Jenna’s Pet Monkey

We Moved!

2011-06-01T19:38:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone! I am excited to announce that I have relocated to a new...uh...location. I will be blogging over here now! Please visit me at this new URL and update your bookmarks and blog roles. Thank you so much.

I’m Always Learning.

2011-05-15T13:39:00.000-07:00

I hate the term ‘perfectionist’ but I’m guessing there are probably a few people who have used that term to describe me. Even in my artistic pursuits I have been drawn (pardon the pun) to the more intricate styles and mediums, like pen & ink and pencil. These are the mediums I could control and direct more. Precision was my artistic passion. I shied away from paint which is less easily controlled. Although I adore colour and always envied the artist who could just unleash and let the paint fly.

And then along came diabetes.

If there was ever a thing that refuses to be tamed or controlled, it’s diabetes. There are good days and bad, but things never just level off and stay that way. It is a constant, exhausting, sometimes scary roller-coaster, with plenty of uncertainty and unknowns. So much so that those of us who live it every day are compelled to seek out others who do the same. We can offer valuable support and understanding. None of us are perfect, but we are struggling to do the best we can with a disease that refuses to be tamed, while juggling all other aspects of our lives.

I can’t really put my finger on any one thing that I have learned. There isn’t something I can file under “learned” as in “Cool. I know that now. On to the next thing.”

But most of the significant and meaningful learning I do is an ongoing process. I am learning to accept that people who don’t live this day in and day out simply don’t get it. How can they? It’s like being a parent; you don’t have a sniff until you are one. I am learning to accept that diabetes is not a precision oriented disease. It is far too riddled with variables to ever be anywhere near precise. I am learning to be okay with the fact that there is no way I can do this perfectly. I just do the best I can. I am learning a lot about balance in life - both mine and my child’s life with diabetes.

There are so many people in the Diabetes Online Community living with diabetes and living well. They don’t let diabetes dictate the course of their lives or stop them from doing what they love. That is what I want for my family - for my children - for my little girl who will take this disease with her when she ventures out into the world on her own.

I think one of the most valuable lessons I am learning with the help of the Diabetes Online Community is to put down the pen and pick up a big, messy, unpredictable paint brush once in a while. To take some risks now and then. To let the paint - in all its colourful glory - fly and fall where it may. To embrace the chaos that is inevitable in life.

The resulting work of art may very well end up being a beautiful masterpiece.

Snapshot Saturday.

2011-05-13T23:42:00.000-07:00

Recently, I called Animas to report that Jenna’s pump was behaving oddly. Animas, being the amazing company they are with an emphasis on great customer service, quickly established that she should have a replacement pump sent immediately and the old, misbehaving one was to be returned to them.

Upon receiving the new pump and meter (they didn’t have any pink replacement pumps in stock so I had to settle for a whole new kit. RATS!) I opened the package up and proceeded to program all of Jenna’s settings into the new pump. Then I installed the battery in the new meter, bringing it to life in all it’s high-def colour contrasted glory! I was so jazzed about this new spiffy meter that I had to subject Jenna to a blood sugar check right away. When the reading appeared, I ran like the wind to get my camera.

Check out the very first blood sugar reading taken with her new meter:

Jenna couldn’t care less what her blood sugar reading is. She just wants
to make sure her pump skin fits on the new pump. Priorities, you know.

Now check out the picture of the meter in the manual:

I’m going to take it as a good omen that Jenna’s very first blood sugar reading on her new meter was a picture-perfect 5.8 mmol/L and matched the illustration in the manual. What are the odds?

Here’s another picture of Jenna awaiting her favourite breakfast treat - a blueberry banana smoothie. You can try the recipe here. They are quite tasty - a good choice for breakfast if a little physical activity is on the morning’s agenda:

This angelic smile is actually Jenna trying to be patient
with my incessant picture taking. She wants to
dive into a smoothie!

The Awesomeness of D.

2011-05-13T21:58:00.000-07:00

I thought of interviewing Jenna again regarding today’s topic for Diabetes Blog Week. I mean, in spite of the fact that, due to Blogger’s blunders, my post of Jenna’s Ten Things shows no comments (at least that is the case as of the writing of this post), plenty of people did comment and seemed to really enjoy hearing from Jenna. But then I got thinking about it and I know what she would say if I were to ask her what she likes most about having diabetes.

Now, remember - she’s five. And you should also know that the child has a wicked sweet tooth. Yes, it’s life’s cruel little irony for our Jenna. She lives for dessert. My other non-diabetic daughter? Not so much.

So, I was almost 100 percent certain she would answer that her most favourite thing about having diabetes is carb tabs. She loves em. Can’t get enough of em. Just to make sure I wasn’t assuming too much, I actually did ask her. And suffice it to say, I know my kid.

Which leads me to what I see as the most awesome thing that has happened because of my daughter having diabetes.

Three letters: D.O.C.

Yes, the Diabetes Online Community has been a tremendous source of comfort and support for me personally these past three (almost) years. I honestly don’t know where I would be if it weren’t for Kerri writing a comment on one of my first blog posts encouraging me to continue blogging, Lee Ann and her beautiful, artistic spirit coupled with intelligence and wisdom, Karen (the brains behind Diabetes Blog Week) and her help with carb counting via Twitter and pictures from my iPhone as well as her words of encouragement, Lorraine and her amazing example of how to be both an incredible Mom and an amazing substitute pancreas for her son, Alexis and her awesome-tastic passion and power, George and his big, bacon loving, Ninja heart, Scott and his kindness and commitment to raising awareness, Mike and his generosity and thoughtfulness, sweet Jess - lover of all things “Jonas” and always keeping things Disney, Stacey and her incredible retweeting ways, Scott and his humour and hugs just when I need them most....and so many others that I could fill volumes.

Knowing that these people are out there living the reality that is diabetes, just like my family is, every day, every hour, every minute - that they understand what we go through and have our backs - makes this journey with diabetes a little lighter and a lot less lonely.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to thank you in person. Until then, it is a pleasure to be a part of this amazing community. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times - thank you.

