BETA BUDDIES

The Practice ...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 04:10:48 PST

At hockey practice yesterday:

Joe was going into a low-key practice with drills and scrimmaging with a blood sugar of 97 and a good 2 units of IOB (Insulin On Board) .

Joe popped 4 glucose tabs and headed out onto the ice. "The Chuck" (we decided to cool-ify the name "Woodchuck" ...and to be frank ... calling it "The Wood" seemed a bit perverted), Joe's diabetes supply bag, was now void of sugar. I usually keep a few bucks of coinage in "The Chuck" for vending machines and what-not for this very reason. So, I bought a Pop-Tart.

As I was tucking the Tart into "Chuck", a friend of Joe's noticed me. She is in High School. She saw the Pop-Tart, the glucometer, the syringes, the insulin bottle housed in "The Chuck". She then asked, "Does Joe have Diabetes?"

"Ah, yeah" ... dreaming of an eye-roll here. Never mind that we had this conversation last year.

"Like, the kind where he has to prick his finger?"

"Yep."

"How many times does he have to do that?"

"Like 8 to 12 times a day ... depending on the day" ...I did not even begin to mention harpooning his ass with pump sets and jabbing his arm with Dexcom sites...

"Oh.My.GAWd! Is that even good for him? I mean how can pricking his finger be good for him?!"

The mascara~laden~lash~fringed eyeball-roll may have actually happened here. Cut me some slack. I was patient and courteous otherwise. I know, I know ... I cannot expect the world to "get" my shit or my son's shit ... we all have "shit"... blah~blah~blah.

My response was short, sweet, and to the point, "Joe's finger must be poked so that we can tightly regulate Joe's diabetes. If we don't, then Joe could suffer limb amputation, cardiac disease, blindness, kidney disease, stroke out, or die an untimely death." Shortly thereafter, she moved onto buy some tape for her stick. I guess that was a conversation~ender.

I spent the rest of the practice breaking up the S'more flavored Pop-Tart into small chunks and cramming it through the hockey helmet cage as I "Mother-Birded" Joe to keep him in the low 100s.

A day-in-the-life of answering questions without a filter.

The Wounded Soldier...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 04:34:10 PST

Note: Usually I have plastic skate guards rink-side and sugar in my pocket ... and the glucometer right inside the garage door on the mudroom shelves. I have become a bit 'lax.

A few curses were smattering my thought feed as I was crawling through our mudroom and into our kitchen. I must have looked ridiculous and I was second guessing the amount of tri-tip and spicey pasta that I had consumed for supper. Hockey helmet and skates were donned. I was desperately trying to keep my blades from touching the slate and wood flooring. I was trying to protect my blade edges.

I was berating myself a bit. You would think I would always be prepared by now. It has been over five years since Joe's diagnosis. Five years of thinking and planning and anticipating lows. Five years of sugar stashing. Five years of being on a constant, slightly nagging state of alert. Five years of bullshit that is my shit because I am my son's pancreas. So, you would think I would have my "Joe~Skating~On~The~Backyard~Rink~While~I~Am~Skating~On~The~Backyard~Rink~Blood~Glucose~Chcking~System" initiated for the 2011/2012 skating season. Welp, I didn't. Hence the "double amputee...wounded soldier" crawl through my home, while helmeted accessorized by a cage nonetheless.

Blindly, my hands ferreted the kitchen island. Yep, there it was. The glucometer. I inched my way, on my belly, back through our home ... out the garage door ... and out to the rink. Joe skated over. The glucometer was readied. 5~4~3~2~1. A 247 was obtained.

"Your good to go Buddy ... not low ... let's get on with some one-on-one!"

A day-in-the-life of the behind the scenes in pancreating for my son Joe.

DESPITE Diabetes Monday: The Pictures Say It All

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 03:40:49 PST

On the Monday's in which I am hurting for "material", I am going to post a picture, a video, or story about Joe (or his family) doing something DESPITE the presence of diabetes in his life/our lives. My hope is that these little "snippets" will provide hope and inspire the families of newly diagnosed children.

This past summer Joe learned to mow the lawn. His determination and will and drive is all that I see in these pictures. The pump, the CGM, the medical ID bracelet blend and meld into the periphery.

A day-in-the-life of growing up with diabetes.

Blocking The Rubber With A Dexter In Your Pants...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Sun, 13 Nov 2011 04:01:24 PST

"I felt the vibrations and thought ... Uh-Oh, I am going low." This was Joe's experience while brick-walling a bunch of rubber yesterday as he played goal tender.

I had placed a new "Dexter" a couple of hours prior to Joe's game. In response to the buzzing and vibrating Joe tried fumbling through his hockey pants and pads to get a peek at Dexter, while manning goal. He quickly gave-up. The task of accessing anything through hockey pads is laborious and tedious at best ... and ... essentially next to impossible if you throw in donned goalie pads into the mix.

"Luckily, I then remembered that he (Dexter) was donging-off for two blood sugars to be entered Mom."

Yes, yes indeed Joe. Lucky for you. Lucky for your team.

A day-in-the-life of being a hockey~goal~tending 8 year old boy who just so happens to have type 1 diabetes.

Ah..."hi"

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Sat, 12 Nov 2011 06:07:55 PST

Not quite sure where to start.

I have been "gone" for a bit. Know I am O.K. I have been busy with the children, their schedules, and my volunteerism for making 23 paper turkeys (one per participating team) and like 230 hockey-stick-"feathers" (one for each player) as a decoration-project for one of Joe's upcoming hockey tournaments. The "bodies" of the turkeys are supposed to resemble pucks. I need to detail out the black-blobbed bodies today. Right now the Turkeys look ecchymotic (fancy word for bruised ... spell-check gave me "axiomatic" ~ WTF?) and not very "puck-like".

While I wish I could say it is just these damn turkeys that have been keeping me away, I cannot. It would be a lie. As many of you know, I tend to over-share here on the BUDDIES. I keep it real and I don't gloss things over. Many of you have written, messaged, and called ... Thank you for that. I don't even know how to "re-enter" blogging gracefully without being somewhat transparent with you. To just hop in and start writing "A day-in-the-life" of this and "A day-in-the-life" of that somehow seems a bit cover-up-y or lie-ish, especially after I have written about sugar dispensing tampons, Shark Week, out damn spot ... and after writing about wanting to cold cock the guy in the Disney Buffet line ... and ahemm... sharing about purposely stabbing myself with the Steak Knife incident etc. Sadly, yet entertainingly, the list could go on and on ... and on.

