She Exposed her Pancreas to the Storm!

April 1 Mother Nature played a cruel joke on the area that I live in. We were subjected to an incredible amount of snow that just did not want to end.  I was not happy at all.
To make matters just that much worse, I actually had to go out in the mess and drive! I hate driving in snow. I hate having to worry about other drivers in snow. Basically I would much rather hide under the blankets until summer but despite my disgust, out into the not so lovely winter wonderland I went.
As I was cruising the city streets on my way home, I watched a young lady battling the elements to get to her destination. I was seated in a lovely four-wheel drive truck that was producing heat and warming my back with heated seats. This poor child was outside walking in the snow and the wind.  I shivered as I watched her.
When she walked in front of the truck I saw something on her belt. I looked again. There was no doubt. She had an insulin pump on her waist! What was she doing with her pancreas out in this weather? Wasn’t she concerned about the insulin freezing? I couldn’t see her tubing but I could plainly see the pump. It was exposed to the wind and biting snow.  That could not be a good thing. I was certain that having your pancreas hang out during a nasty spring/winter storm was not a good thing.
Despite my concerns, she crossed the street and my light changed. I continued to make my way home but I also worried about this girl. Did she have very far to walk? How long would she and her pump be exposed to the elements? Would she run high because of cold insulin?
I then began to worry about myself.  Why was I obsessed by this? Because I am a mom.  Because my mind thinks like that.  Because I worry…even about children with diabetes who aren’t mine. Oh my!

Keep Bleeding!

I heard the crash. I heard the intake of breath.  Something was wrong. 

I called out to the kitchen, asking my son if he was still alive. He was.  He had decided to cut his hand instead of a bun.  

I went into check on the level of damage. 

“Who knew that we had sharp knives!?” he exclaimed. 

The blood was flowing and I reminded him not to get it on the food. It would spoil the aesthetics if nothing else. At that point blood splattered on the top of the loaf.  I quickly told him “Don’t clean up your finger yet. Keep it bleeding! I will be right back. When was the last time you tested yourself?” 

He told me it had been a bit.  I rushed into my youngest son’s room and grabbed a meter. I brought it into the kitchen and applied the test strip to the decent sized pool of blood sitting on top of his finger. 

He was 5.6(100).  Life was good. Diabetes had not moved into his world.  I did a small happy dance and suggested that he might want to clean up the blood that was dripping off of his hand.  We went to the washroom, added the Scooby Doo Band aid and were good to go.  

To the casual observer, I am sure that experience would have seemed bizarre. For us, it was the norm.  We do not waste blood.  My oldest son knows this and knows that cleaning a cut only happens AFTER the blood has been tested. 

Okay it is a little warped but its what happens when diabetes has lived in your house for over 12 years! 

It was the stress

Last night we were sitting around in the living room enjoying a movie and a few laughs.  My son pulled out his meter to test. He was relatively high and began to scroll through his meter. He soon realized that besides tagging if the reading was before or after a meal, you could also say that you were ill, exercising or stressed.

He looked at me and said “I’m 16.9 (305). I think it was the stress that did it.”

“Stress?? We are watching a movie and you are sitting on the couch.  What stress? You have no stress.”

“No. I’m positive that I am high because of stress. Look right here. See below the reading? Its says “stress”.  The high must has occurred because of stress!” 

Ugh! Yes, this is what I have to deal with but it does not end there. This morning he woke up and again was running a little high.  He again told me that it was because of stress. I suggested it was because he didn’t change his site the night before. Again, he swore that it was stress.

I suggested that he needed to go outside and shovel out the backdoor which was snowed in.  He said that he couldn’t.  Snow makes him low and being stressed already he really shouldn’t do anything that would add further stress to his body. I reminded him that exercise was a great form of stress relief and it would also help to lower his high bg level. 

Unable to win this battle, he changed the site and then shoveled out our backdoor.

Teens and gadgets…they can be a dangerous combination for parents’ stress levels! I will however give him a A for creativity.

My son is Channeling Dr Seuss

Yesterday we went  to our regular diabetes clinic. I love my son’s new endo.  She is young and interesting.  Mainly though, our trips seem to be give blood for our 3 month diabetes report card–also known as his A1c.  

This time around the endo asked my son how he thought his diabetes had been on a scale of 1-10. He gave it an 8.  When she left I said “an 8?”
“Yeah, I would have said 7.5 but I thought I would bump it up to an 8.” 

I laughed and said that diabetes had been rather miserable for most of the summer. I also said that his testing was a little less than an eight as well. He just shrugged his shoulders and grinned. 

As we drove home, we discussed the long wait time. It took over two hours to speak to the endo and then have the nurse draw the blood for his A1c.  He said that the results of his next A1c should be even better than the last one.  I was pretty shocked by that one. His last results were pretty awesome considering we are still living in the middle of puberty’s hormonal nightmare as well as the teen age desire for greater independence and automony. I reminded him of the bad sites and highs he had experienced over the summer.  I also noted that when he was away on his own, he was not always stellar about his care

With that, he quickly became Dr. Seuss and told me how wrong I was.

“Me? I always test! In fact, when Dad would say, Who made that mess? Well I would look around and say, Test? Test! Of course, I will go and test!

If Dad said, Son, you are being a pest!  I would immediately respond, Test? Test! Of course, I must test!”

My sides hurt. I shook my head. I some days wonder where he came from.  I will remain less optimistic about his upcoming A1c but will definitely start using a few more words like mess and see if it still prompts him to “test”!