D-Blog Week: Jenna’s Ten Things.

2011-05-12T08:16:00.000-07:00

Today’s topic is one that I’ve recently covered - threefold, in fact. I came up with a whopping thirty things I hate about diabetes in a weakened moment of exhaustion. It felt good to get those things off my chest.

So since I have had my chance to vent, I think it may be a good time to hear from Jenna on this topic. I interviewed her this morning while she ate her breakfast. She seemed to enjoy the opportunity to have some input. I may have to give her more chances to be heard. This could mean the D-OC has another cute little junior member to welcome!

Me: Jenna, the Diabetes Online Community wants to know a few things that you don’t like about having diabetes. Would you like to share a few things you don’t like?

Jenna: [nods while eating her cereal] What are you typing?

Me: Nods while eating her cereal. [laughing] Okay. Hit it.

Jenna: Number one - I don’t like when Daddy says “Then how ‘bout we do a check on your toes?”

Me: Daddy’s joking, of course.

Jenna: Yes, he’s joking. Number two - Umm...site changes. Number three - having to wash my hands all the time before checks. Number four - and I don’t like checking my fingers after I wash my hands. Number five - I don’t like having to wait to get a bolus before I can go out to play. Number six - Sometimes I feel all floopy because I have to get stuff done like brush my hair and brush my teeth. I don’t like that.

Me: Oh. You mean, like that low you had yesterday when we were trying to get ready to go?

Jenna: Yes. When I’m low.

Me: And I had to help you with all that stuff until your blood
sugar came back up, right?

Jenna: Yes.

Me: So what’s number seven?

Jenna: I think I might do 100 things.

Me: ...one hundred things you hate?!

Jenna: Yep.

Me: Let’s just shoot for ten right now, okay?

Jenna: Okay. Number seven - Sometimes I can taste the alcohol when
you are rubbing it on my skin.

Me: So when I prep the area for a new site, you can taste the alcohol vapours?

Jenna: Yes. It’s yucky.

Me: Is there anything else you can think of?

Jenna: What number are we on now?

Me: We are on number eight.

Jenna: Remember that time you had to give me a needle in the night?

Me: You mean, an injection I had to give you because your blood sugar wouldn’t come down?

Jenna: Yes.

Me: So you don’t like needles.

Jenna: Right.

Me: Okay. Number nine.

Jenna: I don’t like it when you try to do checks on other fingers. I only like my pointer fingers checked. My thumbs and pinkies are very delicate.

Me: Okay, we have one more to go, Jenna. What’s your number ten?

Jenna: Blood work. That’s what I hate the most.

Me: Thanks, Jenna. I think the D-OC will enjoy hearing from you today!

Jenna: Thanks. I’m going to go play now.

D-OH!

2011-05-11T10:33:00.000-07:00

For all the seriousness of this disease there can be some pretty funny moments. Like the time we were driving and Jenna decided to make a snack out of one of her books. In my frustration with her penchant for destruction I said something that totally broke the tension of the moment and made us see the lighter side of diabetes.

Then there was the time I treated my purse for a high blood sugar. I blogged about that one last year during D-Blog Week.

Well, apparently I haven’t given up my mission to ensure inanimate objects don’t suffer the effects of hyperglycemia.

Just last week after the girls and I returned home from a swim at the pool, I had them jump in the tub for a quick bath to rinse away the chlorine. The girls were still in pool mode, engaging in lots of splashing and frivolity resulting in a lake forming on the bathroom floor. I approached the tub to administer hair washings and was less than impressed to find myself wading through a rather large puddle.

Swell.

“Are you kidding me?! You have more water outside the tub than inside!!” - clearly an exaggeration, but isn’t that what we parents do?

The hair washing process didn’t go smoothly and I’m sure my already frustrated state didn’t help. But neither did Jenna’s antics. Antagonizing her sister, dodging the shower spray, sending bath toys soaring through the air, squirting me with squirt toys (who’s idea was it to arm them with squirt toys in the bathtub, anyway?!) By the end of the bath I was completely tapped out of patience and convinced that a possible low blood sugar was at play.

At some point J had heard my frustration and had arrived on the scene, ready to help out. I was in super-efficient, just-get-these-kids-dried-off-and-let-me-go-drink-copious-amounts-of-tea-while-staring-into-space mode.

Jazmine got out of the tub first, then Jenna. I wrapped towels around them both. I quickly dried Jenna’s index finger and performed a blood sugar check, certain I would see a number warranting a snack. But the number that appeared required a small correction instead.

Mumbling something about how crazy these kids were making me, I dialed up the recommended dose of insulin on the meter and pressed GO with conviction. I heard the familiar, yet perplexingly distant tshsht sound. I looked at J. Simultaneously we turned our attention to the hall.

“You just bolused the newel post” J said in way too calm a manner for the degree of frustration I was feeling.

Closing my eyes and shaking my head at my own foolishness, I recalled placing Jenna’s pump on the newel post at the top of the stairs while she had her bath.

“Yup. I know."

The frustration disolved rather quickly as I gave in to the comedy of the moment and we all shared a chuckle.

Funny how life seems to know when you need a lesson in how to not sweat the small stuff, isn’t it?

Sometimes a little D-humour is a very good thing.

A Love Letter.

2011-05-09T22:35:00.000-07:00

I thought of writing a letter to diabetes for day two of D-Blog Week. But I have a policy regarding excessive profanity on my blog. (Total bullshit, but it sounded so damned admirable, didn’t it?) Besides, after my blog post last week itemizing thirty things I hate about this disease, I’m in need of a little love. What better way to feel the love than to write a love letter to my precious little girl.

Dear Jenna,

I saw what kind of incredible stuff you are made of when you were only just barely two years old. It ripped my heart out to watch you have to be so very brave. You were still my little baby girl - still in diapers. We had been making some progress with potty training in the months leading up to your diagnosis. But the onset of diabetes stalled things for a while.

