Regression.
The phone rang at 4:30 in the morning. One shrill ring cut through the unfamiliar darkness of my mother's house. I reached over to grab the receiver but it stopped ringing. My head, warm from sleep and damp with sweat, pounded in the silence.
I switched on the lamp by the bed and unzipped the black case that hides my meter. I closed my eyes as the screen counted down, not wanting to see the numbers just yet. I wanted to go back to sleep.
42 mg/dl.
My arms like overcooked spaghetti, I spilled from the guestbed in my mother's house and shuffled into her kitchen, my hands tracing the walls to keep me centered. I switched on the kitchen light and rescued a bottle of juice from her fridge. Poured a glass of dark purple grape juice, tipped it back into my throat. Counting back eight sips, a small bit dribbled out onto my blue t-shirt and left a splotchy reminder.
Back in the bed, I lay on top of the covers and concentrated on the face of a small ceramic doll in the corner of the guest room, locking eyes with it and willing the room to stop tossing like a ship.
My mother poked her head in. "Are you okay? Was that Chris? Did he arrive safely?"
"I'm okay. I'm just low."
"Oh." She pushes the door open and steps inside. "Did you have some
juice?"
"I did. I'm okay. I'll come up in a few minutes. Don't worry."
"I feel weird going back to sleep now."
I haven't lived with either of my parents since I was 20 years old. I share an apartment with my fiance and a few cats, maintaining some semblance of adult life and living independently. Yet a low blood sugar under my mother's roof sends me back to when I was nine years old.
"It's okay, Mom. I promise."
She nods her head and I hear her go back into her bedroom. She leaves her door open just enough.
As I wait for my blood sugar to rise, I understand that despite a career and a wedding and fierce independence, I understand that no matter how grown-up my life may feel, I am still her daughter.
Her worries don't taper with age.
Comments
and on day after you have a baby you will understand.
No matter how old they become they will always be your baby.
Posted by: Denise | June 18, 2007 08:56 AM
Thank you for my morning cry. ;)
Posted by: Lea | June 18, 2007 09:24 AM
Ditto to Denise. I have three kids but I'm always reminded of how I'm still my mother's daughter. It's awesome and humbling all at once.
Posted by: Michelle | June 18, 2007 09:51 AM
That post brought tears to my eyes.
I completely understood how your mom felt. For a few seconds there - I WAS your mom - and you were my Danielle.
Posted by: Jamie | June 18, 2007 10:03 AM
Really beautiful, Kerri. :)
Posted by: Nicolep | June 18, 2007 10:24 AM
What Jamie said. I can't add anything else because I'm too busy trying to find a tissue.
Posted by: julia | June 18, 2007 10:32 AM
Kerri,
Once a mother - always a mother's heart. AND now a Gramma's heart.
Steve and I took care of Kylee when we went to Helena a few weeks ago. We brought our other 2 granddaughters so we rented a motel with a swimming pool. Of course, Kylee came to stay with us too - NO way, was the big D going to keep her from us!
One night - she was high - Steve and I prayed she would go down so Daddy would not have to come and do a site change. My husband was absolutely stunned when he saw her drink a huge 12 OZ bottle of water, almost in her sleep. We made the pump corrections and she did go down thankfully.
Next night - LOW - 42 - scary...Steve and I sat on the bed together after giving her juice and proceeded to check her every half hour until her number went up to a comfortable range. It was so hard for us to believe that Scott and Kim do this every day now - AND every night. 24/7.
Mothers and Fathers (and Grandparents) are so blessed in the tender care they give to their children with diabetes. I can't describe it - but when you are on the frontlines with the highs and lows with your granddaughter - there is a bond that is just precious and touches your heart so deeply.
Posted by: Gramma Donna | June 18, 2007 10:46 AM
What a beautiful story. Made me cry. Our toddler is sitting next to me as I read your story on the laptop on the couch. Poor Ryan, since he was born he keeps hearing me saying "when you are 80, you will always be my baby" :^) thank you for a touching story. What an awesome mom you have.
Posted by: Jill E | June 18, 2007 11:25 AM
Anyone can ask if you're OK and if you need anything.
But only a mother will be the one who "leaves her door open just enough".
Posted by: Shannon | June 18, 2007 11:33 AM
That is a great story. And as my mom always tells me- "As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be"
Posted by: Elizabeth | June 18, 2007 04:17 PM
I have had T1 diabetes since '74 and have always told my mom that there is a special section in Heaven for the moms of T1s.
Posted by: Brenda | June 18, 2007 05:45 PM
Oh man. That was a good reminder about always being a Mom. My Mom and I had a conversation about it after Mother's Day. I know no matter how old Isabelle gets I will always worry about her in a way that I won't worry about Alex. That's just the way it is.
Thanks so much for the post.
Posted by: Lisa Stratton | June 18, 2007 07:06 PM
This is so sweet & I hate to get side-tracked about a reference you made, but I'm gonna do it anyway. It's the eight sips thing. I went back to read that post & I am one of those people that has a difficult time stopping at 15 grams. Actually, I have a hard time stopping until I've made myself sick. It's that panicky feeling that you're going to pass out. But I'm going to have to try the eight sips thing. I've been told I have serious OCD so it should come pretty easy for me - at least I hope so. Thanks for referring back to that post.
And yes, I did shed a tear or two while reading your post today. It was beautiful.
Posted by: Donna | June 18, 2007 07:15 PM
And isn't it a comfort? :)
Posted by: Two Write Hands | June 18, 2007 07:17 PM
Kerri - touching as always. This post made me think about my little men (4 and 7) who ask me if I am going to be alright when I have a low.
It's somehow odd, but the same question from a mother or son / daughter will take you back the same way.
:)
Posted by: Dave Miller | June 18, 2007 07:30 PM
CGMS, it is time!
Posted by: MoHo | June 18, 2007 09:26 PM
amen
Posted by: jean adamski | June 19, 2007 08:15 AM
Regression? If so, I hope my children regress - always.
Reaffirmation.
Posted by: Darrell | June 19, 2007 08:39 AM
funny. i'm 37 and married. my dad, who sees me as a little girl, still keeps glucagon, insulin, syringes, and glucose tabs at his house although he lives about 15 minutes away from us. my mom, on the other hand, sees me as a grown-up, and only keeps a sugar bowl at her house just in case....
i appreciate and love both mindsets!
Posted by: stephanie | June 19, 2007 06:27 PM