So, between sticking on lashed-googly-eyes and gluing on wattles ...

I have been working on a life, my life, that has somehow survived years of complacency (is this a mid-life crisis?). Patterns have been set-up. Routines entrenched. 'Going through the motions' has been the result. I am tired of just going through the motions. I want more. I want my children to see more. I am lost in trying to find my way. There, I said it ... my life isn't perfect. Alas, I am a mere human trying to live life and attempting to pancreate for a caffeinated Tasmanian Devil on Crack. Fuck. So, subsequently, my desire to write has diminished. I am trying to find my way back to a more 'present' and vivacious existence, and am working on feeling "less lost".

I hope to be around more. I hope to continue Beta Buddies with the "fuhhhks" and the mascara-fringed-eye-rolls to the back of my cranium as "for fuck-sakes" are muttered under my exhaled, exasperated breath like rapid machine gun fire. Oh, on a side note ... I am currently seeking employment. Any thoughts on if my blog, you know the "cursing issue" will be a detriment to my hire-ability?

OK, gotta go slap some fucking legs on these Turkeys now...

The scoop on my day-in-the-life.

Despite DIABETES Monday: And Yet Again...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 02:40:34 PDT

And yet again ... I am amazed that Despite DIABETES, Joe can skate and play hockey to his heart's content; he can keep up with his peers; he is tenacious. His blood sugars were running quite high. Inspite of that, he powered through with just a couple of minute lapses in grace.

Joe had a wonderful hockey weekend. Many goals were scored. Lessons were learned about "graciousness" and not doing a triple-fist-pump after you hog the puck for your 12th goal. Lessons were learned about working with your line. Lessons. Normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill lessons that did not include diabetes. Lessons that were more about just being a kid on a team. Cool.

A day-in-the-life of living life despite DIABETES.

Time...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Sat, 29 Oct 2011 04:13:32 PDT

It's not going away. It's always there. It's a grind.

And while I keep my head and chin up, I feel lost. Trying to keep up with the numbers, the activity, the routine that is anything but routine, and the growth is overwhelming. So, I have been slacking a bit. The logging has dropped off to about every third day. The tweaking takes place about once a week. The site changes have been put off until like day four or five, numbers permitting. Breaks from Dexter have been stretched from one day ... to two ... to three. Field trips, as a mobile pancreas, have left me seething and twitching, and flip my bitch switch more swiftly than Shark Week. I am burnt out. I am burnt out to an almost apathetic sort of way.

Five years of this shit is hard.

I feel bad for even writing all of this here. I know many of you are in the same boat. I recognize that one day blood sugar numbers will not be mine to manage. They will be Joe's, as it is his condition, his disease, his pathology, his "what-have-you" to care for, to shoulder, to treat. This is what is perhaps one of the most difficult aspects of parenting a child with type 1. Knowing "the grind" will be your child's to carry throughout his lifetime can weigh you down. It does me, at times.

This morning I am struggling.

Time to plaster a smile on my face. Time to have Joe check a blood sugar. Time to measure and weigh Joe's breakfast. Time to bolus. Time to pull my boot straps up. Time for a busy hockey weekend. Time to suck-it-up. Time.

A day-in-the-life of grief and coping ... even after five years of this bull-shit.

Despite DIABETES Monday: SMACK

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 03:13:39 PDT

For more on Despite DIABETES Monday's click here.

Helmet ~ Check
Shoulder Pads ~ Check
Shins ~ Check
Pants ~ Check
Socks ~ Check
Skates ~ Check
Stick ~ Check
Gloves ~ Check
Nasty Ass, CrAzY Ass, Bad Ass Honey Badger D' Mama Heart ~ Ah, fuck yeah ... CHECK

Despite DIABETES in Joe's life this D' Mama is taking up ice hockey. Monday nights I am piling up in a mini-van with my gals from the EJ and we are headed to the rink. Joe inspires me daily. Not just with how he deals with diabetes in his life, but with his dedication to "The Sport".

Wish me luck. Tonight is our first scrimmage. I am gonna lay some smack down fo' sho'.

A day-in-the-life of trying new things Despite DIABETES!

How Do You Spell "Anonymous" Showing "Posession" ... Anyone?

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Sun, 23 Oct 2011 05:33:16 PDT

The comments are where it is at. My posts, while entertaining at times ... while peppered with what we are all thinking but don't dare say out loud ... while inducing a "Jeez you cannot even begin to make this shit up" thought feed .... my posts are not nearly as informative or as thought provoking as the comments. Yesterday's post elicited a comment that has made me take pause and evaluate our current Pancreatic Chain Of Command.

First off, if you don't know me well, the "Bafoon" part of yesterday's post may have seemed a bit harsh. I am joking people! Know that I am not a heartless pancreas attached to a head, two arms, and two legs. I am sarcastic. Inappropriately at times, yes.

So...

Onto Anonymous's (how the fuck do you spell that anyway ... with the "posession" part?) comment to the "Double Bolus Bafoon Fiasco":

'This is just plain dangerous. Glad you caught it, but what if you didn't? Don't even want to think about it. When Moms take over 90 percent of the D care and most of the decision-making, that leaves a D education gap when a second party takes over. What if Mom has to go to the hospital emergently? Or worse? Hubby needs to be educated and brought completely up to standard. I would devise a written test to be sure. And I would share, in detail, what I am doing and why, every day, the basals, the boluses, the adjustments.... everything. And I would be pretty darn ticked off if hubby didn't bother to listen or tuned you out. You can NOT take care of D 24/7 100 percent of the time with hubby just "helping" any more. What happened here illustrates that. Hubby needs to step it up pronto. Too many children and young adults have lost their lives overnight this year to Type 1. Good post. It's a warning to all helpers.'

This comment hits close to home. It is true. I have inadvertently taken over the bulk of Joe's diabetes care. Dave is the primary bread winner in our home. I am the primary child-care provider, which ultimately encompasses pancreating for Joe. It is how the the fallout of the diagnosis settled. It has been what has evolved over the years. It becomes blatantly obvious when an event like the "Double Bolus" happens and then is subsequently magnified by Dave's inability to change the pump battery solo or his statement that he doesn't know how to carb count pizza while we were at a community event. All stated events have happened in a two day period. Wow.

I see this as a "Systems Issue". We have fallen into roles without thinking of the bigger picture. Blame should be distributed equitably (Kidding! No blame). Clearly, Dave and I need to readjust a few things in our pancreatic game. I recognize my mis-step here and am ready to make appropriate changes. Also, I will be contacting Animas. I think it is time for a new pump. Our 4 year mark on our durable medical ran out about 6 months ago. Our insurance would not approve a new pump "just because" of the timeline. We now have a reason to replace the pump. Can I say that on here?