We had to place cotton balls in your diapers in the hospital to collect your urine to check for ketones. And there were always ketones. So much ketones. The nurse in me knew what that meant; you had poison in your blood because of the fat you had to burn for energy because you couldn’t make enough insulin. And my heart continued to ache with every ketone strip that told the tale of a little girl who had come too close to disaster. You grew up so fast during those few days after your diagnosis.

It hasn’t been easy, these past three years. The first year was the worst. I immersed myself in the management of your diabetes. My aim was to study it, like a warrior studies his enemy. I wanted to know this beast that had forced itself into our lives. I wanted to try to learn its every quirk and nuance. So I read books. I studied the numbers that I carefully recorded in notebooks which I have kept to this day - documenting with great care your blood sugars, what you had eaten and how much insulin I had given you. I poured over the data looking for trends and clues as to what to expect. I now know that you can study the numbers all you want; diabetes will often contradict all that you think you know.

Looking back I think that first year of diabetes immersion served two very important purposes: It helped me to do what I had set out to accomplish - to learn as much as I could about your diabetes, and it served as a diversion from the ache that was ever present in my chest. I was grieving - grieving the loss of a “healthy" child without any physical challenges.

I was all business during the day, going about my busy daily routine of being mother to two little girls - one with diabetes. It was an excellent distraction. But at night, after I’d put you and your sister to bed, tuck you both in with stories and kisses and a bed time blood sugar check, I’d sit in the kitchen with my cup of tea and far too much time to think, remembering the way life before diabetes was for you - for us. So much simpler. Less physical trials. Less worry.

On your first year after your diagnosis, your “diaversary” as it is affectionately called by the DOC, I wrote how acceptance had taken place. But in all honesty, and in the clarity of hindsight, I can say that it was still quite raw for me then. I can remember, at the time, feeling the lump forming in my throat as I typed that statement. I was trying to convince myself of it. I didn’t want to complain or seem ungrateful for what I had.

But now, almost three years have passed. We just celebrated your fifth birthday. You have grown so much. Diapers, along with the our pre-diagnosis days, are a dim memory. You ride a two-wheeler (albeit with training wheels, but a two-wheeler nonetheless!) You choose your own clothes and often your fashion choices impress the heck out of me. Okay, sometimes they scare me a little too with the juxtaposition of patterns and colours, but that just makes me all the more proud of the strong-minded individual you clearly are. Oh my goodness, are you strong minded! Strong-willed...strong everything.

You are more than capable of checking your own blood sugar (when you want to) and you can even read the number on the meter! You are so tall - tall for your age. You can help yourself to snacks in the fridge and you always let me know when you want to eat something so I can carb count for you (I’m pretty sure you do, anyway.)

Site changes are old hat. Remember when they were torture? You would cry so much. And my heart would break. Yet again.

But not anymore. You roll up your sleeve, or expose your upper buttock without so much as batting an eye. You. Are. Incredible.

I can recall reading somewhere - I can’t recall where, now - that managing your child’s diabetes does get easier, but it never gets easy. Truer words were never spoken. It really has gotten easier since that first year. By no means is it easy, but it is a part of our lives - woven into the fabric of our family almost seamlessly. We make it look easy to onlookers. And I can say that you have played a significant role in helping me to get to this point. Yes, you have helped me! I’ve watched you muster courage that many adults haven’t had to tap into yet in their life’s journey. I have seen you get tough and accept what is non-negotiable. I have watched as you make conscious decisions regarding food choices based on wisdom that is beyond your five short years on this earth. I have seen you gain an independence in life that fills me with awe and respect for you.

I am so proud of you, my dear little one. You inspire and impress me constantly. Both you and your sister are two of the nicest, most fun, interesting and delightful people I know. I am filled with gratitude that I am the person who gets to be Mommy to you both. I know you are very well equipped to deal with this diabetes hand you’ve been dealt. And I will always be here for you when you need a break. Or a hug. Or someone to eat too much ice-cream with.

I am honoured to be your Mama. I love you endlessly.

All my love,
Mom

Admiring Our Differences

2011-05-09T05:56:00.000-07:00

Here it is. Day one of D-Blog Week 2011!

I try to teach my daughters to empathize with others. I feel this is an incredibly important ability to have in this world. The ability to imagine what someone else might be feeling given their unique circumstances is a powerful skill. This skill, once honed, results in compassion. And a little compassion goes a long way for someone living with an invisible disease like type 1 diabetes.

Both my girls are walking their own path in this world. I have the great honour to walk beside them right now -- to share in their triumphs and trials as any parent of young children does. A lot of their experiences I can relate to. I was once 5 and 7 years old. I do have a few points of reference. But there are some things I am unable to relate to as much as I would like. For Jenna, it is how it feels to have type 1 diabetes.

I do know what it’s like to have a chronic illness and I have drawn from my own experiences plenty of times while attempting to relate to Jenna. I am asthmatic. My asthma was less than adequately controlled for the majority of my childhood. It was exacerbated by allergens and my living environment usually included some of the worst offenders. Therefore, more often than not my breathing was compromised to some degree. So, in this respect, I can understand what it is like to feel less than stellar most of the time. It makes being a cheerful, happy, light-hearted, energetic kid rather difficult at times.

I would imagine this is similar to how it can feel when a child has a high or low blood sugar. It can make you feel pretty rotten. You may find it difficult to be patient, civil and even-tempered when you are battling a blood sugar that doesn’t want to descend from the stratosphere or is plummeting through the floor. You might get a little punchy or find it hard to want to cooperate. Not that diabetes can be used as an excuse for nasty behaviour. But it certainly needs to be taken into consideration, particularly with young children who haven’t yet developed enough self-awareness and insight to be able to identify how they are feeling and associate it with a cause.

