Don’t celebrate that new site too soon
Evening: Bigfoot Spouse drive BSpParents’ home for move logs before blizzard. Nice son.
Then Bigfoot realize time for change site. Bubs prefer Daddy but Mommy OK. So NBD, Bigfoot change site. And since impending blizzard, and since no school tomorrow, and since not usually change site, celebrate one icy glass whisky. One! (Tiny!) (& so icy!) Sorry so whisky-defensive.
Then finish make dinner.
Pots simmer, snuggle on sofa with boys, watch last night’s Modern Family. (<–link as if so obscure program.) When everyone laugh, Bigfoot nostril prick up for strange fragrance.
Oh dear. It Bubs’s breath. Not nailpolish remover smell. More like time Bigfoot throw yo-yo in wood stove for get revenge on child not pick up after self, dog chew up yo-yo, Bigfoot chuck in fire, total nihilist, no concern environmental pollutant, pure yo-yo rage. Sorry, earth. But that why intimately familiar burning plastic smell.
Check ketones. No. Blood ketone meter. Nothing.
Then Google “type 1 diabetes breath.” Only find ketones/acetone smell stuff. Then write email endocrinologist.
This is impossible to read. It just describes the plastic smell.
Then begin worry. Then test BG. 279! Up 100 points since change site! Decide bad new site. Concurrent w. dinner ready.
BIGFOOT: Before you bolus for dinner, I should change your site. I think I gave you a dud
BUBS: Awww. Can’t I at least EAT first?
BFOOT: Well, I guess you could if I give you an injection with a syringe now, and then we can do the site after dinner…
BUBS: (huge freak out Daddy, Daddy, I want Daddy to do it, why are you so mean to me? Why can’t Daddy do it? I bet this site is fine, I was just sitting still for too long, why are you so mean to me? Why do you want to hurt me, etc.)
BF: (tries to stay calm, then thinks I hope no one accuses me of being drunk from that celebratory whisky, also what the fuck am I going to do if he doesn’t acquiesce? And Who knows how long it will take to move a blizzard’s-worth of logs? And I guess I could sit on him and convince Jack to bring me a syringe and a bottle of Humalog, and let’s spend at least ten minutes pretending to be calm before wrestling and dragging Jack into this)
BUBS: I SAID okay! FINE! Do the site. Just don’t give me a syringe!
BF: Okay. Show me where you want it to go
BUBS: Just do it!
BF: Well…I think you probably want it on your bottom, so I need to be able to get to your bottom (Suckah! I knew pretending to be calm would work!)
BUBS: FINE! (lies on tummy, pulls down pants a tiny, dignified bit)
BF: This side?
BUBS: No! NO! NO! The other side!.
BF: I’ll put the alcohol on and let it dry
BUBS: (thinks he hears a car in the driveway) DAAAAAAAAADDY!
EMOTIONALLY DISTURBED DOG: Rrrrrrrrgh.
BF: It’s not Daddy. Butter’s barking. And I don’t think Daddy will be back for a while. You know, he’s helping Pop move logs
BUBS: I KNOW! Thanks, Mom. We get it. It’s nice that he’s helping his parents. Gah! Just do it! 3, 2, 1…
(Kachunk)
BUBS: (screams) AAAGH!
BF: Was the alcohol not dry? is it stinging?
BUBS: TAKE IT OUT! TAKE IT OUT! Daaaaaaaaddy! You are terrible at this! Why are you doing this to me?
BF: Okay. I’ll take it out. Is it stinging?
BUBS: You’re not pushing down on it hard enough
BF: Okay. Okay. It’s out
The big winner of the evening is these acceptable low-carb tortillas, eaten with “‘almost as good as the ones from a can” refritos
Then again. Kachunk/SCREAM. Then again.
BUBS: Ahhh. There. That’s a good one
As soon as new site official, correction bolus. Bubs say I’m sorry, Mama. I don’t know why I was so upset. Bolus for dinner**
Catch breath. Remember soon after diagnosis, meet other T1 parent in Whole Foods for sympathetic, welcome to T1 club latte. This nice person mention trouble of little things like you can never even really have a whole glass of wine. Now Bigfoot think: celebration whisky destroy ability insert site? Just bad luck? What if need drive emergency room, Spouse buried under log avalanche?
**15g! Low carb tortillas! Rated A+
Oh Bigfoot. Be gentle with self. Bubs always says weird things and is hypersensitive when he is off. Injections are a drag. When BpS gets home, more whiskey celebration.
GOOD IDEA!
Happy snow day to us all.
Except for New Bedford.
If Bbigfoot needs to operate heavy machinery but is temporarily incapacitated by icy whiskey, she need only call on a neighbor, friend or book club colleague. Seriously, there is a whole village here.
Thanks, thanks, thanks
It’s interesting to read blogs where parents describe that their T1D kid(s) really, really dislike syringes (a.k.a. old-fashioned shots). Just a sign of the technology changing that pumps are “normal” and shots are “scary”. (Says the T1D who’s still on MDI.) Glad you were able to get a new site in and you should drink more whiskey.
I have stuck myself with syringes a few times to see the trouble. They feel like NOTHING! (At least when they are empty!)
Exactly, you don’t feel anything. Testing blood sugar hurts way more. Either way, just glad your son likes his management style.
I hardly drank after having kids because I was afraid I’d blow it I.C.E. Had I known…*sigh*
((clinks empty glass against your empty glass))
Perhaps Bubs very upset when high? Almost every time high BS, SO of mine very dramatic. Declare world is a terrible place and everyone is mean to him.
I feel that (world is terrible) way when I have a cold. I mean, I know it’s not really the same.
Oh, ick. Hearing Bubs say those things has to hurt, even though you know he doesn’t mean it. I know I said many unkind things to my mom when I was running high. I’m still super grumpy when I have high bgs.
Now that I’m an adult, I really do appreciate everything my mom did to take care of me. I know it wasn’t easy. And someday, I’m sure Bubs will realize it as well.
It’s like being in a foreign country, unintentionally offending people and not knowing the right ways to be.
I always found the worst part of the syringes – was the injecting part – you know that push of the insulin. It stings A LOT – whether it’s 3 units or 30 units. For me, anyway. Syringes are un-fun – so I totally get the visceral reaction to that. I used to have that same reaction – only my mom had to actually give me 4+ of them everyday. Yikes!
I’m so sorry, I get super cranky and say awful things when I’m high (and low) – it’s terrible and I’m so sorry it happens to you.
Sending love and happy whiskey times for you.
: (
sorry.
Oh, it’s OK – I feel sorrier for my MOM! She was braver than I needed to be – I was a hellion. I look back now and wonder how the hell she made it without losing her mind or kicking me out.
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