The morning after my low sugar, Laurie and I wrote together, as we often do, and these were some of my thoughts.
It’s morning, just after 8 am. The light through the windows is twilight, as if the day has jumbled and rearranged itself in the wrong order. A big wind is expected. There are warnings of trees crashing through power lines. In rearranged time, the storm has already passed through me.
Yesterday morning, I had a low blood sugar, so low I imagined I was about to understand something of great significance. In 1969, I took a tab of acid with my girlfriend, and at a point she looked at me and said, “Don’t you realize yet?” Yesterday, the feeling was similar and the answer never came. During the acid trip, I wasn’t yet a type-1 diabetic, but now a low blood sugar—and I mean really low—can create the same sense of impending profundity.
Then you are gone, completely gone, and you wake up how many hours later? Laurie knows. I remember her urging me to swallow something, perhaps sugar, or chocolate, or dried fruit? I didn’t know you had to chew before you swallowed. I wake up shivering. Two EMS workers, our neighbors Lou and Mary, and Laurie are all staring at me. Above, she has told you about the way I “reconstituted” myself.
This morning, I’m wide awake and don’t feel any lasting effects. Laurie has saved my life, again, but says she did things wrong. She expected it to be like other times, but this one was different. We talk about what happened, but I don’t remember being angry, refusing to swallow, smearing drool on the walls, losing speech. Today, I’m remorseful in a way I can’t shake and also feels abstract. When the weather app predicts a big storm, I charge our phones and lanterns in case the power goes out. I always forget something important, like storing water. On the other side of a weather event, you feel relieved and you always regret you didn’t plan better.
I’m somewhat speechless, coming out of this post, which says a lot about this piece. Although I’m a little bit of a poet and was an English major, I’m not highly educated or intellectual, and my medications have a little bit of a dumbing down effect. That is, I don’t always have words or the right ones when I need them. But I can say how gripping this story about you is and that I admire your craft and that your Substack is such a bargain. Adding that to tickle you, but upon reading this post, I’m not sure I’m paying you enough. Please take that as a compliment. I’m so happy your beloved is okay now. Thank you for sharing all of this. I was also struck by this revelation about time being distance: I realized that I am out of touch on a daily basis with the fact that everything is in motion. Even when I’m feeling stuck and still, which is frequent, I’m riding a moving planet that is doing so in more than one way. Possibly taken for granted by some, but I feel like I’ve rediscovered this delightful aspect of reality.
A very balanced and touching account and reflection on many things, including the way we become so deeply involved with those we love, the difficulty of defining that hazy concept except through an account like this, except through a story (and perhaps it is unnecessary to define it in so-called "normal" terms anyway), the weird shock of possible mortality, and the alternating intensity and tempering of confronting such situations and writing about, or in, them. Thanks.
This was so well written (I felt I was there with you) but harrowing too. I think I know the feeling you describe but for me it's a kind of dread that serves as an unwelcome confirmation that anything can happen at any time. The weird randomness of ... everything. It's the most frightening / bravest part of actually getting up every day, knowing this. Definitely, part of real love, yes. (And that gold ring appearance is SO freaky ...)
I found this absolutely terrifying. Which means you wrote it well, of course.
I remember Richard saying something like this in the first Zoom conversation I attended:
“I am a character in Laurie’s work.”
Of course I know he’s more than that. But like in any good book, I don’t want one of my favorite characters to die. I was scared.
You nailed how nebulous the word “love” is. But what could be a greater act of love than how you write about him? When readers like me love him, and we only know him from your words?
Extraordinary piece, thank you. Wasn’t sure at first if it was non-fiction or fiction: it was so precise and clear and contained a whole world in itself the way a short story might. The line from Henri Bergson wonderfully pulled out the lens to something large. Thanks for it. And glad everyone is ok.
I remember so well your fears when you were in New York and Richard was in Arizona. Those were scary moments, but who ever said true love was going to be easy? It's so lucky Richard has you . . . and vice versa.
