Archive for the ‘type 1 diabetes’ Tag
January 26 2012
His number was 85.
Before bed, when I checked Jedi’s blood sugar last. His number was 85. I wasn’t too concerned at the time, because I know by now how it goes. I adjusted his insulin dose a notch lower, then dispensed a cup of apple juice and a cheesestick for a snack. Afterward, he headed to bed where we said our goodnight. If you need me, I reminded, you know where I am.
Passing by his door a short while later, I stopped to listen. His snores said he was asleep.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t sleep. That 85 that was of little concern at first continued to fester with what ifs. There I laid awake after midnight with that number like a neon sign bright on the ceiling above me. It’s always so hard to know for sure, even with a pattern of history to rely on. I had to check, to be certain. But I didn’t want to wake him. Especially so late.
I didn’t want to wake him.
Procuring a hand from where he had it placed under his pillow, I hesitated while it instinctively clenched then relaxed again. Fumbling through the dark with his diabetes supplies, while he was sleeping and oblivious, I poked the tip of his finger with a lancet. I drew what I needed. And the boy, so used to it by now. He didn’t even flinch.
The meter beeped and I tiptoed out of his room to the light, my little secret kept safe.
His number was 144. I returned to bed and was finally able to sleep.
January 05 2012
We were led back to the radiology department, but first Jedi needed to change his shirt. You can’t wear buttons for an x-ray and the doctor wanted to make sure the wheezing in his chest wasn’t any more serious than the need for an asthma inhaler. As such, he first had to disrobe into a gown. The sight of which flashed back to when he spent a week in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit.
I helped him remove his button-collar shirt and went about sifting through the stack of familiar hospital gowns for one in blue. For a boy who is growing ever more concerned with his appearance, this still bordered on disastrous. I at least wanted him to have his favorite color, though nothing would have been enough to make it fashionable.
“Oh this is embarrassing”, Jedi whispered as I tied the strings in back.
“It’s fine. Look, it’s blue!”, I tried to reassure.
With a sigh, we went to sit to wait his turn. An attempt was made to take his mind off the necessary style catastrophe, but he wasn’t about to be swayed. A marked difference from when he was at the hospital in August 2010 and didn’t even notice what he was wearing, or really where he was.
“This shirt is terrible”, my 8 going on 16 year old sulked. “It doesn’t match my pants. It doesn’t match my socks. It doesn’t match my shoes. It doesn’t match my face. It doesn’t match my personality.”
Later, Jedi admitted, “You know, this shirt is kind of comfortable”, as we’re getting ready to go home. “But it’s still terrible.” And it was, but garments are easily changed and forgotten. It’s the memories that catch you.
November 17 2011
As many of you know, my eldest child was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes in August 2010. Our time since then has been a learning process, but what they were telling me from the beginning is true: It really does get easier.
November is Diabetes Awareness Month. I wrote an article for Work It, Mom! as my small contribution.
How to Live Life with Type 1 Diabetes
You know I don’t ask this often, but I would be honored if you would go by and read, maybe even share or retweet if you feel inclined. There aren’t words to adequately express how much I appreciate your support, now and ever since I’ve been writing here. Thank you.
August 12 2011
We have had Grey Kitty as a member of our family for going on 14 years. He’s a senior citizen as far as felines are concerned and is more than willing to take advantage of his elder stature by sleeping his days away. Rarely does the cat move unless there’s food to consume or a break for his litter box or a kid has found his hiding spot. He’s a lazy lump of fur, is what I’m saying.
For the past few weeks, however, he had been slurping up water like his tongue was on fire. And his litter box would need changed a lot more than usual with it. At first, I just chalked it up to being extra thirsty.
Soon, the vomiting began. Horrendous and vile and continuous every time he dared to stand. Grey Kitty turned wobbly and weak and was withering into a skeleton. Finally, I realized my almost 14 year old poor excuse for a mouser was just getting worse without help. As it turns out, not only did my cat have a tumor that needed removed, but he has diabetes.
My cat. Has diabetes.
Did you know cats can get diabetes? I didn’t. I continue to be bewildered by the disease.
Jedi appeared consoled at the news, a way for him to feel like he’s not in this alone. Because no child at his age truly wants to be different. If he has to get poked and injected with insulin, I’m sure it helps to know others who are going through the same. Even those who are unexpected, like his cat. I can’t help but wonder, however, is there something in the water around here?
July 26 2011
We came by a wishing well recently, the coins inside the fountain a donation for a local children’s hospital. The same hospital whose doors a very sick Jedi was wheeled through upon being diagnosed as type 1 diabetic. He spent 5 days under its care in the PICU wing, the first few of which were the scariest days of my life thus far.
But they made him better. They brought him back. From that grey, dry-mouthed, sunken shell of himself then to the boy I knew and have before me again now.
So as we passed, I wanted to be sure to acknowledge the meaning. I peered into the shimmering surface, noticing the many pennies and loose change scattered on the bottom, and began to dig through my purse. There wasn’t much, but I collected what I could and handed it to Jedi.
“Throw this in and make a wish”, I told him. It was a small amount, dismal for what they do, but it was the thought that accompanied and a vow to go larger when I can. Though no amount ever enough for taking care of my son.
Jedi, however, spoke in riches.
Without an ounce of selfishness, he stepped up to the well. As he tossed in his coin he spoke loudly above the bustle nearby, openly, “I wish for no more sickness”. Not for himself, he later said, but it was for those kids there now, in the same hospital he once was.
If ever there was a wish that should come true.