While I can relate to feeling misunderstood for behaviour resulting from the physical trials of a chronic illness, I can’t relate specifically to how it feels to be hyper or hypoglycemic. Barring a diagnosis of type 1 or type 2 diabetes in my future, I will never know how it feels to have a fuzzy-toothed blood sugar of 15 or higher. And while I have gone a long time between meals and had a blood sugar ring in at around 4.8, I have never felt the kick-in-the-ass of a 2.1.

So who do I look to for insight into how this disease can make my daughter feel? Why the adult, type 1 members of the DOC, of course! This is why I reached out to the online community to begin with. They help me to understand what my daughter goes through as she endures the daily highs and lows. I have learned a great deal from this group of people. I read their blogs and find little snippets of information that help me to empathize with my little girl. I have gained enough insight that I am able to offer some compassion and comfort to Jenna when diabetes has been particularly difficult and left her feeling chewed up and spit out. I was unaware until recently that if someone with diabetes has had a stubborn high for a prolonged time it can leave her feeling exhausted and sluggish for a day or so afterward! This, I understand, can be the case after a bad low as well -- something to keep in mind when the number on the meter says things are back to normal but your child still seems out of sorts.

It is this kind of information that I would not have known had it not been for the communication I have with so many type 1 PWD who are willing to share their experiences with me. This is like gold to the parent of a child with diabetes. I am forever grateful to them.

Another benefit I have gained by observing and getting to know these amazing adults living with type 1 diabetes and living well, is the comforting assurance that my daughter will be okay. Somehow, through it all, she will be okay with this unpredictable, naughty, impossible-to-tame “pet monkey” along for the ride.

And that is truly priceless.

Diabetes Blog Week!

2011-05-06T20:52:00.000-07:00

The 2nd annual Diabetes Blog Week is set to commence in three days and since last year was such a blast, I’ve signed up again. I’ve just been to Karen’s site and the list of participants is long and impressive! I hope everyone has finished any books they’ve been reading because I have a feeling we’ll all be up to our eyeballs in diabetes bloggy goodness for the next couple of weeks.

If this is your first time hearing about this please visit Karen’s blog and check out the details. You can just read the blog entries as they pour in next week or you can join in on the fun, if you like!

Well, I’ve got some writing to do so I’d better get to it.

Happy blogging all!

Wounds Reopened

2011-05-03T10:27:00.000-07:00

I was awake Sunday night into the wee hours, but this time it wasn’t just because of a stubborn high blood sugar. That was only part of the reason. My mind was trying to sort through how I felt about the reactions I was hearing, reading and seeing from people in response to the news that Osama bin Laden was dead. I was troubled by some of what I witnessed. Here’s why:

What has been accomplished by the murder of bin Laden? Are we better off? Is the world a safer place? Has a wrong been righted? Is all the pain, sorrow, anger and hatred felt by those mourning lost loved ones suddenly gone?

I think not. In fact, I fear the opposite may be true. The world is arguably a more dangerous place now. Two wrongs still don’t make a right. And all the broken hearts remain broken. Sure, the hurting masses may have experienced some satisfaction - some sense of closure upon hearing the news that bin Laden has been denied the right to live any longer in this realm of existence. I am thankful that those who mourn lost loved ones have that small comfort, at least. But at the end of the day their loved ones are still gone. No amount of bloody retribution will change that. And there has been a grossly disproportionate and, indeed, immeasurable amount of blood spilled since Sept 11, 2001 in the names of those who died that day.

After 9/11 Americans, in their heart-wrenching grief, had a chance to learn. To grow. To see themselves through the eyes of people in other parts of the world. To gain some perspective and, perhaps a little humility. And I believe over the course of the last ten years many did just that.

And then Sunday night’s news brought back all the anger, hurt and rage. The lust for raw, primal revenge was reawakened in many. Lessons learned were forgotten. Suddenly, a kinder, gentler nation became a pep squad for murder, cheering like sports fans at the demise of a man, albeit an evil man, who likely handed down his command to another equally diabolical man or men long, long ago.

I wept along with the world on 9/11. I watched in sickened awe at footage of people in faraway lands celebrating in the streets at the news that nearly 3000 human beings were murdered on that unforgettable September morning. I wondered how they could be so calloused, so full of hatred. What wrong had they perceived had been committed against them that they would rejoice in the face of so much death and suffering?

After witnessing an unsettlingly similar reaction to Sunday night’s news, I have my answer.

This isn’t over. Pandora’s box, along with old wounds, have been opened once more. Sadly, I fear that is exactly what the war machine wants.

The following is a link to a video of two grieving mothers. They have much to teach us of tolerance and forgiveness. 9/11 healing: The mothers who found forgiveness, friendship | Video on TED.com

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

2011-04-27T21:07:00.000-07:00

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.

Whatever It Takes

2011-04-24T23:20:00.000-07:00

Today we walked some trails around our rurally set home and since it is spring, the odds of seeing some form of wildlife are quite high these days. So it wasn’t too surprising when Jenna spotted a marmot about twenty minutes into our walk. And not just any old marmot - a mommy-marmot! She was so darn adorable that I stood there for a good two or three minutes snapping pictures of her and quietly talking to her while she posed for me. Although, truth be told, I’m pretty sure she wasn’t posing, but rather attempting to keep our attention so that we wouldn’t discover her nest of what is sure to contain a brood of maybe a half dozen little newborn marmot pups.

She boldly stood at attention - eyes wide - on high alert.

I know it sounds funny, but as a mom, I felt reverence for this mommy-marmot that I’m sure I wouldn’t have felt as profoundly had I not been a mother myself. I respected the fact that she was selflessly standing in possible harms way - doing whatever it took to protect her babies - playing to her audience to keep us distracted and guard her precious young.

I took my pictures from a distance, ever mindful of the stress she was likely feeling. I could have stayed longer and just kept taking pictures of this adorable creature, but I knew she was probably anxious to get back to her babes. I didn’t want to delay that reunion for the sake of a few pictures. I said my quiet goodbyes, thanking her for the photo-op, and moved on.

We walked, took pictures and enjoyed the sunshine. The girls ran, played and skipped with colourful ropes they got for Easter. Lots of activity was had by all.

