bedroom, I still can't move.

He returns with a straw for my now empty glass.

Him: Are you going to be okay?
Me: Ehhhhhn. (Hand signals 2 then 0 then points to hand)
Him: Okay I'll recheck you in 20 minutes.
Me: Ehhhhhhn.

I pass out slobbering.

Act 2, Scene 1
Location: Again, the bedroom. As I have yet to move.

He returns to recheck me.

Him: Better, but still not normal. You're 60.
Me: 4 sugars.
Him: Okay.

He returns with 4 glucose tablets, which I chaw immediately.

Just as an aside, they really need to start making some better tasting options for treatment of hypoglycemic attacks. Those chalky nasty ass tablets are disgusting. They're like really sweet Tums made of chalk. This is the new millennium, or Willennium if you're a Will Smith fan. (It's here and I like it...Woo! Ha ha, ha ha!) Is this the best we can do, people? Seriously? Can we at least make them palatable? Just because I'm about to pass out and have a seizure doesn't mean my taste buds are dead.

He leaves me to rest, and recovery takes me a few hours. I was all slobbering and rubber limbs until I had rested a bit. When you get that low, your body steals glucose from your muscle tissues to keep your brain alive. So it takes a bit to get everything back to a point of stasis.

Thank goodness my husband knows me. I don't think I could have moaned and pointed to my hand to anyone else and they would have understood what I needed! (What? Your hand hurts? Do you want some aspirin? What's wrong? Someone stole your bones? What?...I can just see this playing out with someone else in the role of Tim. It would not have ended well. If it were my ex-husband, he would have said something along the lines of "Stop whining, you know where the juice is" and I would have had to crawl/flop myself down the stairs to get to it. Or died, I could have just laid there and died. [Yes this actually happened when I was married to my ex, yes that was actually his response and yes I really had to basically throw myself down the stairs in order to treat my low. Thankfully, I was rubbery from the low so I just kind of bounced/rolled down the stairs. Good times, good times.])

I have no idea where the baby was during all of this. I think the swing, maybe. Or maybe he was in bed next to me. I'm not sure. I was pretty out of it.

Dammit, now I have every Will Smith song ever stuck in my head. It goes like this:

Woo! Ha ha, ha ha! Y'all hear me? Y'all hear me? Big Will y'all! What, what, what, what? Woo! Ha ha, ha ha! Na na na na na na na! (repeat).

If this non-nonsensical repetitive lyrics thing keeps up, I may have another migraine...