Changing of the guard.

I’ve had my alarm clock for 18 years. It was a wedding present from my cousin Todd.

Todd was one of those cousins who was more like a brother than a cousin. In my earliest memories, Todd is there. He and my brother used to endlessly torment me when we were very young. They would lock me out of the house and try to scare the crap out of me when I turned a corner…but as we grew up, the relationship changed. It was an easy, fun relationship. In our teen years, I would fix Todd up with my friends, and in return he drove me around to get job applications and took me shopping at the mall.

On my wedding day, Todd was there, large as life. He smiled and laughed like nobody’s business…and true to form, as soon as the reception ended; there he was with his shirt off…running around like he owned the place.

But on that day…the best of all days…Todd gave Ryan and I this alarm clock.



Inside the alarm clock was a mixed cassette tape of Beatles songs that we could wake up to. Todd had made this tape himself, and although the mechanism broke many years ago…this alarm clock sat in my heart as one of my favorite gifts. It was practical AND thoughtful.

But 18 years on an alarm clock can be rough…especially one given to hard times like our own. That alarm clock has been used, overused and abused. Despite its faults though, it was completely reliable! And it was, as I said, from Todd.

Todd passed away 4 years after my wedding day. He was only 27 at the time. He passed in his sleep from an aneurism.


(This is the only pic I have of Todd at my wedding. I found this in the background of a picture of Ryan taking off my garter. I’m sure my brother was saying something snarky about me when the picture was snapped. Todd is the one without the bow tie.)

After his passing…the alarm clock became even more special to me. It was like a member of the family…like a guardian angel that would wake me to check sugars. Old faithful for sure! But through obvious wear and tear, and sad overuse…the alarm clock was coming to its end. It wouldn’t tune into the radio anymore. I could only wake up to white noise. Loud. Startling. White. Noise. (Not cool.) And the mix tape had long since been destroyed by a rouge toddler.

But even with all its faults…it never once occurred to me to replace it.

Last week we were at Costco buying an iHome for B with his Christmas money. He had gotten an iPod Touch and wanted a convenient way to charge it. They were only 35 bucks. “Hey…I’ll get one for my iPhone too,” I said. When we got it home and I opened the box, I found that there was a free alarm clock app that came with it.

I downloaded the awesome app and looked over at the alarm clock Todd had given me. I didn’t buy the iHome with the intention of getting rid of our old alarm clock. But here it was…ready to wake me with music from my iPod library. It was a heavier moment than I expected when I wrapped up the old alarm clock. I couldn’t throw it away, so it sits on the top shelf of my closet for now.

I got NO sleep the first night I used the new alarm clock. I was so worried it wouldn’t go off! Heck…I didn’t KNOW this alarm clock! We had just met! We had no history, how was I to know that it was reliable? I had to do two test alarms before I could go to sleep…just to make sure I was programming it correctly, and I kept waking up in the wee hours of the morning, staring at it… wondering if it would do its job as well as my old one had. In the end, it did wake me up. Quite sweetly I must say. It starts at a lower volume and then gradually gains its voice to wake me. I love it. I absolutely love it.

I can just picture all the alarm clocks that belong to the army of D parents and D peeps the world over. I’m sure there are many with worn buttons and broken parts. I’m sure there are a few that have been thrown across the room. (I’m ashamed to say that the clock Todd gave me has seen its share of floor time.)

I had no idea how significant the gift of an alarm clock would be on my wedding day. On that day I didn’t know that there would be nights that I would be setting the alarm to go off every hour, on the hour. I didn’t know of Our Diabetic life, or the heartache and worry that was ahead of me. Our boys were just a twinkle in our eyes back then.

I’m sure Todd had no idea either. But today I want to take a moment to thank him for it. It has been a good companion and provided a life saving service for our family many times over…many years over.

I know our family has been given guardian angels to watch over the boys. I know it. So it leaves me to wonder, has Todd taken the post? Is the alarm clock a symbol of his steadfast duty?

I don’t know. But the thought of it makes me smile through these tears.