Fast forward to the end of the day. Supper was capped off with a piece of chocolate cream pie - a somewhat fatty, carb laden favourite of mine, reserved for rare occasions. I find it is sometimes hard to know what approach to take with regards to bolusing for certain foods. I’ve employed the combo bolus in the past only to have a screaming high blood sugar tell me I should have gone the straight up route. Conversely, I have utilized the straight bolus and had a low make it apparent that a combo would have been the better avenue to take. Tonight I opted for the straight bolus.

And that was a mistake.

Within an hour of dessert and it’s subsequent bolus, it was time for tired little girls to go to bed. Teeth were brushed, stories read, covers tucked. A blood sugar check was performed as per the usual bedtime routine.

2.3.

And my heart suddenly took up new residence in my throat as adrenaline was pumped into my blood stream.

The fight or flight response.

The enemy? Hypoglycemia.

I proceeded as though I was going to give her a correction bolus with the sole intent to see what insulin she had left on board. Still at play was 1.8 units. For Jenna, that is a considerable amount of insulin. I knew it was possible this low wouldn’t go quietly.

I shouted down to J who was watching playoff hockey, “2.3 with close to 2 units on board!”

“Shit!” and with that the game was paused and J quickly joined me at Jenna’s bedside with carb tabs in hand.

Two carb tablets were savoured by an asymptomatic Jenna who was denying feeling anything but sleepy. I then suspended the basal delivery on her pump. We tucked her in and I told her I’d be back to check her in 15 minutes. I went to Jazmine’s room to tuck her in and give hugs and kisses before joining J downstairs in the living room.

Five minutes went by and the sound of little feet hitting the floor was heard. Jenna soon appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Are you okay?”

“I feel all floopy-floppy” she responded in a weak voice. She was on her way down the stairs and joined me on the couch with an obvious need for hugs.

I could tell by her behaviour that this had all the makings of a potentially bad low. Although, how I knew this was not because of much past experience with stubborn lows; Jenna almost always comes up from lows after one treatment. She seldom requires more.

I knew because her behaviour with this low was different - unprecedented for Jenna, but in a very subtle way.

Jenna decided she wanted to go back to bed. So I settled her in the covers once more only this time I offered to stay with her. She agreed.

The next few minutes were marked by moderate restlessness and complaints of being hot and hungry. So hungry!

Another check was done 15 minutes after the first and she was now 2.1. I felt panic encroaching on my calm, rational demeanour. That’s the wrong way! She should be going up, not down!

Another two carb tabs were devoured. At this point I decided that I would far rather battle a high in the mid teens until the wee hours than have to pull out the glucagon kit and start mini-dosing. If I had to I would without hesitation. But I decided that if the poor kid was hungry, she should eat.

Down stairs we all paraded where pretzels and juice were divvied up between the three of us (Jazmine wanted in on this normally forbidden, past bedtime snack-fest too, of course). We sat there chatting and munching on our snacks.

By the time the last pretzel was crunched and the last swig of juice was chugged, Jenna was back to her old self once more. All subtle signs of the low had dissolved freeing my beautiful, delightful, spirited little girl.

Back to bed for a third time where hugs and kisses were exchanged yet again. A final check revealed 6.8 and my heart eased back into its rightful home in my chest. I breathed a sigh of relief as I resumed her basal delivery, knowing full well that in another hour her blood sugar would almost certainly be in the mid to high teens. But at this point I was okay with that.

Indeed, the next check was an hour later and rang in at 16. A small correction was given and our alarm set for rechecking in another two hours.

And now, two hours later she is 18.1 and moaning in her sleep - something she does whenever she is running high at night. Another considerable correction of one unit dosed ... another alarm set ...

... and so it goes.

Whatever it takes to keep our childen safe.

Today’s Gift

2011-04-11T23:52:00.000-07:00

Our life with diabetes has evolved over the past three years. Our focuses, fears and concerns have morphed and matured. We no longer stress and stew over precision carb counting and the ever elusive “control” we covet but can never achieve and maintain. I never put dessert on hold to translate an Italian nutritional information label in an effort to obtain accurate serving size and carbohydrate content information anymore. I just wing it. It’s one of the perks of three years of carb counting. We’ve gotten good at guesstimating. I never consult any of my three copies of The Calorie King anymore. Oh happy day!

Bolusing for every meal, snack and unplanned treat is second nature now. Oh sure, it is still inconvenient at times, and other times its downright maddening. But performing the routine, pre-carb consumption blood sugar check, calculating the carbs, followed by a quick assessment of the situation to factor in any fat content, physical activity, insulin resistance ... blah-blah-blah, then an expeditious pressing of a couple buttons is something we can practically do in our sleep now (and sometimes, I dare say, we do just that!)

We no longer freak out over rogue, wee hour blood sugar readings. We usually know, or at least can wager a reasonably safe bet on the why. We check, mutter an expletive or two (thanking our lucky stars that Jenna is a sound sleeper), bolus to correct, set an alarm for two hours and get on with life. We don’t hold nightly meetings anymore to discuss what we may have done wrong at the supper bolus then discuss our approach for the next time we have whatever the offending meal was. We don’t pick apart the whole combo-bolus, how-much-up-front-and-how-much-over-how-long conundrum. It’s become fluent for us now - like studying a language in it’s country of origin for years - one gets used to the colloquialisms and subtle nuances of the language. Not that we get it right all the time; we have just resigned ourselves to the fact that always getting it right is a ridiculous goal to hold ourselves to. Getting it close now and then is more realistic. Expecting the unexpected and not having a clue why things sometimes go wrong is a way of life with diabetes. That’s just how D roles. It can be a real jerk that way. No sense beating ourselves up about it.

But with these issues fading into the background din of our life with diabetes, other new issues are slowly, quietly emerging.

Jenna was only just two at her diagnosis. She was always with me. I never had to worry about her going low or high away from my watchful eye. I was on it. Checker at the ready, like a gun-slinger with an itchy trigger finger, I was always poised to perform the ubiquitous check with lightening speed.