Readjusting our day-in-the-life of pancreating for Joe.

Relative Of The Ape Family?

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 04:42:08 PDT

When he mentioned "the word" after I had published the Resentment Rant I was miffed. Where is he when I need him at 4:30am when I am posting on Beta Buddies?! He adds a whole new dimension of "colorfulness" to my vocabulary. No worries though. I let him, Dave, know that I was sure he would live-up to "the word", again, soon enough, and I would be given yet another opportunity to slight him on my blog. I would be given yet another opportunity to make him question why? Why does he continue to live with a pancreatic bitch with control issues? By the way ... control issues and pancreating do not, and I repeat, do not mix.

Onto "the word" in which he gave me permission to label him with during moments of "POOR Pancreating"....

Bafoon (bă-fün')
1. (n.) One who is foolish and distinctly resembles a baboon.
Origins: From buffoon, a clown or jester, and baboon, a relative of the ape family.

Personally, I prefer "Oblivious Bafoon". Just sayin'.

Two nights ago Joe had pizza for dinner. A cluster-fuck in the making for sure. I carb counted heavily. I bolused a good 70% up front. I extended the remaining 30% over 4 hours. Two hours later, Dave did a check (ok, maybe "Oblivious" is too harsh ... he is just a "Bafoon"). Joe was 293. Reportedly, via the "Bafoon" in question, 1.7 units was programmed into the remote. The bolus was initiated, but then the remote stated something to the effect of the "remote cannot communicate with the pump". The "Bafoon" then moved closer to the slumbering, hyperglycemic, glycosylating Joe and reprogrammed the remote to deliver yet another 1.7 units. He did this without checking the pump history. He did this without realizing the pump actually DID deliver the original 1.7 units. Again, the remote gave the warning that the "remote was not in range to communicate with the pump." Luckily, he thought to check the history before blindly and obliviously delivering yet a third bolus (I am refraining from inserting a "DUH" here ... see, I am gracious). Several glucose tabs and several checks throughout the night ensured a seizure-free, conscious, living, non-brain-damaged Joe. I did think of reducing the basal as well...but I was wary of the Evil Night-time Pizza Gods.

Perhaps "Bafoon" isn't appropriate.

A day-in-the-life of gratitude for my conscientious Third Pancreas In-Charge...I am thankful he checked the pump history.

Here We Go Again!

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 04:28:48 PDT

Last night...

As I was tearing up the emergently vending-machine purchased Chocolate Chip Pop Tart and cramming it through the cage on Joe's helmet, I was thinking what a cake-ass pancreas I have been for the past half year. I had forgotten the toll that Hockey takes on blood sugars. I had forgotten the toll Hockey takes on me as a pancreas. I had forgotten the running down the bleachers and the squeezing of my bod through a slender opening in the gate that allows me quick access to the arena floor, to the bench, and ultimately to Joe.

Joe's Hockey Season started Tuesday evening. He has had a couple of practices already. I am figuring out my Pancreating Plan for the 2011/2012 Season. Apparently 15 grams of free carbs prior to practice isn't gonna cut it. In addition to the 15g, I have been Mother Birding sugar like the Duggar's procreate (ooops, was that inappropriate?). Joe has been requiring another 30 grams during practice. Last year I did not mess with basal reductions for practices or regular games (only for tournaments). I may need to revisit that as an option this year. Only time and tweaking and studying and tweaking will tell.

Below, I share what we have been doing to manage Joe and Hockey. Again, PLEASE NOTE WELL: I am not a doctor, nor do I pretend to be a doctor, nor do I want to be a doctor. Please do not mistake any of this information as medical advice.

A 4 year old Hockey Joe

Pump on? or Pump off during exercise? What have you been told? What do you do? How do you manage your hockey playing, soccer ball smashing, running, basketball dribbling, larger than life type 1 kid when it comes to exercise? I read this article yesterday. I found it interesting and pretty "spot on" from what we have tried with Joe. I highly suggest you check it out. It is a short and easy read...again click here to view it.

Hockey, soccer, and baseball have been Joe's sports to date. Soccer and baseball have not challenged us much with blood sugars because they are "pussy" sports (totally joking...totally losing readers I am sure). He wears his pump while playing. When Joe was younger, if he was eating a meal an hour or less prior to playing, I would give him 8-12 grams of carbs for free to off-set the IOB (insulin on board). Otherwise, I would do nothing prepratory-wise. We would check his blood glucose prior to his play and if he was less than 140, we would "boost" with either sandwich crackers or fast acting carbs depending on what I had crammed into Woodchuck. Now that Joe is a bit older, I don't frontload him with free carbs even if he has a little IOB. I only boost as needed. His blood sugar usually holds steady.

Hockey is a different beast, and it is a tough beast. You try checking a blood sugar in under 90 seconds during a shift change with a gloved, puck-crazed Joe. It would be nice if Dexter (Joe's Dexcom CGM) could help us out here. Hey Dexcom, how about a longer leash on that bad boy?

We have tried many, many, many different insulin/sugar regimens over the years when it comes to hockey. When Joe first started playing we would disconnect him from the pump during play. That seemed to work well for him during practice, but immediately after hockey Joe would spike up to the high 200s or well into the 300s, and once in awhile the 400s. These highs were rough to reign in. So, I then tried the ol' "prebolus with one hour of basal, then remove the pump during play maneuver." Well this one sucked it due to the lows during play and the subsequent highs after play. Finally, what ended up working for us (and this seems to be what was shown in the study) was to leave the pump on, padded up to the hilt of course, and tucked into Joe's hockey pants. I have ran the gamut of basal reductions starting about an hour prior to play and extending the reduction to a few hours after play. I have left the basal at 100% and boosted.

After practice and games, Joe is usually hungry. FINE! EAT! High Maintenance Troll! (kidding). I usually cover the carbs, but NEVER and I repeat (I got "ding"-ed on this one a few times) NEVER would I blindly correct a high blood sugar after playing hockey. At times, I would try to do just a 50% correction and Joe would still bottom out. At times, depending on what is going on, I am assume the "bump up" in his blood sugar number is from the release of epinephrine. Those types of highs usually dissipate on their own. Who knows what this year will bring...Each year it seems to be a bit different. Each year becomes a bit easier. Each year I learn a bit more.