God bless alarm clocks...

And God bless Guardian Angels.

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Cl-assic

Son of a biscuit!

It’s happening again. Things are getting out of hand. Are basals whacked out, or are these random numbers just here to torment me? Numbers are popping up that for the life of me SHOULD. NOT. BE. THERE!

L called with a 370 at snack yesterday. Say huh? He bolused for breakfast. It was the very same breakfast he eats three times a week. It is my go to breakfast when I want good numbers!

J was 62 one hour after dinner last night. What that heck?

B was 220…AFTER basketball practice. That number should not be within miles of him after all that running. By the way, he went in at 147, and he kept his pump on.

And why? Why? Why was L low ALL NIGHT LONG? It makes NO sense. He doesn’t go low at night! I have not changed basals! He has not been sick! WHHHHHHHY?

Go away arbitrary-insane-where-the-flip-did-you-come-from numbers!

You know things are bad when you have to Google, “nice swear words.”

I'm not a rookie, I know that we are to expect random numbers that don't make sense...but for me, when it rains it pours. They all have to whack out together, on the very same day. Is it the cosmos keeping me on my toes? Is it a top secret pancreas test given to me once a quarter? Am I being punked?

Regardless, it is all hitting the fan people. And there is only one explanation as to why.

Tomorrow is our endo appointment.

'Nuff said.

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Sleepover.

Sleepover: It is a like a four letter word to D Mothers and Fathers the world over.

J didn’t have his first sleepover until he was in 5th grade. Why I agreed to let B go on his first sleepover at the tender age of 9 is completely beyond me.

He has these giant, gorgeous brown eyes. I’m a sucker for the eyes. I swear when he asked me he looked exactly like this…


As I was driving to meet B after school with his suitcase...I pondered, (with my obvious lack of sane reasoning)…B will be celebrating five years with diabetes this year. He has officially, this month, approached the point where he has lived more life with diabetes than without. He is my responsible one…he always remembers to bolus for dinner, if I forget to count the carbs he reminds me. He calls me at lunch everyday…he rarely forgets. He deserves a sleepover dagnabit! (Yeah, apparently I'm an old coal miner when I ponder...)

But no matter how much I reasoned with myself, my heart wasn’t feeling it. Driving to the school was like driving the green mile. All my anxiety came to the surface. It was like diabetes was sitting in the passenger seat insisting I pay attention to its tantrums. It wouldn’t shut up! It kept screaming in my ear…lalalalalalala…I tried so hard to tune it all out!

I hate it when I have to think about diabetes. I hate to have to think about the walls and complications it surrounds me with. No matter how ready B was for this sleepover, diabetes was going to make it complicated. And it didn’t help that he was having lows again lately.

The lows we had a couple week ago preceded a “false start” sleepover. He was supposed to spend the night at this friends then, but at the very last minute, his friend’s father got the flu. The two days leading up to this false start B suffered from terrible lows. I changed basals and it seemed to fix everything, but what do you know…two days before this new sleepover date, the lows returned.

Excited much?

It was all he could think about. All he could talk about. He and his friend spent every minute they could planning the fun they would have. So I did what any mom with an itchy trigger finger would do…I lowered every one of his basal rates across the board before he left for school that morning. Let him be high! Keep him safe I say!

So when I finally made it to school after a ride that I swear felt like 5 hours…I checked B before leaving him and found a “lovely” 62 in front of me. Some juice and a FREE 40 carb carrot muffin at his friends found him to be 88 at dinner. UGH. Would the fun EVER end! He ate out with the family and had ice cream after and called me at bedtime with a 270. I gave him half the correction the pump suggested and let him go to sleep.

He said he woke up the next morning feeling low. He said he ate a pack of Yogos that were by his bedside and then checked himself an hour later. He was 200 at this time. Was he low? Who knows…but I’m proud of him for taking the initiative and listening to his body. It was precisely the reason I let him go on this adventure. Well, that…and his little boy’s mother is a sweetheart. I knew she would take great care in making sure all was well with B.