But she is five now. Not only has she had her first school experience, making it necessary for me to come to terms with entrusting others with her care and safety, she also wants to go outside and play with the neighbourhood kids.

Of course she does! She is a kid, after all. But with this comes other issues. The whole “Can I go to Lisa’s house to play, Mom? Her Mom says it’s okay” scenario has started to play out.

Now, to non-D folks this likely doesn’t seem like that big a deal. But to D-parents it strikes fear and anxiety in our hearts. Yet we don’t want to deny our children what all children have the inherent right to experience. We don’t want to be overprotective, but we know only too well how diabetes can sneak up and bite us in the ass when we least expect it. How can we be certain our child will be safe in someone else’s home if that person doesn’t have a sniff about diabetes and its jerk-face ways?!

There is so much to consider. Jenna doesn’t like drawing attention to her diabetes. I understand this. She wants to be like other kids. I get it. But, as much as Jenna doesn’t want to make diabetes a focus, she has surprised me with her awareness of the situation and her responsible approach to managing it. She may be only five years old, but it appears that she knows the importance of disclosure. This came as a surprise to me just today.

I was doing my best to allow Jenna the freedoms any five year old should have. She wanted to go with her big sister to a neighbourhood kid’s house for a while to play. I gave permission for them to do so. But as I watched her disappear inside a house that wasn’t ours, I knew I had to disclose Jenna’s diabetes to the Mom. I jogged up to the door where the Mom stood waiting for me and began my speech:

“I just want to let you know, Jenna has type 1 diabetes....”

“Oh yes. I know. She told me yesterday when the kids were playing outside.”

I was surprised to learn that Jenna would offer up this information on her own. She has scolded me in the past for doing such things.

I finished my spiel then turned and walked back to my house, went inside and closed the door. What no one knew at the time, was how hard it was to make that walk back to my house. Alone. Without my five year old diabetic child. Trusting a mom who only received a 30 second summary of the situation to identify my daughter’s need for intervention, should that need arise. It helped that Jenna’s older sister, who has proven to be excellent at spotting symptoms in the past, was with her. It also helped that the house she visited was just steps away from ours. Yet it was still an unsettling, foreign feeling to leave her there.

But I did it.

I made up my mind I would return within half an hour to perform a blood sugar check. And as I went to the kitchen in my suddenly, unnaturally quiet house to make myself a cup of tea, it occurred to me; Jenna is starting to take ownership of her diabetes. She isn’t ashamed of it. She just doesn’t want it to be the main focus. She wants some control over the flow of information. This is a good sign. I have always been concerned about Jenna being embarrassed or ashamed of her diabetes which could prompt her to hide it. Nothing scares me more, as she gets older, than the thought of her being around people who don’t know what to do should she require someone to act quickly on her behalf to thwart a low.

Today gave me reason to believe that Jenna is developing a healthy view of her diabetes. Today renewed my faith that Jenna will be okay. Today gave me hope.

Everything Is Going To Be Alright.

2011-03-24T22:48:00.000-07:00

When we left our home of four years I felt uneasy. It was the community that saw us through Jenna’s diabetes onset and diagnosis - the town that supported us and comforted us during a dark time in our lives. The doctors, nurses, pharmacists and support staff - they knew us. They knew our little girls. They knew Jenna. To leave that was scary and upsetting. Diabetes isn’t something that can be left unattended for any length of time at all. It requires constant attention and a steady stream of medical accoutrements. Consequently, people with this disease quickly find themselves on a first-name basis with their friendly neighbourhood pharmacy staff. It’s like our home away from home.

Today we spoke with a pharmacist at the pharmacy we will be using in our new community to obtain all the supplies Jenna requires for her diabetes management. He had us feeling comfortable, taken care of and at home within the first five seconds of our interaction with him. As he input Jenna’s information into his computer data base he told us there were lots of insulin pumpers in the area and he likely stocked everything we would require. My eyes widened. “Really? Lots?!”

“Oh sure. Kids...adults...hockey players...lots of people.” He looked up from his computer and smiled. I felt like I was being hugged by our new community.

But it wasn’t just the idea of there being others in our new town with type 1 diabetes - like Jenna - who pumped insulin - like Jenna - that had me wide-eyed. It was also the fact that this pharmacy had an ample supply of everything we would need at any given moment.

“So...if I wanted a box of infusion sets today...like right now...you could hook me up?” I asked trying to sound poised and hide my giddiness.

“Yup.”

I peaked around the counter in disbelief when he disappeared behind the shelves to retrieve a box of infusion sets to show me. Sure enough, there on the shelves were stacks of boxes of infusion sets, cartridges and every type of meter you can imagine. The multi-clix we love so dearly were also stocked in abundance in tidy little boxy towers, lined up just as neat as you please.

I stood there like a kid in a toy store, my mouth hanging open.

“Wow. That’s...that’s just really awesome.” At this point I’d given up trying to sound cool and together. I think I may have even giggled this ridiculous, little girl giggle. I was treading on uncharted territory. I have never dealt with a pharmacy that not only had “lots” of other type 1 diabetic insulin pumpers for customers but had an impressive reserve of supplies at the ready, for the asking.

I left that pharmacy with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. I felt safe. My little girl will be taken care of here.

Everything is going to be alright.

You Can’t Go Home

2011-03-07T13:36:00.000-08:00

It should be noted that the D word is not mentioned once in this post. But we all know that even though it isn’t mentioned, it is always present - stealing sleep, demanding attention and consideration, and sapping energy.

* * *

We have spent the past nine weeks of our lives on an incredible adventure. We have seen amazing sights and pushed the limits of our comfort zone. I, personally, have grown and gained invaluable insight and perspective into certain aspects of my life that have been a bit of a confusing puzzle for many years.

I’ve been amazed at the courage my two little girls possess. They are incredible. Their intelligence and maturity has me in awe. They are kind-hearted, compassionate, polite, capable little people. I am so proud of them.

