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
“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”!