This was one of those times. One of many that I just held my breath and jumped. B was armed with a cell phone in his pocket, (which I called three times and texted twice,) a blood sugar monitor clipped to his belt loop, a bag of Yogos in his pocket and juice in his suitcase. I gave his friend’s mother a piece of paper with our phone numbers, a list of times he needed to check his sugar, and another list of times when he needed to call me. I also wrote out these words, "Under 100 is a low, he needs to eat a snack. Over 20o, he is high and needs insulin. Don't be afraid to call me! :)" That is the extent of it all.

It is never as easy as it sounds, but the smile on B’s face when I picked him up made it so worth it. He proudly exclaimed as he jumped in the car that they should do that “every weekend.”

Yeah, these 20 grey hairs I grew this weekend don’t need friends buddy. His friend can stay at our house next time.

But I did it. He did it. We did it.

I’m exhaling as I write.

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The Three Day Rule.

(ATTENTION: In the famous words of Hallie, “I’m not a doctor; I just play one in real life.” Talk to your endo about my rule before you put it into action. See if your endo agrees. Even though he/she should…go with what the medical professionals say. I’m just a mom, I’m SO not a doctor. So don’t do anything crazy, ok?)

I’m not a fan of rules.

There are a lot of rules in diabetes, but most are relative.

Each rule has a set of sub rules, which have a set of conditions that have a set of half baked nuances.

But there is one rule I stand by. Rain or shine. High or low.

One rule that I hold fast to…no matter how hard the winds blow.

The Three Day Rule.

THREE. DAYS!

Not one day more…not one day less. Three days!

When we change basals, I will ALWAYS wait three full days before I change them again.

(Basal is the underlying insulin that acts as long acting. So if you or your child are on shots, this rule would pertain to your long acting insulin, such as the NPH or the Lantus.)

Is it easy?

No.

Do I usually want to bang my head against the wall?

Yes.

Is it worth it?

Always.

Case and point: B had a bout with some uber bad lows when he returned back to school after Christmas break. It stood to reason though…during Christmas he wasn’t running around the playground…he was eating more…he was SITTING more. So basals went up! But when school started again, all that movin’ and groovin’ led to nasty after school lows. Some in the 30’s. (This was during Lawton’s “vacation” by the way.) 30’s are not ok. I haven’t seen 30’s in YEARS. 30's scare the crap out of me. Heck, 40’s scare the crap out of me! 50’s scare me! 60’s tick me off…and anything above I’m happy to deal with.

Three days in a row…30’s after school. Even without bolusing for lunch? Yeah! We needed to dial the basals down! (FYI: This is another rule of mine. I always wait three days to establish a pattern. The 30-something could have been a random thing. On day two, it could have been his body adjusting to the new routine, but day 3...HELLO! A pattern has been established, and things needed to change, NOW.)

So I made my changes…and the next day, lo and behold! 30’s again. But did I waver? No, I did not.

I waited.

It is a RULE for a reason!

The next day…he was high. Boo! 274 and I wondered if I lowered it too much.

But did I waver? Did I dial the basals back up?

NO!

I waited.

And the next day he was perfect.

And his afterschool numbers have been beautiful ever since.

I used to have a basal trigger finger problem. I have been guilty of changing basals less than 24 hours after the previous change…and every time ended in disaster.

Fair warning:

Those three days will give you false alarms.

Those three days will make you want to pull your hair out.

But if you wait…good will come of it. As with anything else with diabetes, it isn’t easy…but totally worth it. I can’t explain the medical aspect of it all, but the bottom line is their bodies need time to settle into the change.

When I do make the new basal changes, I make them on day 4. Not day 3. Day three is a no fly zone day. I leave it alone!

That is my two cents…let’s make it 40 cents…’cause in my book, it is so worth more than two!

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The Three Hour Tour: My first short story.