I’ve learned that it’s true; you really can’t go home. And the longer a person has been away from home, the more that proves to be true. I’ve realized that I need to heed my inner voice, especially when it is screaming at me. I’ve learned that I can let go of the past and live fully in the present. It’s okay to do what I know to be right for myself and my family, unapologetically and in spite of others disagreeing.

I’ve discovered that the word “family” means different things to different people and it can be surprising, sometimes, to discover just who comprises your family.

If you’ve ever wondered if doing without and simplifying life can actually bring about personal growth and a heightened awareness of what is really important, I can say, undeniably, it does. The old adage - you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone - is accurate but incomplete. It should end with - but you learn to appreciate what’s left so much more.

This has strengthened my little family, and we were a pretty cohesive unit to begin with. We are quite a team.

We are going back to the mountains - my husband, two little girls and I - because that is home. It’s where I left my heart nine weeks ago.

And it’s there still, awaiting my return.

“Come home, Sherry! I’ve missed you!"

Diabetes + School = A Pickle

2011-01-30T20:50:00.000-08:00

OH MY GOSH! How do you parents of school-aged kids with diabetes do it?!

Honestly, I’m in a bit of a pickle.

Okay. It’s not entirely a pickle, per se. I’m pretty sure I know what I need to do here. Let me lay it down for you:

So, Jenna started junior kindergarten last week. Now, keep in mind that Jenna has just undergone a major life shake-up, having just moved. You may also want to factor in the fact that Jenna has been by my side almost constantly since she was born. Her diagnosis was at 2 years of age - I didn’t go back to work after I had her, and her diabetes has made it difficult to be away from her for any longer than 2-3 hours at any one time. I have had no weekends away - no days at work... nothing. So Jenna is accustomed to me being there.

Now, developmentally speaking, I know that she is at an age where she can handle school. She is very ready for the classroom environment and to start the formal, structured learning process. Developmentally speaking!

Emotionally, however? All things considered? Not so much.

She cried. A LOT. She did not want me to leave her. We tried, my husband and I. And it would be one thing if we could just go and not return until the end of the day. But, since the school hasn’t had a chance to arrange special needs care -- heck, they don’t even have a diabetes protocol prepared yet! And since it isn’t clear which province will be footing the bill for said special needs care due to our recent move from the west coast, I must be available twice in the day to check Jenna’s blood sugar and administer her insulin while the school gets its ducks in order. Furthermore, since no one in the school has any solid knowledge about type 1 diabetes, I am incredibly uncomfortable leaving her for any length of time anyway! It’s all those what ifs we know all too well. What if she goes low? What if she goes high? What if she goes so low she requires glucagon?

Anyway, I’ve been somewhat consumed by this over the weekend. Should I persist and bring her again tomorrow? Should I insist on staying with her in the classroom until she is comfortable?

Or maybe I should just let it go for now -- maybe even skip the junior K experience altogether and wait until next September to start senior K. By then we will have moved into our permanent home and we will be more settled - more stable. Jenna will have had a chance to get her bearings - maybe even develop a strong desire to start school.

I should tell you that Jenna is strongly in favour of that last option. And I want to take her feelings into account here. She may only be 4 and 3/4 years old, but she has been through a lot. She knows what she needs in some respects. And right now, I believe her when she says she isn’t ready. I trust her when she tells me “I just want to wait until I’m a little older, Mommy.”

Furthermore, the school isn’t ready for Jenna’s diabetes. They are clearly daunted by idea of a type 1 diabetic, junior kindergartener right now. They are intimidated by it. (To give credit where credit is due, they have asked a lot of the right questions and have attempted to see to our needs - this, in spite of having to talk myself down when they recommended I conduct her blood sugar checks and insulin bolusing in a “handicapped bathroom” located at the end of a long hallway, a considerable distance from the kindergarten classroom - a suggestion that smacked of discrimination and an attempt to hide the perceived blood and gore away from all those “fragile little kindergarten minds." But that is another post I will write very soon.)

And to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I’m ready to entrust her diabetes care to a stranger. I’m feeling hyper-protective of Jenna right now in light of all the changes she has endured. And I’m not sure I’m up for the task of educating those requiring education and dispelling the myths and prejudices to make this school diabetes-friendly. Not just yet. I have a lot on my plate right now and the task of educating and preparing the school is one that requires my full attention and a great deal of preparation. If I wait, I will have the next seven months to do just that. And that might just make a huge difference in how both Jenna and I feel about her starting her scholastic journey.

If anyone has any advice, resources or ideas regarding how to make this school a safe place for Jenna, I’d been keen on hearing from you. I’ve been told by the office staff that Jenna will be the first child with type 1 diabetes they have had in attendance, as hard as that is to believe. I think I have my work cut out for me.

Update:

Jenna has been attending her junior kindergarten class with me present. Initially, I decided to wait until next September to start her in senior kindergarten. But after talking to the principal about this and being assured that Jenna’s school day duration could be shortened to accommodate her anxiety, and after being told I could remain in the class as long as I like, I decided to persist. Jenna has gradually increased her stay each day and now remains until the end of the school day. I have been gradually decreasing the amount of time I am present in the classroom in an attempt to get her accustomed to being on her own. She is doing incredibly well - even telling me “I’m fine, Mom. You can go now.”

However, I am only absent for about an hour and a half at a time right now, provided her numbers are in a good range and she has eaten well prior to my departure. There is still no funding for additional assistance from a nurse to do blood sugar checks and administer insulin for snacks and there has been no education aide assigned to Jenna specifically to watch for signs of trouble. Furthermore, I have yet to do any diabetes teaching with the staff so I am not comfortable leaving Jenna for a prolonged length of time. Next week I have made arrangements to conduct teaching with several staff members. I will also be supplying an emergency kit to the classroom to perform checks and treat any lows. This should help with my peace of mind a little.

I would like to thank all you amazing, clever Moms who gave me such awesome advice and tips and pointed me in right direction for resources and support. I am so grateful to you all.

