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Posts from the ‘Diabetic Mommy’ Category

Snack, not Snake.

I feel proud of my kid. And she feels proud of herself, too, it seems.

Looking Back: Put On Your Listening Ears.

While traveling for IDF’s World Congress this week (#wdc2015), I’m missing my little one.  Which is why I’m looking back at some posts that feature my little Bird, because she cracks me up … and also because she’s a supportive member of my diabetes team.  Today, I’m revisiting a post about a low blood sugar, the word “NO,” and a pesky little worm.

*   *   *

Our backyard is big and lovely and fenced in on all sides so that when Birdy and I are playing outside, we’re both safe from cars and giant woodland creatures (except the ones that can shimmy underneath the fence … I’m looking at you, groundhog).  I don’t keep my eyes glued to her while she plays, and we can enjoy the sunshine and the garden without feeling paranoid about passing cars, wandering off, etc.

Which is exactly what sucks about the front yard, because that’s the part of the house that the road is closest to.  So while I still need to do things in the front yard (getting the mail, tending the front garden, drawing hopscotch in the driveway), I don’t do anything of those things without having Birdzone front and center in both my mind and my actual line of sight.

Yesterday evening, Birdy and I were working in the front yard garden (I was clearing out some weeds and she was making “houses” for worms we discovered underneath a rock), when my Dexcom started wailing from my pocket.  In retrospect, I felt a little “off,” but it wasn’t until I heard the low alarm blaring from the Dexcom receiver that the symptoms kicked in fully.

“Hey, your blood sugar is whoa, Mom,” Birdy said absently, placing another worm onto a pile of dirt.

“Yeah, we need to go inside and get some snacks, okay?  It’s important,” I replied, looking at the “UNDER 65 MG/DL” warning on the Dexcom screen.

Normally, she listens.  Especially when it’s about blood sugars, because Chris and I have talked with her a few times about how listening is important, particularly when I tell her my blood sugar is low.  But she wanted to stay outside.  She liked playing with the worms.  She liked being in the dirt and gardening.  She didn’t want to have to cut playtime short because Mommy needed a few glucose tabs that she should have brought outside with her in the first place.  [Insert Mom Guilt here.]

“Nooooo waaaaaaay!!!” she said, flouncing away from me and refusing to turn around.

Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed (because “No way!” is a great response), but I was starting to feel shaky and my brain cells connections felt loose, like thoughts weren’t coupling up the right way.  We were in the front yard and I knew I needed to gain control of all potentially dangerous situations in a hurry.

“We need.  To go.  INSIDE right now.  My blood sugar is low.  This is not a joke.” I said.

“No!  I don’t waaaaaaant to!!”

My blood sugar falls fast.  It always has.  I don’t get the long, lingering slides towards hypoglycemia but instead the quick, breathless plummets.  Knowing that I was dropping and watching yet another car drive by our house meant I needed to get control fast and without issue.

Before my body completely caved to the low blood sugar, I scooped up my flailing daughter and walked into the house.  She was freaking out and still forcefully asserting her right to “NOOOO!” but I needed sugar more than I needed her to like me.  A few seconds later, we were both safely contained in the kitchen.  I had a few glucose tabs and waited for my brain to acknowledge them.  Birdy pouted in the corner, staring at her hands and still mumbling, “No way.”

A few minutes later, I felt more human.  “Birdy, I’m sorry we had to come inside.  But my blood sugar was low and it could have become an emergency.  So that’s why you needed to put your listening ears on and come inside.  I wasn’t doing it to be mean; I was doing it to be safe.  Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stay outside.  But we can go back out now, okay?”

“Okay.  I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

“It’s okay.”

She turned around and pressed her hand into mine.  Something wriggled.  She smiled.

“I brought a worm inside.”

No way.

 

Sleep Number.

I love sleep.

But I did not love sleep while Chris was traveling for work these last few weeks.  Mostly because I did not sleep.

From the middle of September to last week, my husband was away for work. He came home three times for 24 hours apiece, which meant that we missed him terribly. And it also meant that Birdzone and I held down the fort for two months on our own, which, for the most part, went very well. Now that she’s five and a half years old, Birdy is excellent company and we had fun hanging out with friends and playing games. (For the record, she can kick my ass at Uno Attack. And Crazy Mates. If you haven’t played Crazy Mates, look into it. Buccaneer Bob is quite the fella.)

Doing the school routine and maintaining my work schedule was one thing, but getting enough sleep was the most difficult, and somewhat unachievable, goal. The compounded effects of not getting enough sleep took their toll over the last two months.

The first week that Chris was gone, I had a low blood sugar during dinner that was pretty intense. My best friend and another friend were over for dinner, with their kids, so there were people in the house.  I wasn’t afraid that my low was going to leave my daughter unattended.  But this low was long and drawn-out, making my mouth and cheeks numb and leaving my brain unable to formulate anything even close to a coherent thought.  I remember sitting at the dining room table, my Dexcom receiver hollering, and I didn’t respond for a few seconds.  I’d already had a juice box and some glucose tabs and my dinner, for fuck’s sake, but the food wasn’t hitting as fast or as hard as the hypo, so I was floating around on adrenaline and scraps of glucose.