The story begins with an incident that has less to do with the story and more to do with the heart of this blog. My husband and I, away for a romantic getaway on the Monterey Peninsula, were driving down the coast towards the Fisherman’s Wharf. As we were stopped at a light I saw in the horizon a man running. In most accounts a man running down the street wouldn’t seem out of place, but this man was dressed in Khaki pants and an Izod collared shirt. He wasn’t overdressed by any means, but his clothes were chosen with obvious care, and were not suited in any way for running. As his presence came clearer into view I turned to my husband to comment on the peculiarity of the situation. He too had been following this man, wondering just as I had…why on earth he was running. The man was almost to the corner when our light turned green. As our car turned away from him we barely caught that the man was clutching Welches juice boxes…one in each hand. I was sure as the day was long what was happening at that moment. His worried face was clear. His demeanor harried…his posture frustrated as he waited for his crosswalk to be clear of cars. As we drove down the street I saw him run towards the beach. If we could have turned around at that moment we would have offered him assistance. But the moment was gone. We were stuck on the causeway with no chance of turning around. Familiar tears stung the corners of my eyes. I said a silent prayer for the child or loved one who was in need of the juice and then turned my attention to the view of the wharf directly in front of us.


The day was amazing. We were fortunate enough to get away on the most breathtaking weekend. Blue skies, nary a breeze…the salt air felt healing as each moment, one after another, brought perfection. As we leisurely strolled down the pier we saw the sign: Whale Watching Tours. My husband and I turned to each other and smiled. This would be the cherry on top of our perfect weekend. We signed up immediately and ran to the car to get our jackets.


This is where the real story begins gentle reader. I don’t mean to upset you…but here on I make a solemn promise to be only honest. And in being so, I promise…It will not be pretty.

We descended the stairs on the pier and jumped on the boat with enthusiasm. We found a seat on the side and chatted eagerly about the adventure ahead. We joked about the sign that did in fact state that this would be a “three hour tour.” If our tiny ship was tossed and we ended up on a desert isle, which of the cast of characters would we be? We deduced that we would take on the personas of Mr. Howl and Lovey…as they were deeply in love, and were never parted from one another. We kissed and giggled at our silliness.

Oh were we silly.

Silly silly, unknowing, silly us!

We passed a sea lion in the marina. I snapped this shot and looked to the horizon. The whales waited and I was beside myself with excitement.

It was probably 15 minutes into the trip when I realized that this was most likely a horrendous mistake.

The sun fell victim to the fog and my smile slowly faded as we headed into the depths of what seemed only to be despair. The wind was ruthless; the waves were what the captain called, “choppy.” I personally think choppy is too sweet of a word. The waves in fact were villainous, evil and dark.

With each mile I turned a darker shade of green. The exuberant faces of the passengers gave way to trepidation. The trepidation gave way to despair. Many retreated to the cabin, while the rest clutched to sides of the boat.

It turned ugly quickly. Our tourmates would run past us as hurriedly as the wind tossed boat would allow them…each of them sacrificing their lunch to the sea. Eight in all passed by within the first hour. My husband and I both hanging on by a thread. It was when we slowed to start crisscrossing the channel…that is when all went south for me. The sun was completely gone and I began shivering despite my makeshift tent I made within remains of my jacket. I abandoned my husband who refused to move a hair for fear of yacking, and retreated to the cabin.

Big. Fat. Mistake.

Carnage. Inside I found what looked like passengers overcome with the plague. Husbands and wives clinging to each other. Children puking left and right. A Grandmother crying and uttering prayer on behalf of the inhabitants there of. I wasn’t in there but 2 minutes when I knew seeing the corndog I ate for lunch would be inevitable. I went to the bar and asked for a bag to puke in where I was met with a jerkface of a man who told me I must puke off the side of the boat. I ran best I could clutching the rails of the death vessel, and made it all the way back to my husband before the puking began. I puked for a total of 10 minutes. I wasn’t able to make it to the back of the boat, so most of it flew back on to the rail. When I was finally finished I turned and tried to avoid eye contact with other passengers. They all pointed to themselves, signaling that they too had blessed the sea with such offerings.

