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.
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…
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
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+