Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Anatomy of a low.

He was peaceful.

His long blond eyelashes framed his round eyelids. 

Pink cheeks.  Full, soft, relaxed lips.


As I picked up his black freckled fingertip, I paused to give him one more moment of calm.

His breathing was slow and shallow.  His entire body relaxed in its slumber.


I pricked his fingertip, laying another dot on the landscape.  A bead of bright crimson blood appeared. I quickly pressed the test strip against it and watched it suck up most of the red.  I smeared away the remaining blood from his finger, wiping it on the inside pocket of my jeans.  The countdown ensued...the result was a surprise.

It is always a surprise.

59.  With insulin on board no less.

This meant a couple of things.  First, a temp basal.  I followed his pump tubing with my fingers, only to discover the pump rested securely beneath the weight of his body.  I adjusted my position.  Teetering on the edge of the mattress below him I immediately questioned my decision to let him have the top bunk.  Retrieving the pump meant moving my 8 year old son and disturbing his respite from the storm. 

I hoisted his arm towards me, and the whole of his torso followed.  Fishing blindly in the blankets I finally retrieve my prize...a blue Medtronic pump.

He stirred only slightly, turning his head to a more comfortable position.

My fingers found their familiar rhythm on the pump buttons.  It took seconds to change the settings.  I made my way down from my perch and walked purposefully towards the kitchen.

Opening up the low cupboard door, I let out a big sigh.  Which carb to pick?

Apple juice?

Fruit Snacks?



I grab an apple juice box and a banana and head back to the bunk bed.  Breaking the seal on the apple juice box, I slip in the straw and touch the end of it to L's lower lip.

"Drink, baby."

His body goes into survival mode as he anxiously grabs the box and takes a long, encouraging sip.  He pushes out the straw with his tongue and rolls over the opposite direction of me.

I rub his arm.  "L, you need to drink sweetheart."  I gently turn his head back towards me and press the straw to his lips again.

He takes a small sip and turns his head away again.  We repeat the process a good six times before I give up.  He's drank 3/4 of the box.  We'll move on to the banana.

I break off half of the banana and rub it against his full sleeping lips.  He anxiously takes a bite and chomps contentedly in his sleep.  His hands grasp the air as if trying to find another bite of the banana.  He eagerly eats what I offer him, and when I am finished he brings his hands to his face and continues to eat the imaginary banana in his hands.

I gently hold his hands to make the charade stop, and rub his forehead to relax his body and help him return to his deep sleep.

I check the other two boys and find them to be in range with no IOB.  A battle won within the war.

Gently closing the door to my room I turn to knell at my bed to pray.  I offer an earnest prayer, praying for joy.  Praying for understanding.  Praying for peace. 

And most importantly...praying for my boys safety until I check them again in a few hours.

Dream my dear boys.  Dream and escape your diabetic life.

I'll live it for you, for now.


Relish your escape while you can.


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