It went on for about 45 minutes, and afterwards, the low hangover was epic.

I didn’t realize this low had scared me so much until a few days later, when I realized that sleep was not happening.  I wasn’t able to fall asleep at night and I woke up several times throughout the night because I was paranoid about experiencing that hypo intensity again.  I decided to share my Dexcom information, usually shared only with my husband and a trusted friend, with my best friend for the duration of my husband’s trip, because she was familiar with what the numbers mean, she knew how to respond in an emergency, and she lives five minutes away (and has a house key), so she could bust in if she needed to.

But even with the safety net of data-watchful eyes and technology that promised to buzz me awake if I fell out of range, shaking that hypo fear was difficult.  It stuck with me for the duration of Chris’s trip, alleviated only when I was either away briefly for work myself or when my daughter was sleeping at my mom’s house.  It wasn’t the actual low that scared me, but the idea that my child could find me low that kept me awake at night.

I wish this wasn’t the case.  I would love to end this blog post with a clever line with advice on how to manage these situations and the best ways to avoid fear of hypoglycemia, but the reality is that I slept through the night again once Chris was home.  And only then.

“It’s Diabetes Month … have you been advocating?” someone asked me in an email this morning.  And I realized I’ve been avoiding it a little, because diabetes has spooked me a little in the last few weeks.  I didn’t want to write about being nervous to go to sleep at night.  That didn’t feel like the “right” kind of advocacy (though there isn’t a “right” kind).

But then I realized that it was the truth.  And as much as I have accomplished despite diabetes, this disease influences my daily life in a way that far exceeds the seconds I spend checking my blood sugar or dosing my insulin.  I had trouble getting any sleep because I was scared.  Plain and simple.

The clever last line of this blog post?  I’m fucking thrilled, for a dozen reasons, that my husband is home.

That Big, Effing Frog. #DOCtober

Busy weekend, with a pile of unrelated-to-diabetes moments and a few that were decidedly diabetes.  But to start, I’ll catch up on my #DOCtober photo posts.

How is your #DOCtober going?

A Matter of Apologies.

“I was low.  I was frustrated because of the low blood sugar.  I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” and I can tell she means it by the look in her friendly, brown eyes.

I used to be very terrible at saying, “I’m sorry.”  I would hold on to frustration and anger in a way that was not good for me or anyone around me, making a grudge or the need to feel like I “won” the disagreement take precedence over a relationship.  I’d keep “I’m sorry” under my tongue because I didn’t want to admit that I’d done something that hurt someone’s feelings.  I felt embarrassed to admit my shortcomings.  It felt awkward and bad.

It took a long time for my head to figure out that my heart was better off if I let the sorry fly, but once I came to that realization, I tried to embrace as often as I could.  (I also had to work on the “does this interaction make me better or worse as a person?”  This is still a work in progress.)  Now I’m less terrible at saying, “I’m sorry,” and I feel better for it.

As much as I hate to admit it, my blood sugars are not only influenced by my emotions (stress, anyone?) but they influence my emotions, as well.  The way my numbers make me physically feel can cause me to act like a total crumb.  It’s another reason to be aware of what my blood sugars are, and if I enter the Crumb Zone, apologize for it.

I find myself apologizing to my daughter at times for entirely blood sugar related reasons.  Sometimes I snap because I’m taking yet another bolus to correct yet another high and my body is riddled with sugar and rage, and I will be far less than patient with my little one as a result.  Other times I raise my voice because I’m trying to treat a low blood sugar reaction and she’s at my elbow asking to [insert rogue request from active 5 year old here].  Losing my patience during the course of run-of-the-mill parenting is something I am not proud of, but losing my patience because diabetes is leaning on my parenting style is something I want my kid to understand as best she can, because I don’t want her ever thinking my seemingly random outbursts are tied to her in any way.

It’s a weird balance between feeling like I’m blaming diabetes for my actions and simply explaining my actions.  Am I in the Crumb Zone (or Mayor of Crumb City, if you’re nasty) because of diabetes?  Nope.  Diabetes doesn’t get credit or get blamed.  But sometimes this disease is part of the explanation, and I want my family to have a sense for how, and why, I’m wired a certain way.

There are moments when Birdy assumes my attitude problem is diabetes-rYes, this whole post was an excuse to use the Siah-in-a-banana picture again.elated when it’s not, and I’m forced to fess up.

“Are you in a bad mood because of a low blood sugar?” my daughter asks, pointedly.

“Not at the moment.  Right now, I’m in a bad mood because I just realized I left a banana in the car while I was on my trip last week.  And now I’m afraid to open the door and confront the banana stink.”

“It’s okay,” she says.  And then adds, “Ew.”

 

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