I Hate That I Feel Like I Must Apologize For This Post.

I’m tired...

• I hate waking up to a quiet house and wondering.  Fearing.
• I hate that I feel relief when I hear her stir in her bed and begin singing.  I’d far rather just delight in the adorableness of the moment, like other moms can.
• I hate being compelled to wake her just to make sure she will indeed wake up.
• I hate holding my breath as the meter counts down the three seconds to see the results.
• I hate the feeling in my chest when the number that appears is stupid-high or scary-low.
• I hate the guilt.
• I hate being driven, like a woman possessed, by the thought that my tireless diligence in managing her diabetes now could very well buy her years later.  
• I hate that people don’t really understand this.
• I hate that I feel like I am complaining when I do decide to vent.
• I hate that some people, because of ignorance, will read this and deem me a complainer.
• I hate that the worry lines above my nose are so deep now that even when my face is expressionless they are clearly visible.
• I hate how vain that makes me sound.
• I hate how horrible a high blood sugar can make her feel and the behaviour that can ensue.
• I hate that sometimes I miss it and get frustrated with her behaviour when I could have been more understanding.
• I hate trying to distinguish regular 5 year old behaviour from hyper or hypoglycemia-induced behaviour.
• I hate how long it takes insulin to work to bring down a high.
• I hate how alone I feel sometimes.
• I hate even more how alone she will no doubt feel sometimes.
• I hate that her first school experience was by far more stressful than enjoyable for me.
• I hate piercing my child’s fingers with needles 8 to 10 times a day and squeezing blood from those sweet fingers.
• I hate feeling misunderstood and judged.
• I hate that she may one day feel misunderstood and judged.
• I hate the idea of her going forth into a world that has such harsh preconceptions and misunderstandings of her disease.
• I hate the sudden, profound, sobering sadness I feel when she says in a moment of pure frustration how she wishes she didn’t have diabetes.
• I hate how it makes her feel so angry, uncomfortable and full of rage sometimes that she tells me she hates me.
• I hate knowing how bad she feels when the moment of rage passes and the guilt sets in.
• I hate the politics of health care.
• I hate fearing for her future.
• I hate this post.
• I hate diabetes.

I’m so tired.