A gentleman approached us, who my husband had personally seen throw up three times, and asked if we would object to the boat going back to the pier early. We had no objection. No one but the captain had objection. The captain refused to give up. He had a 98% success rate of whale sightings for crying out loud, and he would not turn back for a load of pansies such as ourselves.

When a whale spout was finally seen in the distance, everyone praised God and stood. A woman came onto the intercom, and like a Disneyland ride began cheerfully giving up information on whale culture. Her voice was surreal and a complete joke amongst the passengers. For the love of everything holy, we just wanted to see the fricking whales, please shut up happy voice and let us just take pictures of the stupid whales!

Now they don’t tell you that they can’t get within a few hundred yards of the whales, as they are protected. We were so far away we could just make them out. We circled them for a half hour rocking relentlessly on the waves. Finally, the cheerful voice over the intercom began apologizing profusely that our time was up, and it was time to go back to land.

The passengers cheered.

We were five minutes into our journey back when the cheerful intercom lady came by and asked if we had questions about the whales. I looked into her eyes and did not say a word. I emptied out with dagger eyes every ounce of misery I was feeling into her soul. I was about to open my mouth and unload my biting words when my husband interrupted and asked how long until we would be back to shore. “Oh, just 50 minutes or so! You’ll be feeling better soon!” To which my husband responded with jumping up and throwing up over the rails. I began to feel the familiar feeling in my throat and dreaded, more than I have talent to write, puking over the boats edge again. So I did the only thing I could. I passed out on my husband’s shoulder, forcing myself to sleep until we came into port.

I woke up drooling bits of corndog on my husband’s jacket. I looked up and my husband laughed at the site of me. Big black makeup circles under my eyes, bright red nose, tear streaks down my face…a pronounced green hue. We looked like hell. We had been through hell.

It was the three hour tour from hell. And all I had were these three pictures to show for it.



We both walked with pronounced limps back to the car, as if one of our legs was 1 foot shorter than the other. Our sea legs tortured us for the remainder of the evening…and nightmares ensued when we were warm in the inn’s feather bed.

Looking back my husband said we endeavored to complete what every great getaway requires: We made a memory. A memory we will not soon, or ever forget. A very sweet thought for sure.

Regardless…I leave you with this warning: Beware of the three hour tour. It didn’t work out so well for Gilligan…and it was only torture for me. And PS they will say anything to get you to take the tour. “It is a bit nippy,” they say…”The waves are a LITTLE choppy they say.” “Whale sightings are plentiful!” they say.

Do yourself a favor and watch a special on Animal Planet.

You probably will get better pictures too.

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Meri + Laziness = Stupidness.

I can say that…because I was both lazy and stupid yesterday, and what it all rounded up to is a whole lotta extra work.

Yeah, I’m super proud of my poor decision making yesterday!

Hold on a sec, I need to wipe down the dripping sarcasm off my blog.

There…much better.

So the boys woke up today with less than typical numbers. I know I’m going to be a bit of a Braggy McBragerson when I say that normally the boys wake up in the very low 100’s. So when L woke up with a 250, I knew.

I totally knew he needed a set change.

But that little voice whispers in the back of my head. (Meeeeeeri…he has enough insulin to make it until after schooool. Corrrrrect him…and he will be just fiiiiine.)

Yeah, my little voice is creepy like that.

So I believe this little voice. Even though I KNOW that all the boys are past due for their changes. Especially B… he only had 5 units left. I commissioned J to change out B’s reservoir for me, and I apply the set to his bum.

I sent the boys to school. Knowing.

As they were driving away in my mother in laws car, the OTHER voice…the one that knows what the H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS it is talking about…well, THAT voice says…you should have changed L’s and J’s sets too. Well, too little too late smart voice!

The first call came at 10:15. L is 425.

Picked him up. Set change on the side of the school parking lot. His cannula had completely wiggled its way out of his tush. It was bent hard against his skin. Blah.

The second call came at 1:30. J has 3 units left…AND, his pump has died. Battery completely dead.

