Monday, July 29, 2013

Nerve wracked.

I’m pretty sure parenting a child with diabetes fries your nerves to 10% capacity.  We live a life so constantly on edge that our nerves fray a bit and courage grows to make up the difference.

But what happens when we hit a nerve?  What happens when things get so hard our courage runs for the hills to find a nice large cave to sit and rock in like a child who walked in on a grandparent naked?

Case and point:  This super-courageous-seen-it-all-D-Mama ALMOST reached that place today.  Thankfully, since I’m blogging about it, it seems my nerves aren’t completely shot and I can look back on it and recount it in a completely impartial, unbiased manner.

A few hours ago we set off on an adventure.  (Okay, it was a walk, but anything we do as a family, I call and adventure.  It makes it more fun.) We packed up the baseball gear and decided to walk a mile down the road to the nearest field and hang and play. 

We checked sugars before we left.  Both B and L were in the low 200’s.  They corrected, I grabbed a blood sugar monitor and then turned to B…

“Grab some tabs or fruit snacks, just in case.”

“Sure mom.”  He headed for the kitchen.

We were off.



Super happy boys.

The only thing that could make it all even better was ice cream!

We walked to the nearby Ice Cream Parlor and ordered our treats.

Now this is the place where we should have checked blood sugars. It's so obvious it hurts just typing it. But instead I was talking to my 18 year old who had driven down to pick up our gear so we could take the back roads home and not worry about the extra weight.  He wanted ice cream too.  I wanted some water.  Conversation about him going out tonight took place…blah blah blah…

No check.

I gave the boys a conservative amount of insulin, because at this point I realized I didn’t check them and thought to myself, “They just ate a huge ice cream.  They aren’t going low.”

 And then as I thought that ridiculously stupid thought that every bit of my brain KNEW was stupid, but I blindly believed anyway, we readied ourselves for the walk home. 

This is a pic of B with his best friend.  If you look close there is a bridge off in the distance to the right. The bridge is where “the incident” took place.


10 steps from the bridge L gives me the eye roll, and he immediately collapses at the middle like his spine magically, in one instant, turned to jello.

“I feel low.”

Now my little L isn’t the biggest fan of “walks” so I thought he was being his old dramatic self and even smiled and winked at B as I checked his sugar.


Ok this is where my courage exploded into a million little particles, and the pieces that survived ran away like this:

So I turn to B and say, “Hand over the sugar.”

He hands me a Rice Kripsy Treat.  WHHHHHAAA the crap?

“Where is the sugar I asked you to grab?” 

“This is it.”

“We don’t own these.”

“I brought it back from camp with me.”

I hand it to L and of course he sits down, opens it and says…”Do I have to eat it.  I don’t want to eat.”

And I felt like my head spun around and vomit came out of my eyes when I said, “Yes.  YES YOU DO.”

But B tells me I really said it kindly.  So I’ll go with his version instead.

He nibbled and started doing the head roll thing like he was going to pass out.

At this point my mind is swimming.  Trying to remember the course Gary Scheiner gave at FFL about the Glycemic Index.  Is the ice cream going to kick in soon?  Is the insulin going to bring him down even more?  Is he going to pass out?  What will I do if he passes out?

Yes I took a picture.  I have a problem.  I know it.

I disconnected his pump and then scanned the landscape.  I saw the Jr. College over the hill.  I called my 18 year old and calmly told him he needed to be in the back of the Jr. College 30 minutes ago, and we began to make our way to civilization.

This is the part where I should tell you, L is made of bricks.  Seriously, the kid is solid.  There was absolutely no carrying him.  So he leaned on me and I drug him over the school.  It was a sight.  Like dragging a drunken bag of barbells.  We made it on pure determination on my part, and sat on the curb.  I told B and his friend to find the parking lot and direct M to us.

Enter in:  Cap’n Joe.

He rode up on his bike and knew that something was wrong.

“Is everything OK?  It looks like you could use some help.”

Then I tell him the story using words like, “Carbs. Insulin on board. Disconnection of pump.”  And, “need sugar now.”

His face was blank.  I might as well been Charlie Browns Teacher, everything I said went way over his head.  But when I got the need sugar part he perked up, “All I have is water.  But I’m in the Coast Guard and part of the first responder team.  Do you want me to go get you something?”

At which point M drove up.  The Cap’n put out his hand to introduce himself to L, and asked L’s name.  L gave him a blank look like, “I have no idea what my name is.  Waffle?”

L’s not getting up at this point.  He’s white.  He’s whimpering, and mumbling over and over “Why did we go on this walk???”

M and I get him in the car and I strap him in.   He's still holding the half eaten Rice Krispy Treat in his hand.

“Straight home and two Dex 4’s.  GO!” 

He took off like a bat out of hell, but not before he told me he never saw B and his friend.

It took me 15 minutes to find B and his friend, who thought they should go to the center of a random parking lot to wait for M.  It took me another 15 minutes to get home…powerwalking like an idiot.

It wasn’t until I took my phone out of my back pocket to call M that I noticed I was shaking like a 90-year-old woman with tremors.  It took me four tries to successfully call…it all seemed like a bad dream.  The kind of dream when you know you need to call for help but you just can’t dial the numbers right. (Hey.  You know you've had that dream!)  While making a fool of myself walking like a possessed woman, I finally got ahold of M who told me L’s sugar was now 79.

I hung up and cried for a good 40 seconds until the boys caught up to me.

When I got home L was on the computer playing Minecraft.




Me?  I still have the shakes, but I’m able to type, so I’ll live.

So typical of diabetes…it’s over.  JUST.  LIKE.  THAT.


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