Thank you. I’ve been in that same edge four or five times with my spouse in the last year. I have not been able to find the words for the experience yet. I think i need distance to write. And now that I have your words, maybe I don’t need to write about it! :)
Wow, what a saga! Like a Krishna saga - creator/destroyer/creation/destruction - out of your saga comes this wonderful writing, clear and full of emotion. Amazing how life hands us the best juice.
Brava. May you both live long with tons more juice.
Sublime — “…When We Talk About Love”. Married to a late-onset diabetic, your harrowing experience with Richard is so alive with care and fear. It serves as a beautiful cautionary tale for me and any of us who find ourselves in another. Thanks again Laurie 🙏🏼❤️
I am reading this with shared horror as I am married to a diabetic (he's had if for 25 years and our entire lives revolve around his need to eat small meals multiple times a day.) But he also has low blood sugar episodes and it scares the hell out of me. I was right there with you and Richard in every moment of this provocative piece. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for this. We have been together 40 years and the past year has been fraught with serious health challenges. Most have been manageable but last week there was an urgent need for me to deliver him to the hospital only five minutes from our house. It sharpened my mind like nothing else and for a couple of days I was a bit traumatized by it. We were both very tired and reading your much more precise account I begin to understand why. It is almost impossible to contemplate a time when our beloved will no longer be beside us. Take care.
I am so sorry to hear about Richard's low blood sugar episode. The huge positive is that you were both at home and you check in with each other throughout the day. So you got to him in time and I am so glad all is now well. And it is so good that you both enjoy being at home together doing what you love with someone you love.
I’ve just read this a second time and my heart is still leaping to my throat. My stomach is in knots. I feel a tiny connection knowing Richard from the zoom sessions. But of course I put myself in your place and saw my Larry in Richard’s. You describe organized panic in which you knew what to do logically and emotions were stored somewhere else for another place and time. My emotions soared.
And also, we are watching Resident Alien because you mentioned it last week. My first thoughts? Northern Exposure! We love it on many different levels.
The morning after my low sugar, Laurie and I wrote together, as we often do, and these were some of my thoughts.
It’s morning, just after 8 am. The light through the windows is twilight, as if the day has jumbled and rearranged itself in the wrong order. A big wind is expected. There are warnings of trees crashing through power lines. In rearranged time, the storm has already passed through me.
Yesterday morning, I had a low blood sugar, so low I imagined I was about to understand something of great significance. In 1969, I took a tab of acid with my girlfriend, and at a point she looked at me and said, “Don’t you realize yet?” Yesterday, the feeling was similar and the answer never came. During the acid trip, I wasn’t yet a type-1 diabetic, but now a low blood sugar—and I mean really low—can create the same sense of impending profundity.
Then you are gone, completely gone, and you wake up how many hours later? Laurie knows. I remember her urging me to swallow something, perhaps sugar, or chocolate, or dried fruit? I didn’t know you had to chew before you swallowed. I wake up shivering. Two EMS workers, our neighbors Lou and Mary, and Laurie are all staring at me. Above, she has told you about the way I “reconstituted” myself.
This morning, I’m wide awake and don’t feel any lasting effects. Laurie has saved my life, again, but says she did things wrong. She expected it to be like other times, but this one was different. We talk about what happened, but I don’t remember being angry, refusing to swallow, smearing drool on the walls, losing speech. Today, I’m remorseful in a way I can’t shake and also feels abstract. When the weather app predicts a big storm, I charge our phones and lanterns in case the power goes out. I always forget something important, like storing water. On the other side of a weather event, you feel relieved and you always regret you didn’t plan better.
I’m somewhat speechless, coming out of this post, which says a lot about this piece. Although I’m a little bit of a poet and was an English major, I’m not highly educated or intellectual, and my medications have a little bit of a dumbing down effect. That is, I don’t always have words or the right ones when I need them. But I can say how gripping this story about you is and that I admire your craft and that your Substack is such a bargain. Adding that to tickle you, but upon reading this post, I’m not sure I’m paying you enough. Please take that as a compliment. I’m so happy your beloved is okay now. Thank you for sharing all of this. I was also struck by this revelation about time being distance: I realized that I am out of touch on a daily basis with the fact that everything is in motion. Even when I’m feeling stuck and still, which is frequent, I’m riding a moving planet that is doing so in more than one way. Possibly taken for granted by some, but I feel like I’ve rediscovered this delightful aspect of reality.
