Archive for July, 2009

ooof

Suddenly, the place to dump my fluff has become a wee bit more important.

Last week The Boy was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.  He wasn’t showing any side effects or symptoms yet, aside from having to pee every hour.  We knew he’d been drinking a lot of water, but at 9, he’s old enough to get it without asking for help and we didn’t realize just how much he was drinking.

The eye opening occurred on vacation.  Every year we take a 4-5 hour drive and visit my elderly aunt & uncle (who would kill me for calling them elderly).  They live in the woods, and have no children, so when we’re there, we’re there. My aunt is also a bit a neat freak, to the point that if you use a glass between meals, she washes it as soon as you’re done.  She quickly got the point where TBs glass was allowed to sit on the table for him.  The kids also slept with me in the sofa bed (DH couldn’t come, he had to work) so every time the child got up in the middle of the night, I knew.  No nine year old should be getting up three times a night to pee.  The drive home was the kicker.  My dad, who went with us, is on blood pressure medication.  This medication, as the whole Western world knows, makes you pee.  We stopped at a bathroom every hour on the way home so my son could pee. Not my medicated dad, but my kid.  I knew we were fucked at that point.

The next day we were at the pediatrician’s office, and that afternoon we were checked into the hospital.  It’s odd, everyone kept stressing we were there not because he was sick, but because we needed training.  It seemed obvious to me; I hope to God they don’t show people with little/no health care a needle and insulin and kick them out the door.  I hope it was just to hammer home that he wasn’t sick, just deficient in insulin.

Needless to say, I was the one elected to stay with him in the hospital.  I slept in one of those little chair-bed contraptions.  The last time I saw one of those was when I gave birth the kids and they have them in the room for the “convenience” of the father.  Convenience my ass, I was too tall for the damn thing, and I am not a tall girl by any stretch.  I’m finally going to the chiropractor today to get my back and neck set straight while I can still move.

But, life goes on.  The baker’s rack in the kitchen looks like a little drug store, or a junkie’s den.  We’ve got his needles, testing strips, lancets, meters and other accessories stacked there, along with all of the documents and books the hospital gave us.  We’re counting carbs and giving shots and worrying about him going low.  And through all of this, desperately trying to keep things as close the the “old” normal as possible.  The Girl is being neglected, but there’s not a whole lot I can do.  DH and I are not good enough yet to be able to figure out the right shot dosages for meals without each other.  So, she waits impatiently for our time.  Her birthday is coming up, and I still haven’t finalized all the plans.  I have everything I need (I think) except for presents, so the party will go on.  That day, I swear she will be my focus.  Next week her and I are meeting her godmother in The Big City for a surprise lunch at the American Girl store.  She will get the doll with her name for her birthday, and she loves the city.  I’m not fond of the city, or of dolls for that matter, but this will be fun.  We were considering getting her a kitten, but I’m not sure we need the extra  responsibility right now.  Theoretically, it would be hers to take care of, but realistically, DH and I would be doing the caring.  Then again, a friend of her own might help her deal with the lack of attention.

There will be more, and more frequently.  But for now, I need to go home and make sure my mother can give him the right amount of insulin in his shot.

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