Now, I am not recommending everyone go out and ice skate while careening in front of catapulting pucks wearing $7,000 pumps. I am just letting you know what we do. I am just letting you know that you are not alone. I am just letting you know that your kid can do anything he/she wants to do despite diabetes.

My "UHM" Issue ...and... My Electrocuted Squirrel Hair-Do While I Talk Managing Type 1 And Sports

Managing sports in a child with type 1 is like a day-in-the-life experiment with expensive life support gadgets. Livin' The Dream.... people .... Livin' The Dream.

See, I Am Running A Courteous Household Over Here...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 02:30:46 PDT

Amongst the cute little fucker (again, my kid and I can call him what I want...and I at least added "cute" so cut me some slack) pseudo-running-away and Bridget's ever-changing-cocka-mamie hopes and dreams, I did have a proud pancrenting (pancreating + parenting = pancrenting) moment last week.

Bridget attends Student Council a couple of Friday mornings a month. In order for her to attend, she needs to be at school a bit earlier than usual. Of course, she lets me know of these Student Council days last minute, the morning of ...and... of course, my eyes end up rolling-up and to the back of my cranium inspecting my gray matter, while my head spins and pops off and "For Fuck-Sake's" pepper my thought-feed like rapid machine gun fire.

Anyway...

Back to getting the children out the door on the said Student Council morning that I was notified of very last minutely without any consideration for my sanity or mental well being. As I came down the stairs and entered the kitchen, Joe had a container set on our Salter Scale and he said "Mom, I measured out 30grams of weight of Goldfish."

Another heavily mascara-fringed-eye-roll lept across my face as a 'seriously what now?' and a 'I am not cut out for this crap' crept into my mind. Then I noticed 5 pretzel rods (a serving size worth, 22 grams of carbs) were neatly laid out on the kitchen island as well.

In his nasally, stretched out "s" and "soft-c" voice Joe stated "I thought I'd help you out so that we can get Bridge to Student Council on time."

Well I'll be a Fig Newton!

"Thanks Buddy. You did a great job measuring out your food ... that was nice of you to think of your sister."

A day-in-the-life of independence at it's finest. Thanks Joe!

DESPITE Diabetes Monday: I Am Warning You ~ LOOK AWAY!

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 06:10:23 PDT

The title should have served as WARNING enough. If you were brave enough to keep on reading/looking at this cluster-fuck of a blog, then there is no saving you. I am already done for. Obviously.

*A special "Thank You" to Scully for the image. She may be pissed that I linked to her here. Sculls, I am sorry if you are embarrassed to be linked to this here photo. Again, "Thank You". I feel, somehow, justified.

As many of you know, I have been known to mention time and again my "time of the month". I have creative ways of describing it. For instance, during the heavy flow-ish times I like to refer to myself as 'exsanguinating like a knicked hypertensive aorta'. That phrase reflects the nurse in me. I have also called my period "Shark Week". That phrase represents the crass-er side of me perhaps. Well, I'll just have you know that DESPITE DIABETES there is more to my creative and graphic labeling of menstruation. Apparently, I excel at extrapolating Ichthyology to Gynecology. Who knew?!

A day-in-the-life of being brilliantly gross DESPITE Diabetes. And. After this post, no, I will not blame you if you unsubscribe to the BUDDIES.

BUDDY BITS...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Sun, 16 Oct 2011 04:14:50 PDT

Yes, I am aware that my children will need therapy after reading my blogs. And...yes...perhaps Dave will retain a divorce lawyer.

Gonna go all over the place with this one. I think snippets of what has been going on will serve me best in catching you all up. The snippets may end up being lengthy; they may digress; they may contain profanity and inappropriate parenting techniques. Hey! What do ya expect anyway?

Snippet #1: My Absence ~ I have been thinking quite a bit about why I write Beta Buddies and the implications of my writing. Does writing a blog about type 1 diabetes in Joe's life cause me to focus on the disease, it's management, it's complications, it's burden too much? Am I skewing the way locals view us as a family? Am I altering the way people in the community will interact with Joe, with me, with Dave, and with Bridget. I dunno. I don't have any answers really. I have been thinking about it quite a bit though. I am not sure what I am going to do about Beta Buddies.

Snippet #2: Me ~ Welp, tarring the driveway ... in the fall ... during a fucking wind-storm was one of my more moronic moments while living my day-in-the-life as a fucktard. Smearing and dragging the tar while trying to pick off the dropped leaves was quite a feat. I did it though. Also, a new toilet seat that closes in "whisper quiet" fashion and that can be unlatched for cleaning was installed by yours truly, while No Sleep Till Brooklyn blared through the house. Painting, painting, and more painting is underway. I have been pleasantly busy.

Snippet #3: Bridget ~ Honestly. Seriously. I am working on becoming more sensitive and not "blah...blah...blahhing" in my head while she is talking to me. I am concentrating on actually listening to what she is saying. It is difficult people. She talks a fuck-ton. I am making progress and she has even acknowledged my attentiveness. Now ... she is still driving me a bit nuts. She wanted to be an Olympic Swimmer. Fine. I registered her for Swim Team Clinic. That dream dramatically ended when she saw a commercial touting auditions for Disney Channel. She then wanted to be an actress and expected me to just drop everything and fly with her out to Hollywood to follow her cock-a-mamie dream (no, I don't tell her that her dreams are ridiculous... I just write that here). That whole fiasco-laden fantasy lasted a week. Now. She wants to be a a famous singer. Daily, when she arrives home from school, downstairs she goes to "practice" on the Wii Sing It. And... much to Joe's dismay (which he is not at all shy about sharing with me in a bellowy-shout down the stairs), she also sings the National Anthem ... repeatedly ... over-and-over-and-over-and-over again while getting ready for bed.

Snippet #4: Joe ~ The little fucker (I can call him that because he is my kid) pseudo-ran-away a few days ago. I know him. I know how he processes the world. I know how he deals with hurts. I know my kid. So, when Joe's feelings were hurt by friends ... and I, through his perspective, sided with his friends ... I expect him to "disengage" a bit. Joe will usually remove himself from situations that upset him and pull himself together before re-engaging. I know this about him. I allow him the space needed. Little did I know that this particular situation would require about three to four blocks of "space" to process. And. He ran off without sugar. Nice. I suck.

Snippet #5: Dave ~ He still remains a lesser pancreas than I.

A day-in-the-life of what is going on in my day-in-the-life. Love to you all.

Despite DIABETES Monday: Rockin' The Werewolf Hair

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 02:52:22 PDT

On the Monday's in which I am hurting for "material", I am going to post a picture, a video, or story about Joe (or his family) doing something despite the presence of diabetes in his life/our lives. My hope is that these little "snippets" will provide hope and inspire the families of newly diagnosed children.

