Thursday, December 8, 2011

Yesterday, it flowed.

If I had a penny for every blog post I typed through tears...


I'd have a lot of pennies.

I'm learning things about myself that I don't like. It's like there are these inner issues that lurk and then jump out to consume me at the most unlikely of moments.

Yesterday was one of those moments.

L called me from school 7 times between 8:30 and 11:50. He is starting this manic thing. He checks his sugars ALL the time for reasons I still don't 100% understand. He started out high the minute he walked into the classroom and gave himself extra insulin per the wizard on his pump. He called later to tell me he felt low, numerous times in fact. At one point he was 250 panicking that he would be low any minute. Snack time was in 15 minutes so I asked him to check again then and see what the number is before we treated.

"But by then I'll be like 105!" He says.

"That will be Ok." I say.

15 minutes later more drama. He calls to say he is 570. There is NO WAY he is 570. Wash your hands and check again...during which time he put down the phone and I heard an entire conversation between the nurse, (who comes 1 morning a week,) and the teacher about L and where he puts his test strips. He was given a sharps container by the nurse to put his strips in at the beginning of the year. He is throwing all his trash in there and tried to empty it out in the class garbage can today. I guess some of those strips made it onto the floor.

I'm cringing while I am listening to this. L shouldn't be touching that container. Why the long conversation...why not ask me to take care of it??? L forgot about me...I heard many conversations about class work and the handballs.

Finally I hear a beep and Luke exclaim, "SHOCKAPRISING!"

He picked up the phone to call me and realized I was still there.

He was not 570. He was 77.

He called three times after in the next 60 minutes. He was 75, then 71 and then 63. He was BESIDE himself that he wasn't going up. I told him to drink one more juice and to meet me in the office, I was coming to get him.

When I got to the office I looked at the secretary who was smirking. "Is he driving you crazy?" I asked.

"No." She says. "He asked for us to get him a juice box just in case."

I looked over at him and he was clutching a Capri Sun.

The other secretary brought up the test strips as they were deposited in a bag and brought back to the office with the words, Hazardous Waste written in sharpie. What was she supposed to do with the bag? I think this is the point that I lost it. The secretaries called in his teacher to discuss the strips and the L's speech therapist joined in for what made for good dramatic effect.

It is kinda all a blur but I think I went on a 20 minute rant about how L shouldn't be touching the sharps container, and that he should just tell me when it needs to be emptied and "I" will take care of it.

"Should he put the container in his backpack to bring home?" His teacher asked.

"No...again...he should never pick it up. I will take care of it!"

Then the conversation about L's day began and I could feel myself lifting off. Tears welled in my eyes as I spoke about L's constant calling and his worry about every number good or bad.

I remember them saying things like, "Maybe you should call his doctor." And, "do you want to take this conversation somewhere else, the other children in here are listening." "I'm sorry, I asked L to call," and "I thought he was just being responsible."

It wasn't so much what they said but the look on their faces. I must have been pretty wild eyed. They clearly thought I was losing it.

And looking back...I was.

Trying to sort through my feelings today I had an epiphany. I am a Closet Motherbetic. L's teacher last year made such a huge deal out of every little thing that happened that now I have this paranoia that this year's teacher is constantly judging... and sighing...and saying, "not again, L," too.

Every phone call yesterday killed me, not because of the actual calling...but because it was interfering with his classroom. I thought FOR SURE his teacher was exasperated with him, and me.

Turns out she wasn't. (Well...she may be now.)

I feel awful on so many levels I can't even get there emotionally.

I feel awful that the numbers are effecting L. Either physically or mentally.

I feel bad that I automatically assumed L's teacher was frustrated with him.

I feel awful that I want his diabetes to be quiet at school. Diabetes is never quiet. I'm pretty sure that I think the more distraction diabetes is...the more it reflects poorly on me as a mother.

OK, I'm more than pretty sure.

Letting others see into our world...letting others SEE the kills me.

I can try my best all day long and those numbers won't always reflect that. I have so much guilt that I can't make them perfect. It is like a secret shame that I carry around with me. Inside I know I can't do better than my best. Logically I KNOW that. But emotionally...if I am best isn't the best I want it to be. I want to be best-er.

I know I am doing better than I think I am. The A1C's tell me so. But when my son calls with a 400...and his teacher is there in the background...well my world comes crashing down every time.

And usually I pretend it doesn't.

Until days like today come along and all my anger...all my sadness...all my guilt...all my pain gets brought to the surface.

And I cry hard.

I try so hard to make diabetes seem like no big deal around here.

And yet it is.

It really. Really. Really. Is.

Ebbs and flows...

Yesterday, it flowed.


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