“But isn’t there an extra battery in your school box? We are SO prepared like that! There has to be a battery!”

Yeah. That would be a negatory.

We finally got things settled by dinner time. I made this recipe recommended by a friend…

The boys sugars were brilliant at their 8:30 bedtime. Tiny amounts of insulin on board, but just right if you ask me…

And then 10:00 comes around…

Lawton alerts.

He was dead asleep a half hour before. But something woke him…and he was alerting.

L: 36

&*&^%$$####$$%^^&&**((((((@@@@!!!!!!

(That is my nice way of showing you my angst.)

The what if’s started flowing freely, along with my tears.

The big miracle of the story is Lawton kinda took December off from alerting. Once the Christmas tree went up, he was like…Oh great! Vacation! And we had lots of family from out of town to visit with…and we were dogsitting for a friend…and we had family staying with us…

But when the tree came down and he still wasn’t alerting, I started to panic.

Last Friday though…LAST FRIDAY…he began alerting again. Just like that.

And there he was last night, in front of me, alerting. Just when I started watching another show. I probably wouldn’t have checked the boys for another half hour.

I feel blessed and frustrated all at once.

The boys woke up with their normal great numbers this morning, and their pumps are full of fresh insulin and their bodies are sporting fresh sets…so I’m ASSUMING that all will be well today.

And as for my bruised ego? And my sad-pathetic-oh-poor-poor-Meri-self…I’m coming out of the fog.

Mostly because I just watched this:

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It's my party and I can change my blog if I want to!

Happy Birthday to me!

Booya!

As a present to myself, I have changed my blog banner. I've grown tired of staring at diabetic suppiles. I would MUCH rather look at the cutie pa tootie faces of my boys!

So there you have it!

Get it? 3D. 3 boys with D. Three boys with diabetes. (I know it is obvious, but humor me folks!)

Wait, you thought that was all?

No no no no. There is more!

I also gave myself my very own URL.

Oh snap!

I am the proud owner of ourdiabeticlife.com!

Although, you can still get here from my old blogspot address...weary fingers can now cut out the blogspot altogether. (Thanks to Joanne's husband Fred for his help!)

Happy Birthday to me!! AND Happy Birthday to Lorraine over at This is Caleb! We've taken a hard look at ourselves...and we are ok with being older. :) (It's kinda' a January 10th inside joke. ;)

PS Two great giveaways going on right now. One at A Sweet Grace, and one at the We Caralot Blog! Check em out!

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Doggone it, people like me!?

Please excuse the lateness of this post. I have had a super hard time wrapping my head around the generosity and the love of the DOC.

I found out last week that I had won all three categories I was nominated for in the DOC Awards.



I wish you could have seen my face when I turned on my computer that morning and found out. It was everything you can imagine…much like when the American Idol contestants get good comments from the judges and have that look of complete shock. I was even looking around the room…sure I was being punked. It was hands down one of my cheesiest moments to date.

Now that I think about it…I’m glad you didn’t see my face. VERY glad I was alone!

I’m pretty sure my jaw was agape for like 10 minutes. I kept staring at the screen…and this was all I could think of…


Many words come to mind, but the ones that stand foremost in my swelly brain are:

Thank you!

I don’t want to say anything, but man…I really have you guys hoodwinked! It’s all part of my evil plan to get you to like me and then eventually con you into sending me chocolate chip cookies.

Because every evil villain wants chocolate chip cookies, right?

That is my subtle yet painfully obvious way of telling you all I have started my New Year’s Healthier Eating Resolution. Hence the awkward and totally random insertion of warm chocolate chip cookies.

Cookies. They are what I dream about now.

Okay…I’m WAAAAAAAAAAAAY off topic.

Before I go, I want to encourage all of you to go back to the DOC Awards page HERE and read the blogs that were nominated alongside mine. They are amazing, fun, talented people. Some are wonderful D Mamas whose blogs I follow faithfully. Others are inspiring bloggers that are Type 1 themselves. Their insight and candor is fascinating to me. It’s like peeking into my boys’ futures. And you know what? I like what I see! They advocate for the future of our children…they are blazing a trail! And for that…I am eternally grateful.