Despite DIABETES, Joe can sure ROCK Werewolf Hair. Now, I don't mean to brag or anything ... but in addition to mad pancreating skillz, I can wield a can of hairspray and back-comb with the best of them people!

And... Despite DIABETES, Joe is always game for hamming-it-up with his witch-for-a-mom.

A day-in-the-life of living life to it's fullest despite diabetes and a recent GI bug that has left us battling many, many lows.

Missing The Old Her...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 02:42:54 PDT

Bridget, Joe's sister. She is 10 now. She is in 5th Grade. She walks home from school. She attends the "Tween Center" on Mondays. She is growing. She is maturing. She and I are drifting apart. She and I are not seeing eye-to-eye. She and I are at odds quite a bit. Our latest battle was over her desire to sell "home-made" hair gel (yup, she made it herself) that included mint flakes (yup, the green and flakey herb) and red (yup, fucking Ronald McDonald red) food coloring. She wants to go door-to-door in the 'hood selling this gel that is to be packaged in used Orange Juice bottles. WTF?

I ran into this post this morning. It made me smile. Hard to believe it was less than a year ago. Hard to believe that one child can come up with so many Cock-A-Mamie plans (remember the stapled pillows for the Haitians and the pickle jar incident).

"Bridget that will not cure it!"

I was mascara-ing my lashes with the oscillating-wanded Lancome black inky goodness and thought I heard some "scuttle-butt" from my two little trolls.

"It is worth a try Joe..." Bridget's response to Joe's outburst was heard over the mascara wand vibrations.

At this point, I was then "lashed-out" and ready for my day. I came out of the master bedroom to find out what was going on. Joe looked plussed. I asked Joe what he was upset about. He responded that Bridget thinks she can cure diabetes. He was not in like mind and he didn't seem amused that "the cure" was being taken on by his 9 year old sister. This is big shit! The cure. I am sure it was a little insulting to Joe that his sister thinks she can figure it out when world-renowned researchers are left empty-handed. To think his ass has been a giant (he got my butt genes) pin cushion for the past 4 years...not to mention his calloused fingers... the lows... the highs... the restrictions... the stares... the regimen... the routine... the neverending-ness of it all has been going on and on and on... and his sister now has the answer! His 9 year old sister has it all "figured out" between reading Harry Potter books and watching Phineas and Ferb! I guess he must have felt jipped somewhat.

Then...

Bridget kindly takes over the conversation (she got my gabby genes) to speak her "peace". She emphatically stated that she thought that microscopic analysis of the melted snow from Joe's boot would hold the answers that we were seeking. She went on to explain that maybe the scientists had it all wrong. "The CURE" is perhaps different for each person with diabetes. What if diabetes could be cured by what people love? Joe loves to ice skate. Snow and ice should cure Joe. "Cure it, diabetes, with what they, the persons with diabetes, enjoy and love the most" is Bridget's current hypothesis. Pure. Beautiful. Deep. I get it.

And, again... No, I am not making this shit up. She even stained the melted boot snow with Methylene Blue!

A day-in-the-life of Bridget, Joe's empathetic sibling.

Despite Diabetes Mondays (ahemm...on Tuesday) AND Standardized Testing

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 03:09:30 PDT

I think I am gonna start something a bit new over here on The BUDDIES.

On the Monday's in which I am hurting for "material", I am going to post a picture, a video, or story about Joe (or his family) doing something despite the presence of diabetes in his life/our lives. My hope is that these little "snippets" will provide hope and inspire the families of newly diagnosed children.

In honor of Sugar's picture on Wendy's post here is ...

Joe's first DESPITE DIABETES Submission:

A day-in-the-life of "living" life with diabetes.

AND...WAIT!!!!

Question for you. Do you have special blood sugar parameters for standardized testing? Joe is starting NECAP testing today. He is only in Third Grade. My initial thought is who gives a rat's ass where his blood sugar is. I mean, obviously if he is low...treat it prior to testing. Am I being to cavalier? I know the highs can throw Joe off a bit too. Any thoughts? Do you have standardized testing covered in your child's 504 plan?

The ADA's take

JDRF's ditty

Sample 504 Plans

How Long Has This Been Going On For?

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 03:48:50 PDT

Last night...

At 3:32 am....

I am awakened by the the bright glow of the hallway light flooding my room from the doorway, as Joe enters.

"Mom, can you cover me with a blanket? ... I just had a really bad dream..."

"Sure Buddy."

I got up. I followed Joe back to his room. I grabbed a blanket from his closet shelf and spread it over his lean little 8 year old body. I kissed his cherubic, dimpled cheek. I grabbed the glucometer and readied it for a blood sugar check. I lanced Joe's finger. The blood wicked up the test strip. 5-4-3-2-1. A 97 graced the screen. Dexter was showing a smooth trend-line. I picked up the Dex 4 container. Shook it a bit. Nothing. No sound. It was empty.

Joe then chimed in, "Oh, I just took the last glucose tab right when I woke up Mom ... Dexter was 71 with a diagonal down."

Too tired to even have a "For Fuck Sake" fleet through my thought feed and too exhausted to process the information, I said goodnight and headed back to sleep.

This morning I addressed it. Apparently, Joe has been taking glucose tabs when he feels low in the middle of the night. He is not waking us up when he feels low. He reads Dexter and "boosts" accordingly. While I am encouraged by his independence and his diligence in avoiding lows, I am a bit concerned that he has not been letting me know that he is feeling low. And. His pump settings may be off a bit due to the fact that I have not been aware of his "nocturnal boosting". Great. I am livin' the dream folks...livin' the dream.

A day-in-the-life of reigning in Joe's evolving independence.

Struggling A Bit

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Fri, 30 Sep 2011 02:42:42 PDT

Diabetes has been using my ass as a rope mop on a boys elementary school bathroom floor, you know especially the part right around the base of the toilet. The floor has been doused with glass shards. My ass has been sliced and splintered during this mopping session and is being rinsed in a lemon juice solution and then dipped in salt. Diabetes is being fickle. And. It is messing with my kid. I am not happy.

This post doesn't show Joe, and perhaps myself, in a positive light. It is our reality. I am sharing it for a couple of reasons. One, I am sure hoping we are not alone. And. Secondly, I am hoping to let others know that they are not alone.

Yesterday at 2:12pm, I received a phone call from the School Nurse.

