Wow, its that time already! Diabetes Blog Week! Here is the first task completed...what an average day is like in our house...with diabetes.
I always wonder where does the night end and the day begin? Technically a new day starts at midnight but three in the morning still feels like I am dragging my butt through the day before. In my world, the day starts when I have to get myself out of bed and stay there...that’s at about seven in the morning.
What happens at seven in the morning at our house is pretty close to seven in the morning at most homes. Seven on a Monday means that Mom gets up and decides what to cook for breakfast. Pancakes it is! The batter is mixed, the pan is heated and the cooking begins. The first batch is done and I wait for my oldest to shuffle down the stairs to dig into his meal.
As the second batch cooks, I begin making lunches for noon. My children both eat their lunch at school. Only one has easy access to a microwave so both kids get lunches that can be eaten cold....this tends to equate to sandwiches all around! The sandwiches are created, juices are found, yogurt is added to provide the token healthy factor and a cookie is added for the junk factor. Despite the contents appearing the same, the lunches have one major difference that lets my boys know who’s lunch is who’s. One has a piece of paper attached to it and has a specific cookie.
The piece of paper is for my youngest. It lists out the carb count of each item of food. Once upon a time the carb counts would be a total of what was for lunch and then what was for recess but now that he is much older, he decides what he wants to eat and when. To make sure that at least his carbs are accurate, I list his food for him.
The specific cookie is the one that was weighed. It has been carefully set on the scale that sits on our counter so that I can know exactly how many carbs are baked into that little morsel of goodness.
By now the second batch of pancakes is cooked and ready to be served. This batch of pancakes, like the cookie, must be weighed. Our food scale has been a lifesaver. It sits proudly on the counter and occasionally takes a place of honour at the table. When I have the carbs counted and logged in my son’s logbook, I begin the task of finding out where the heck my sleepy youngest teen is now!
After the morning bathroom break and washing of hands, he tends to arrive at the table as his food is cooling. He grabs the nearest glucometer (there never tends to be any less than three sitting in one place but never any when you are looking for them) and tests. He soon hears me calling out “Did you pre-bolus those pancakes? Are you having anything to drink with that? Did you add in those carbs? What was your reading? Did you correct for the high?” And yes, that is all said without taking a breath and no real time for much more than a quick yes or no.
As my son heads for the door he is bombarded by yet another set of questions... “Do you have your meter? Are there enough test strips? How much insulin do you have? Are you sure that’s enough for the day?” He mumbles “Yes Mom. This is me you are talking about!” and heads out the door. I know who I am talking about and worry.
Times have changed. Rarely do I get those calls from the school saying that he is low or “what do I do about....? He has been high all morning. Etc. Now my son knows how to handle these things and the staff is well versed in the “drill” after having him around for the past 8 years. I still get those calls of “Mom, I forgot my meter. Mom, I’m out of insulin.” But thankfully they are much rarer than days of old.
As diabetes heads off with my son, I get a small break for a few hours. Well I get a direct break but I spend my time answering questions, searching for answers, doing research, raising money and basically living a little more with diabetes.
At 3pm my phone rings. “Mom, come and pick me up?”
“I’m low and you said I can’t walk home.”
“I’m on my way.”
When we get home he gets to enjoy watching tv without me telling him to fill out his log book or do his homework. He is in his own version of heaven while I hover. Oblivious to time passing, I finally call out “Did you retest?” and get back the usual “In a minute.”
As things are fine, our life returns to normal as my boys wrestle and carry on before supper. In our house you know that supper is ready when you hear “Wash your hands and test!”. Its a standard call used to get everyone to the table. I fill plates--carefully measuring one. As I finally sit down to the table I again ask my son that question “Did you pre-bolus?” To get the answer “nope.” I suggest that he should do so now. I again get the response “How much?” Aahhh!! “Well, how much food do you have? There is 20 g of potatoes, meat, green salad, and 25 for that glass of juice so let’s start with 45g.” My son’s response is “Yeah, but I was low so you have to subtract off another 15.” Wrong kiddo, YOU have to subtract 15. Finally the meal is bloused and he is off to do homework and over the course of five hours, try to fill out his log book.
Two hours later I have yet to see my son. I have heard the rumblings of a Wii. I have heard the thump of some wrestling. I have even heard the telltale beeping of a pump but no child. “Have you done your two hour after test?”
“I was just on my way down.”
“What was that beeping?”
“Site change. I’ll do it after my shower.”
Ah the fun! Despite the fact that my stomach is still full, the two hour post meal test also seems to signal the teenaged need to eat...for another two hours straight. I tend to ignore him now because he is quite good and calculating and bolusing. The scale sits on the table and tasty treats fly by me to be eaten by a half-starved young man and matched with insulin from his pump.
The night winds down and he changes his site, his cartridge, tests and heads to bed. I yell out once again but this time to see if he is in range. He is running a little high so I set out with my book to read for a few hours. I don’t feel right about going to sleep until I know that he is in a safe range. The high may persevere or he may have corrected too much. He doesn’t wake for his lows and I have no desire to wake to a seizure or worse.
After a few hours of reading I test and feel good about dozing off for a few hours. Its now midnight but my night is not over. I toss and turn thinking about my day. Finally I fall asleep after one but wake up an hour later. There is a strange white noise coming from the baby monitor in my room. The sane part of my brain wants to sleep and ignore it. My heart says, a strange thing wakes you so you must get your butt out of bed and TEST! I crawl out and am thankful that I listened to my heart. My son is low. A juice, twenty minutes of waiting time, and I retest. He is low again. It takes over 90 minutes for me to get to a range that makes me feel warm and fuzzy again. I can finally go to sleep...well except for the fact that my mind is now quite alert with no desire to sleep! I will find sleep. I will find sleep.....
What the heck is that alarm doing going off already!?!