A moment of sadness

Last night I woke up at 3am as usual.  I grabbed my housecoat and headed across the hall to test my son.  He was low.  He had been high the night before but a site change and set things back on track...he was now low.

I decided against feeding him glucose tablets because of his aversion to the "glucose hangover".  I headed instead to the kitchen to grab a glass of juice.  Just in case, I added extra sugar. It was 3am and I really did not want to be up until after 4. Armed with juice and straw, I headed back to his room. I touched the straw to his lips and watched him drink it down like so many times before. 

I went to my room to grab a book and my glasses. I had at least fifteen minutes to kill before retesting so it was time to get an Iris Johansen fix.  I curled up on the couch and settled into my novel.  I kept my phone nearby so I could see when my time was up.  Fifteen minutes quickly passed. I slowly walked back to his room. I tested him and he was in range.

Normally I would remember the reading that allowed me to leave my book for the night but last night was different. It was overshadowed by a sadness. I don't normally allow any sadness or much pity to enter my life when it comes to diabetes. I have had a "no nonsense" approach since I learned my son would live. It has served me well for over 11 years.  Don't get me wrong, at 5 am, after two hours of battling a low, I do still have meltdowns and the "why me??'s". 

Last night, something different took over. It was a complete sadness. A sense of futility.  I looked at my son sleeping in his bed. I knew how lucky we were. I was grateful for a five second meter.  I appreciated the pump that kept his life almost "normal".  I was glad that I was able to wake so often and catch both highs and lows. 

All of that paled in that moment for some unknown reason.  I looked at his sleeping form, peaceful and without a care, and I saw no end.  I saw no end to the highs and lows at night. I saw no end to the testing--no end to the worries. I saw him becoming a man and carrying this burden himself. I saw him trying to balance the financial burden with his need for quality health care.  For just that moment, there was no stopping the sadness--the desire to take it all away while knowing that you can't. I felt hopeless. 

I slowly walked back to my room with a tear stain on my heart but in the morning I would be ready to face things again.  We can only take each day as it comes, brush away the sadness, and hope for a better tomorrow.