"Reyna, Joe is Ok. He has been running high today. He is now in the 300s and seems upset. Here let me see if he will talk to you."

I wait on my end of the phone. Joe's voice never materializes. The Nurse hops back on the line and feels I should come to school early for pick-up to check on him. I asked if he had ketones. Joe had refused to check them. I hung up, checked my mascara situation in the mirror ... seriously, I did.... and then headed to the school.

When approaching the doorway of the Health Office, I see the Nurse and the Principal sitting in the Health Office. Joe is laying, sprawled out, face down with his pump willy-nilly under his body and clutched tightly in his hand. His face is buried in his arms and facing the wall.

I entered the room and grabbed the ketone meter from the Woodchuck. I quickly realized my error. I was ready to deal with "D" first and had not acknowledged Joe and his current state of emotional deterioration. I then put the ketone meter down, patted Joe's back and asked him how he was doing. There was no answer. I sat there for a moment with my hand on his back. Still, there was no response from Joe. So, I lanced his finger and the blood ketone meter read 0.1. Good.

I asked the Nurse if Joe had corrected the 318 that was obtained at 2pm. He had not. I rechecked a blood sugar and he was 341. I corrected via the remote. Joe and I got into a bit of a struggle here because he was touching the arrows on his pump. Touching the arrows on the pump would cancel the bolus I was trying to deliver. He knows this. I removed the pump from his hands somewhat forcefully. The bolus infused. I then curtly told Joe to get up and head to his classroom and gather his belongings, as it was now the end of the school day. He got up. His eyes were pooling with tears. He composed himself in the Health Office bathroom. I reminded him to thank the School Nurse. He did, in a barely audible whisper. Then off he went to gather his belongings from his classroom.

It took him about 20 minutes to "re-set"; for him to be fine. He played with his pals on the playground after school.

On the car-ride home I asked him what had happened. He explained that nothing had really happened. He said he felt horrible in the 300s. His body felt sick. "I just melted down Mom".

*sigh*

"Joe, we went through quite a bit to enable you to do your diabetes care in the classroom. You need to show the school you are going to be responsible. Today's behavior was not showing "responsibility" Joe. When you are feeling bad, when your body is not feeling good because of diabetes please in the back of your mind remember that the School Nurse and your teachers are trying to help you. Listen to them. They are trying to help you get the numbers back in range so that your body can feel better. Can you try to do that Buddy?"

Quietly, Joe responded "Yes, Mom."

Upon arriving home, Joe's blood sugar had climbed to 380. I changed his site. I corrected. We then headed to soccer practice. He was then 400. I then did the inpatient "no-no" I corrected again ... at an athletic event none-the-less. Of course he crashed to 98 within an hour. He had about 1 unit of IOB. I fed him a juice, 3 Starbursts, and the team snack of Cheetos to buffer the crash. When we got home he was 121. He ate dinner with his carbs fully covered with insulin. The remainder of the night Joe's numbers remained in the 120s to 150s.

A day-in-the-life of struggling with highs and managing the crash.

It Was A Bad One

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 02:40:49 PDT

Trying to "harness" Joe's exuberant energy level is an impossible task. I know this. I don't even know why I tried. I expended more energy yelling at him while I was trying to run and keep up with him. I should have just saved myself and only focused on the running part. He is what he is and it is one of the things I love most about him.

"Walking LEGS Joe!"

and...

"Joe WAIT!"

and...

"Joe SLOW DOWN!"

and...

"JOE STOP!"

.... were repeated over and over and over again yesterday on the Snake Mountain Field Trip. It rained. The trail was wet and muddied. Leaves camouflaged rocks and roots that inhabited the path. My eyes were always glued to Joe who seemed to go into stealth mode and would suddenly be like 80 feet ahead of me. I fell a couple of times. It rained. I got eaten alive by mosquitoes. No really...it was all good. Seriously, it only took two glasses of wine and not a pint of vodka to dull the experience.

I digress...back to the story...

While hiking, my friend said she had never seen me like this. She had never seen me so anxious about Joe. Odd how I am fine with him playing hockey, skating up and down ramps at skate parks, and careening down slip and slides while standing on boogie boards, but a damn hike in the woods sends me over the edge.

Let me explain.

I am afraid of fucking losing my diabetic kid in the woods. I am afraid he will get lost. I am afraid he'll go low. I am afraid no one will be there to help him and he will die. Alone. It is that simple.

*******

The hike started at a Tasmanian-like pace. Joe was working the trail with vigor. He and his friend were chatting incessantly. I was keeping up while hanging and talking with a good friend. Joe seemed fine ... for awhile. We had boosted him with 20 grams of carbs on the bus and decreased his basal by 30%.

About 10 minutes into the hike, Joe was 180 and double downing on Dexter. He drank a juice and continued on at a generous pace for a bit. Then he took another look at Dexter. I could tell he was starting to feel "off". Whenever he starts peeking at Dexter frequently like this, he is in for some massive blood sugar swings... 140, still double downing. I performed my heroics as a life-sized human Pez Dispenser and doled out a couple of Starbursts and changed the basal reduction to a negative 60%. I suggested a "break" from hiking until the arrows stop plummeting. No. Joe will hear none of it. We continued on with our friends.

A few minutes later...

"Mom...my legs don't work."

Fuck.

Here we go. It will be a bad one.

Joe sat on the side of the trail. His blood sugar was 50. Dexter was showing a 40 and double-downing. He was dropping fast. We were in the middle of the woods in B.F.E. I encouraged our friends to move on. I didn't want to ruin their hike. Joe was chomping down Starbursts. I was kneeling beside him. As far as my eye could see, the trail was then uninhabited. I felt a teensy-tiny bit uneasy as Joe was pasty and his CGM was still showing a 40 with double arrows down.

Joe's voice snapped me out of my unease.

"Mom, you may need to carry me down the mountain. I cannot make it up."

This pissed me off. Not at Joe. But at the disease; at the low. You see, my son ... my Joe ... is not a quitter. He would not back down from a hike. It isn't in his nature. The low was clouding his judgement and making him feel so weak that he was considering giving up.

"Joe, I know you feel bad now. Let's ride out the low. We are hiking this mountain. Has mom ever let you down before? You will feel differently in a couple of minutes Buddy. Hang in there."

With the pep-talk complete and a few more minutes under our belt and some good friends coming up along the path, we continued on our way up Snake Mountain. Joe made his way to the front of the pack and was with the first group that emerged from the woods; from the hike. Due to his speedy-hiking, I got the "added bonus" of sitting on the bus an extra 40 minutes waiting for the rest of the Third Graders to finish the hike. Yay me (in a "Livin' the Dream" ~ like voice).