Thank you to you for following and appreciating my journey. Thank you to the bloggers I follow, for advocating, making me laugh, cry...and just plain feel like part of a community...(okay, the music is playing me off the stage...I'm giving my kindest appreciative wave, wiping the honored tear from my eye, and ending my post now. ;)

Here is to another fantastic year of blogging for the DOC! Cheers!

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Finding my way as the unicorns flee.

So I’m flying through life. Walkin’, you know…strolling down the streets of Our Diabetic Life. There are bumps and there are cracks, but for the most part I’m able to keep a steady gait.

The holidays come and I get in my appreciative and sappy mode. I’m all about counting my blessings and living in the moment…seeing all the wonderfulness I have in front of me…

When one day L walks in, sits on my lap and says…

“I wish there was a magic potion to cure diabetes, I really really wish!”

But he doesn’t only say these words…he MEANS them. He utters them slowly, holding my face between his two sweet hands. He says it with conviction and with big crocodile tears in the corners of his eyes.

And I stop in my tracks.

'Hold the phone here…my baby isn’t OK right now.' My mind wandered back to the last few days. He had said something along the same lines every day that week, but this time he wanted me to really hear them.

Epiphany: No matter how OK I am with disease…No matter what I do to keep myself putting one foot in front of the other…no matter all the precautions I take to make diabetes “no big deal…” It all goes in the toilet if my boys are not OK.

I can be OK until the cows come home…but if it isn’t OK for them…if I see it affecting them…well, all bets are off.

And the tears come.

And I feel inadequate.

And the melancholy sets in.

That is where I have been. Sorting out these feelings I have.

It’s hard to stroll through my days with this underlying uneasiness.

I’ve been doing my best to fake it until I make it. It helps a little. Pretending I’m not overwhelmed with my baby’s words has helped me function. But the seed remains. The helplessness remains.

It haunts me that the only reason I’m okay with all this, is because my boys are OK with all this. If they are not OK…then my swelly brain will not be contained. It will seriously blow up.

Seriously.

I’ve watched L closely the last few days. L seems fine. He doesn’t complain. He is back to accepting his lot… and I am thankful he was able to share his angst with me. Our conversation seems to have eased his mind a bit. I think it helped him to know I wish there was a magic potion too. I told him even if a cure is never found, he will still accomplish great things in his life. I told him that diabetes will never hold him back from being awesome, and in fact diabetes has made him even more super awesome.

Regardless of the success of our exchange, the unicorns are jumping out the window and the rainbows are fading in the skyline. My peace has been disturbed. My joy has been waning, and my hope seems to be all I have left. I know I can move on from this hiccup, eventually. My days are a bit foggier than they usually are…but I can still see my way.

My theme for the new year is: One step at a time. One day…one step…I can do this…and most importantly…my boys can do this.

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A year in review: Our Diabetic Life 2010

I've been inspired by other amazing bloggers in the blog-o-sphere, and ask if you might take my hand to stroll with me down memory lane.

January 2010: I put out an all points bulletin for HELP WANTED: Stunt double for 1:30am blood sugar checks. Must have legs of iron for bumping into bed corners in the dark, and toes of steel for dresser edges and random toy bumpage. When awakened by the alarm, an instant steady gate is paramount for not bumping like a drunk into walls and doors. (No qualified applicants contacted me by the way...)

February 2010: I posted my first REENACTMENT:
Scene: Bedroom, 1:30am, parents in deep sleep, drooling on their pillows, dreaming of the weekend ahead.

*BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!*

Silence is broken by alarm. The alarm clock is across the room.

Meri nudges Ryan. (She REALLY doesn’t want to get up.)

Ryan hops out of bed. (A look of relief flashes over Meri’s face. She has a peaceful smile as she instantly falls back to sleep.)