A very balanced and touching account and reflection on many things, including the way we become so deeply involved with those we love, the difficulty of defining that hazy concept except through an account like this, except through a story (and perhaps it is unnecessary to define it in so-called "normal" terms anyway), the weird shock of possible mortality, and the alternating intensity and tempering of confronting such situations and writing about, or in, them. Thanks.
This was so well written (I felt I was there with you) but harrowing too. I think I know the feeling you describe but for me it's a kind of dread that serves as an unwelcome confirmation that anything can happen at any time. The weird randomness of ... everything. It's the most frightening / bravest part of actually getting up every day, knowing this. Definitely, part of real love, yes. (And that gold ring appearance is SO freaky ...)
I found this absolutely terrifying. Which means you wrote it well, of course.
I remember Richard saying something like this in the first Zoom conversation I attended:
“I am a character in Laurie’s work.”
Of course I know he’s more than that. But like in any good book, I don’t want one of my favorite characters to die. I was scared.
You nailed how nebulous the word “love” is. But what could be a greater act of love than how you write about him? When readers like me love him, and we only know him from your words?
Extraordinary piece, thank you. Wasn’t sure at first if it was non-fiction or fiction: it was so precise and clear and contained a whole world in itself the way a short story might. The line from Henri Bergson wonderfully pulled out the lens to something large. Thanks for it. And glad everyone is ok.
I remember so well your fears when you were in New York and Richard was in Arizona. Those were scary moments, but who ever said true love was going to be easy? It's so lucky Richard has you . . . and vice versa.
Thank you. I’ve been in that same edge four or five times with my spouse in the last year. I have not been able to find the words for the experience yet. I think i need distance to write. And now that I have your words, maybe I don’t need to write about it! :)
Wow, what a saga! Like a Krishna saga - creator/destroyer/creation/destruction - out of your saga comes this wonderful writing, clear and full of emotion. Amazing how life hands us the best juice.
Brava. May you both live long with tons more juice.
Sublime — “…When We Talk About Love”. Married to a late-onset diabetic, your harrowing experience with Richard is so alive with care and fear. It serves as a beautiful cautionary tale for me and any of us who find ourselves in another. Thanks again Laurie 🙏🏼❤️
I am reading this with shared horror as I am married to a diabetic (he's had if for 25 years and our entire lives revolve around his need to eat small meals multiple times a day.) But he also has low blood sugar episodes and it scares the hell out of me. I was right there with you and Richard in every moment of this provocative piece. Thank you for sharing.
thank you for adding your fear to the story. diabetes can be very scary.
Thank you for this. We have been together 40 years and the past year has been fraught with serious health challenges. Most have been manageable but last week there was an urgent need for me to deliver him to the hospital only five minutes from our house. It sharpened my mind like nothing else and for a couple of days I was a bit traumatized by it. We were both very tired and reading your much more precise account I begin to understand why. It is almost impossible to contemplate a time when our beloved will no longer be beside us. Take care.
I am so sorry to hear about Richard's low blood sugar episode. The huge positive is that you were both at home and you check in with each other throughout the day. So you got to him in time and I am so glad all is now well. And it is so good that you both enjoy being at home together doing what you love with someone you love.
Thought provoking and wonderful. Thank you.
I’ve just read this a second time and my heart is still leaping to my throat. My stomach is in knots. I feel a tiny connection knowing Richard from the zoom sessions. But of course I put myself in your place and saw my Larry in Richard’s. You describe organized panic in which you knew what to do logically and emotions were stored somewhere else for another place and time. My emotions soared.
And also, we are watching Resident Alien because you mentioned it last week. My first thoughts? Northern Exposure! We love it on many different levels.
Xo and my best to Richard. And you! Hero.