A day-in-the-life of Type 1 Diabetes and Joe on Snake Mountain.

JEALOUS!

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 02:12:33 PDT

Not sure that they want to be associated with this mess of a fucked-up blog. So I won't mention their names. Well, actually Nikki (my BFF) is the one on the Left. The middle gal is my pal "Little R". These are two of the many BUDDIES that I am referring to in my post.

The visions of them are playing and replaying in my mind's eye.

I can just see them in like a convertible or something uber-glamorous. Their hair is blowing beautifully as the wind lifts it. Sunglasses adorn their faces. They are laughing. You Gotta Fight For Your Right (To Party) is blaring Beastie Boy style. Their lip-sticked lips are seductively sucking and pulling on straws that are bathing in some sort of delicious and energy inducing Dunkin' Donut's concoction. Secrets are shared. Laughter continues. They blaze by me, hair still blowing, lips still sucking, still laughing...bwah-ha-ha-ha.... as I am stuck on the bus with 40 or so Third Graders. I am piercing my heavily mascara-fringed eye-balls with fiery hot pokers while mumbling an incoherent "blah..blah...blah" internally as I seethe. UGH.

I am jealous (not really, but the scene that I have assembled in my head is too comical). Joe has a field trip today. We are hiking Snake Mountain. The whole Third Grade is going. Many of his friends parents are going. Many of his friends parents are my very good and best friends. Many of them will be carpooling together. Many of them will be mocking me and my bus ride.

The protocol for Joe to go on field trips is that either a nurse or a parent will accompany him on the outing. A parent or nurse must be on the bus transporting Joe to and from the field trip location. A terrific, safe plan by an extremely responsible school.

My plan for a day full of hiking is a decreased basal of 30% and boosting as needed. Wish me luck.

A day-in-the-life of ridin' the bus while I pancreate for Joe.

A Tough Conversation...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Tue, 27 Sep 2011 05:25:16 PDT

I am a fairly self-aware person; internally and externally. Through writing and blogging almost 400 posts now over the past year and a half, I have come to realize perhaps my struggles in coping with Joe's diagnosis in the early years stemmed, in part, from my inability to accept myself portraying negative emotions.

Many of you may be surprised by this, but I am an outgoing, quite gregarious, somewhat loud, filled with laughter individual. I know Beta Buddies, at times, can be a bit on the "downer" side. I know that I am not always writing about what a great day we had hand-in-hand with diabetes in our lives. I am aware that the reality of a few of my posts is unsettling. I feel safe here. This is where the other side of me, the more negative emotions, are "acceptable" by me to be revealed.

I know all of this about myself. I am aware. I do try to make sure that this personality quirk, flaw, trait, or what-have-you does not impede on how my children deal and cope with life. I do not think it is healthy to mask things with humor and laughter and spasticity all the time. It is simply how I am; how I deal; how I survive. And....ironically enough, this is where I tend to disagree with persons that are unaccepting of other's negative emotions in dealing with diabetes. I worry that by not acknowledging them, by stuffing them, by ignoring the sad, the mad, the frustrating, and the depressing emotions that diabetes brings into our lives that we are creating, yet, even larger psycho-social-emotional landmines.

I worry about this for Joe.

I hope I handled the following situation alright. It was a first.

*********

Yesterday morning as I woke Joe up for school...

Me: "Yo, Joe it's time to get going!" (with a gentle rub to his back)

Joe: With a lispy, drawn out "s", nasally voice, "So early. Why did you have to wake me up..."

Me: "No worries Joe. Tomorrow you get to sleep-in because you are getting your Flu Shot... So, you won't need to be at school bright and early in the morning." (Perhaps this wasn't the best way to let him know about the Flu Shot. In hindsight I do realize this).

Joe: Buries his in his folded arms and starts crying.

Me: A silent "Fuck" fleeted through my thoughts.

Me: I just sat there quietly.

Joe: Composed himself.

Joe: "Do realize how many needles I have taken in my life?! Do you! I don't want a Flu Shot on top of everything else. I don't!"

Me: What to say? Struggling with words ... here is what I went with... "Joe, I know. It is a lot. Taking care of your diabetes is hard work. It is everyday. The needles. The food. The sugar. The stopping. The sites. The stares. The grind."

Joe: Sniffling a bit, still with tears ... "Mom I have had more needles than any of my friends. Any.Of.Them."

Me: "I know buddy. I know. Feel sorry for yourself now. Get it out. Then move on. Everyone on this earth Joe. Everyone... has their "thing". Everyone has something that they have to deal with, cope with, and live with. It may not be "diabetes", but they have something. So, it is OK to feel down once-in-awhile. It is. Allow yourself that. But, then, you must stop and face your day with one foot in front of the other. Find things to be thankful for. Move on..."

Joe: Interrupting my crappy speach ... "Mooom I feeeeeeeeeeel Llllooooooooooooowww." (in the increasing in octaves and then decreasing in octaves that we all know means Joe is actually low voice)

He was 65. He had 2 glucose tablets. I went down to the kitchen to pack lunches.

10 minutes later, he bounded down the stairs. "I feel much better Mom."

In a way, I am glad he was a bit low ... for a couple of reasons. First off, Joe is not one to feel bad for himself and this interaction caught me off guard. Secondly, I am hoping the low clouded his memory of my response here. I don't know if it was the right thing to say. I want him to talk to me about his feelings. I want him to know it is OK to "feel" whatever it is that he is "feeling". I do. I just don't want him to be a kid that feels sorry for himself. It is a tough balancing act my friends; difficult at best. I have said this time and time again. The psycho-social-emotional ramifications of this disease are all encompassing. They are overwhelming.

Essentially, a "Suck It Up" talk with my son Joe as he lives his day-in-the-life with type 1 diabetes.

B2B ... and The Demise Of Woodchuck #2

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 03:08:51 PDT

Ok, so there may or may not have been pole dancing; not by my well behaved friends...but maybe or maybe not by me. And, I may or may not have applied four different types of mascara for the evening. And, I may or may not have gotten a rash from dancing vigorously, while wearing inappropriate-for-hot-sweaty-dancing feminine hygiene products. Just sayin'.

I went to the Back To Black Party on Saturday night with my friends. The cowgirl boots worked like a charm. While other women were dealing with aerating the lawn, I was "four wheeling" like a Rock Star.

Onto the post...

*********

Woodchuck #2 "bit it" yesterday. The zipper busted out like my Jordache Jean zippers would back in my Junior High School days.