((KERPLUNK)) Ryan is immediately back in bed. He only snoozed the alarm; he did not check the boys’ blood sugars.
(I know we have all been there!)

March 2010: My dear friend Lora needed my help. I posted, "MY FRIEND HAS LOST HER MARBLES," in an effort for her to find some peace of mind, or a piece of her mind...The first few verses went...

My friend has lost her marbles
Won’t you take the time to look?

My friend has lost her marbles
It happened when her world was shook.

The rocking of her brain caused them to roll around,
And when she needed them the most, they were nowhere to be found.

Because they are smooth orbs, marbles can be tricky to keep in check,
They roll around your life and slip away when you’re a wreck.

(Not a week later I found one by the fruit bowl. No kidding, I posted the picture on Facebook.)

April 2010: A POST TITLE WITHOUT A SWEAR WORD was written after a particularly terrible night blood sugar wise...and insulin wise. I think the first few sentences speak volumes...
If it were physically possible for a brain to explode from sheer anguish…

OR, if it wasn’t just a saying, but true to life that a heart could explode from worry…

Last night…

I would have been found on my living room floor in pieces.

Literally.

May 2010: Our diabetic Life participated in Diabetes Blog Week. I posted another reenactment, this time chronicling, A DAY IN THE LIFE OF OUR DIABETIC LIFE. Which started out much like your days...with an alarm at 1:00am.

June 2010: I wrote a little piece of which I concluded we are like She-ra, rockin bod, flowy hair and all. In FROM ZERO TO HERO, I pondered the fact that even though we sometimes see ourselves as Zero's, we need to accept the fact that we win EVERY battle we fight in this war...and that has got to be worth something. We are warriors!

July 2010: I wrote HOW I STAY OUT OF THE LOONY BIN. Our medical alert dog Lawton has saved my sanity many times. He is an amazing animal! TODAY happens to be his birthday! Happy 4th Birthday Lawton!!

August 2010: My boys started school and I wrote this poem about my youngest. I want the world to see him as I do. It started like this...

TAKE A SECOND LOOK
The blond boy that you treat as you do…
The one you don’t give a second thought.
He was diagnosed when he was two
You can’t imagine his life’s lot.

His smile is contagious
His laughter full of the sun
He hops and skips and runs and jumps
Yet his world has come undone.

September 2010: I wrote AN OPEN LETTER TO THOSE WHO ARE WORRIED ABOUT DIAGNOSIS #2. I have witnessed too many families go through a second diagnosis through notes, emails and phone calls...I know the worry, the sadness, the pain of it all. I wrote this letter for them, and for all of you who worry about your other children. My main message: All is well!

October 2010: I wrote: I WANT YOU TO KNOW SOMETHING. A post that received my kindest response to date. It began:
There are a few things I want you to know.

I want you to know, when your daughters pump ran out of insulin within the first hour of school last week…I have felt that very same anger and embarrassment that you did.

I want you to know, when your son wets his bed at night from a high blood sugar…I have felt the same sadness, guilt, and love for my son that you do.

I want you to know, when you forget to bolus your child for dinner, and their bedtime number is 508. I have felt the very same shame and intense regret.

November 2010: I began NaBloPoMo with a bang. It was the first SAE day, and you know me, I HAD SOMETHING TO SAE! I gave everyone the task of bolusing my son for lunch. One bolus out of the tens of thousands we have done...and turns out, it is a pretty complicated process. This is my first post that went "viral" so to speak. (10 times the normal hits is viral in my little world anyway. :) It was even stolen and plagiarized! I've hit the big time baby!

December 2010: I wrote: 'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE SET CHANGES. It was my twist on a Christmas Classic.

Reading back over my posts was way more emotional than I thought it would be. It has been quite a year and I have to say that through it all, I am still completely blessed. I have my family. I have you. What more does a D Mama need these days?

Happy New Year dear friends! I have a feeling this year is going to be an epic one...epically awesome! If the day is what we make of it...I'm going to try to make the best of every one of them!

Booya!

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