Wednesday, January 29, 2014

What I hate the most ...

What I hate the most …
Isn’t counting carbs
Isn’t the fact that insulin bottles have taken over our butter compartment
Isn’t managing prescriptions
Isn’t set changes
Isn’t needles
Isn’t checking batteries in Ben’s pump, and test kit (which are different sizes)
Isn’t doctor visits
Isn’t packing our d-bag before we go everywhere and anywhere
Isn’t pouring over the endless stream of numbers, numbers and numbers looking for trends
Isn’t tweaking basal settings (based on a guess)
Isn’t tweaking bolus settings (based on a guess)
Isn’t panicking over a low
Isn’t panicking over a high
Isn't finding bloody used test strips all over the house
Isn’t middle of the night BG checks (I can do those the rest of my life)

What I hate the most …
Is the call from one Ben’s friend’s mom (or dad)
Asking if Ben can sleep over
Asking if Ben can join them for a Bruin’s game
Asking if Ben wants to go to the beach

Yes, Ben can … BUT
Not without careful planning
Not without having the “conversation”
Not without lots of nail-biting

What I really, really hate the most …
Is the feeling of my heavy, heavy heart
And the lump in my throat
Followed by a deep breath
And then a sigh
When I am reminded what Diabetes has stolen,
Ben’s carefree youth

((Deep Breath))

Sunday, January 5, 2014


Saturday morning
Hockey practice
Ben’s morning BG 218
Not great
Pack up hockey bag
Pour coffee in favorite travel mug
Head to rink

Dragging his hockey bag behind him
Ben runs to locker room
I settle in warm-room
Pull out book
Prop up CGM
Ben skates
I read
And watch CGM
BG heading down
But not too fast
Don’t worry
Just read

Practice over
BG 138 diagonal arrow down
Mark my page
Head to locker room to help Ben

Coaches laughing
Kids laughing
Throw Ben pricker
Start untying Ben’s skates
Ben pulls off smelly hockey gloves
Pricks finger

“What is your number?”
“I am two hundred …”
Ben pauses
Looks at pricker again
Looks at me
Eyes wide open
“Oh oh …
“I am not two hundred
“There are only 2 numbers there
“I am only 23.”
“Oh Shit!”
“MOM … don’t swear.”

That doesn’t make sense
CGM says 138
Pricker says 23
This is when I should pause
And think
But I don’t
Instead I PANIC!

Dig in D-bag
Give Ben a juice box
Ben sips
I mumble, “Oh Hell”
“Mom … stop swearing!”

23 is scary low
Find 3 old Mentos on bottom of bag
Give to Ben
Still doesn't feel like enough
Give Ben another juice box

While Ben chews his Mentos and sips his second juice box
Help take off his skates
Shove everything in Ben’s bag
Coaches and kids now leaving
Thankfully they didn’t hear all my swearing
“Bye Ben.”

Few minutes later settle in car
Wait for car to warm up
It’s freezing!
Keep sneaking peeks of Ben in rear-view mirror
Looking for signs
Ben seems fine
But still scared
Before I can drive away
Ask Ben to check again
“But it’s only been 5 minutes
“It hasn’t been long enough.”
“I know, I just need to see a number higher than 23.”

Ben pricks … again
“3 numbers now
“I’m 112
“But that seems too fast
“Do you think the 23 was wrong?”
I calmly reply, “Yep ... this time the CGM was probably right.”
But what I really want to do
Is swear some more!

I hate this disease
I hate how it’s impossible to get right
Because I hate to be wrong
I hate to make mistakes
And I hate how these inevitable mistakes
SCARE the SHIT out of me!

Ben interrupts my internal screaming fit
“Mom … I think we should go to Dunkin Donuts, don’t you?”
“You know you are going to be super-high soon?
“You just drank over 30 carbs you probably didn't need.”
Ben’s not bothered
He just wants a chocolate frosted donut
“It’s OK, we can fix that.”

He’s right
We can fix it
And I need to let all the fear and anxiety go
So I take a deep breath
Put the car in reverse
And reply,
“Sure, why the f*** not?”

Ben chuckles,
“But mom … you really should stop swearing.”