R.I.P. Woodchuck #2

In the 5 years Joe has had diabetes, I have only used Woodchuck #1 and then, after his demise, Woodchuck #2 as our main diabetes bags.

R.I.P. Woodchuck #1

Last evening...

Luggage was flying from under the stairwell. Actually, I was tossing it and uttering many a "For Fuhhhhks Sake" while searching for Woodchuck #3. I know I had stuffed him somewhere in the "bag section" (aka heap of bags thrown under the stair well in no particular order) of our basement. I had already sifted through the mess a few times to no avail. Dave tried to help. He should not have, as my Bitch Switch was "on". He quickly scurried away realizing his error.

Finally!

Meet Woodchuck #3....(thoughtfully sent to me by a reader, who shall remain anonymous with my labeling him with the first letter of his first name, so... by a reader named "J" ~ Thanks "J"!)

We will call him "Woodchuck" for short...

What bag do you use as your everyday...goes everywhere with you ... diabetes bag? Please provide a link. I am thinking of switching things up a bit.

A day-in-the-life of going through Woodchucks like a growing, ill, stressed out, menstruating diabetic going through insulin at a Chinese Buffet. And. I am noticing a trend with mentioning periods in my posts. I will stop. I think I may start losing the guys if I keep this up.

It Is Any Wonder I am Allowed To Drive...

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 03:14:08 PDT

So, I made a list (yeah, I know...I hate lists) on Monday. I finally got around to dealing with it, the list, on Wednesday.

1)Henry

2)Bridget

3)Joe

I needed to make "well-child" and "well-puppy" appointments for the three of them.

The puppy appointment making went without a hitch. Getting in touch with Bridget and Joe's pediatricians office was a different story. I left a message stating my needs and left my cell number for the callback information.

Of course...

As I am driving and blasting some Coldplay with a sliding and shifting back-and-forth in the back of the van freshly~made~Shepherd's~Pie for a post~surgery~recovering~friend (see people, I am a nice...wholesome person ... who just so happens to curse like a truck driver ... and drowns out my children's voices with Mumford & Sons ... and who tucks tooth fairy money in the handle of the Vodka bottle to remind myself to "pay-up" as I 'take the edge off' !!!)....the call comes in...

Ring-a-ding-a-fucking-ling-a....

Caller ID shows it is a "Restricted Number". I pick-up. The "Scheduler" (the name for the lady on the phone) is ready to schedule Bridget and Joe's appointment.

Steering, talking on the cell phone, and scanning the car with darting (and might I add in here...heavily mascara fringed) eyeballs ... as I crank down the volume on the Coldplay ... I find what I am looking for. A pen. And yep, an alcohol pad will do the trick. I scribble down the appointment times for Bridget and Joe. Joe's was made for November 29th. I asked about the flu shot. The "Scheduler" stated that Joe could just have it when he came in for his appointment. I explained that he was "high risk" due to the fact that he had Type 1 Diabetes and then asked if there was there an earlier time that I could get him in for his inoculation.

She ran it by the nurse.

Yep, the nurse agreed that Joe should receive his flu shot earlier rather than later. So, next Tuesday we are headed to the clinic for Joe's flu shot.

Have you scheduled yours?

Hoping to prevent the flu in Joe's day-in-the-life.

Resentment Rant

noreply@blogger.com (Reyna) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 02:54:41 PDT

Pre-post note: In a normal environment Joe would check his own blood sugar. Due to the congestion of the hallway, and coveted brownie-cake-like-thing clenched in his hand as he was masticating, and the lack of a good place to sprawl out Woodchuck (Joe's diabetes supply bag)... Dave or I needed to do the blood sugar check for the sake of ease.

For one brief, fleeting moment as I gazed at him while he was standing there aloof to my needs, I wanted to fucking strangle his neck with the Woodchuck strap.

Yep, I am talking about Dave. Yep, I think a little resentment came into play. Yep, admittedly ... that is part of diabetes in our lives; in Dave's and mine.

Back to the asphyxiation via Woodchuck urge. We were at Joe's elementary school the other evening for the annual Open House event. We had visited his classroom. We were then trying to visit the rest of the school. A bake sale was taking place in the hallway. It was tight. It was cramped. It was congested. Bridget and Joe were taking inventory of the vast selection of confectionery goodness. Bridget made her choice quickly and moved on. Joe, on-the-other-hand, was taking for-fuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhking-ever. The line was backing up. He then went to the back of the line to view the table, once again, before making his selection. Eventually, after causing his impatient mother to have a near hypertensive stroke, he chose a brownie-cake-like thing. Fine.

In the congested, crowded hallway Joe started chomping away on the brownie-cake-like thing. In the congested, crowded hallway I was trying to locate Woodchuck, whom (I guess I personify Woodchuck) is draped over my husband's shoulder. Down through the congestion, through the crowded-ness I see my husband obliviously doing his own thing and not noticing me holding my hands over my head acting out a MIME doing a blood-sugar-check-procedure in a very animated-like fashion with my heavily mascara-fringed eyes bugging out of my head. Meanwhile, Joe now has the brownie-cake-like-thing smeared over his hands. Great. Now I gotta wipe a finger off too (apparently, my irritability threshold was low). Ugh.

Dave is still aloof. I am slightly miffed. Joe and I work our way through the crowd and over to Dave...who now...finally notices us, yet still doesn't get that I need the Woodchuck. I hiss at him, in an annoyed-like voice "Woodchuck".

"Ah...oh, yeah" Dave replies ("DUH" goes through my thought-feed)

He just handed it, Woodchuck, over to me. He kind of dumped it into my hands like it was totally my responsibility. Now, this really kind of irked me off. Why didn't he just unzip Woodchuck and do the blood sugar check himself? Why me? Why me? Why is it always me!!!!??????????????

(Rant Over)

So, instead of seething internally and going all passive-agressive on his ass, I privately pointed out how he just essentially "dumped "D" over to me". Frankly, this happens all the time. Yes, it is how we have set up our lives. Dave is the sole bread winner for our family. He works hard. He is a lovely man. Great father. Devoted husband...blah...blah.......BLAH....and a half-wit pancreas! There.I.Said.It. I feel better.

In all seriousness, Dave did acknowledge that he did just mindlessly hand over "D" to me. He didn't think anything of it. He apologized. I was fine. Admittedly, though, resentment did flood my emotions that evening. It doesn't happen often, but it does happen.

A day-in-the-life of being the Head Pancreas In Charge and the resentment that can accompany that title.