We Made It!

2011-01-19T12:38:00.000-08:00

I’m a little late posting this but we arrived at our destination in southern Ontario late Friday evening and have been basking in small town charm and the loving warmth of family ever since.

Our trek across Canada was not without it’s trials but we played it safe, travelling during good weather and staying put when the weather got nasty. Which was often.

Frosty prairie morning

A word about the prairies: COLD.

How cold? I’m talking scary cold; the kind of cold that makes you thankful for shelter. And central heating. And cars that start, regardless of hell freezing over!

But along with the breathtaking temperatures came the equally breathtaking sunrises. The sun coming up over a distant, flat horizon on a crazy-crisp morn is an incredibly beautiful sight to behold. It almost made the early morning wake-up calls and the frozen-together eyelashes and nose hairs worth it.....almost.

A prairie sunrise

The girls were incredible on the road! I had purchased a few road-friendly activities at a craft store and kept them hidden away until I was desperate for a diversion - something to keep them occupied and help pass the time. My scheme worked surprisingly well. But with that many hours of driving, even the most engaging activity couldn’t guarantee a trip completely free from the occasional bout of restlessness and boredom. The girls had their moments, especially during the final leg of the journey. But overall, they did far better than could be expected.

How did the D behave? Not too shabby! Jenna’s numbers stayed in or near target for the most part, with the help of raised basals. There was one day I forgot to raise her basals and, as you might imagine, with sitting all day in a vehicle, her blood sugars crept up into the mid teens. It served as a reminder of how important activity is to good diabetes management. The guilt I felt also served as a healthy motivator to remember to raise her basals.

Beautiful sunrise in northern Ontario

So yeah. We made it. And now begins the process of starting life anew - registering the kids for school, setting up a case conference to address Jenna’s needs at school, finding G.P.’s and endocrinologists, signing up for provincial health care...life is busier than ever.

But life is good.

Behemoth Icicles, Big-Horned Sheep and Behaving Blood Sugars.

2011-01-09T22:32:00.000-08:00

We are stuck. Again.

It appears Mother Nature is determined to ensure that we stop and smell the...snow drifts? Our progress is not what we had hoped, even though we knew that travelling in Canada in January by road could mean unexpected weather and unplanned, extended delays along the way. This isn’t all that surprising. Disappointing? Sure. But not surprising.

We’ve been stuck in snowy, blowy, bitterly cold Calgary since Saturday afternoon, waiting for a nasty blizzard to bug out. The drive through the mountains was incredible. But once we got out of the mountains and things started to flatten out, the wind and snow made driving pretty dicey. We were hoping to make it to Medicine Hat. It wasn’t in the cards.

But what amazing things we have seen - like the herd of big horned sheep climbing the mountain on our way out of Golden early Saturday morning.

And the monster icicles, the length of which I would only be guessing. But given their size in relation to the trees around them, I’d say they rival many high-rise buildings.

And the avalanche that occurred as we were driving by, not long after we entered Yoho National Park. It was as if it had been timed just for us - for our own personal awe and amazement.

And the thick, blue, shell-like glacial ice blanketing the rock on the side of the mountain.

And of course, the majestic, awe-inspiring mountains themselves that will forever hold me in their spell.

Canada is a country of wild and dangerous beauty. I’m proud to call it home.

As for diabetes, I am almost afraid to comment. I don’t want to jinx what has been a fabulous run of amazing numbers. But there you go; I’ve gone and said it. I hope this doesn’t mess with our good glycemic fortune.

Snacks while driving have consisted of baked potato chips, 100% pure fruit juice, water, beef jerky, pumpkin seeds, apples, salami slices, popcorn and during one weak moment in Revelstoke, when J and I were in dire need of a good cup of coffee - a small box of ten assorted Timbits at Tim Hortons.

We have made two visits to the hotel pool and have roamed around a fantastic mall outside of Calgary for hours to satisfy our physical activity needs. This mall had one of those interactive floors that the girls had a blast jumping around on.

We were hoping to be on our way tomorrow, but highway closings east of us may delay our progress for yet another day. We will make the best of it, though. Calgarians are pretty friendly, hospitable people. To be stranded in this city another day would hardly be considered a hardship.

Fairer weather is forecast for Tuesday. We’ll be on our way before we know it. In the meantime, I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet in my cozy room (all are asleep, except for me) and drink my outrageously priced, hotel room-service pot of tea. I haven’t had a decent cup since somewhere between Kamloops and Revelstoke. I’m desperate. I’ll be sure to savour every precious drop.

One last thing, I want to thank those of you who made snack suggestions and everyone who has written supportive and encouraging comments. It has been incredibly helpful and means a lot to me. Talk soon!

Journey Interrupted

2011-01-05T21:46:00.000-08:00

There was a time, not long ago, when an adventure involving the open road, a cooler stocked with snacks and no set itinerary would have thrilled me to bits. But when you factor in two kids, winter driving conditions and diabetes? Well, lets just say my adventurous side is being trumped by my practical, protective, momma bear side.

And when the highway this momma bear is travelling on with her precious little bear cubs starts to look like this...

...momma bear starts to want to crawl into a cave and not emerge until spring. Preferably a cave with cable TV, a couple of comfy beds and a hot shower.

So far this trip has been about what we expected, which is to say unpredictable winter weather, kids that get road-weary long before the adults and the hard lesson learned that when a pit stop is made, everyone - whether you feel the urge or not - must go.

OH! And the cost of gas is atrocious!

But what I am most disappointed in at the moment is the Frio pack we purchased for the trip. We can’t rely on a cooler to keep Jenna’s insulin cool and yet avoid it freezing in sub zero temperatures (the joys of winter travel). So, we purchase a Frio pack to try to keep two vials of Novorapid cool enough to preserve it during our journey. But I’m not so sure it is doing an adequate job of maintaining the proper temperature. The vials don’t feel much cooler than room temperature. And I’m quite certain I’m using it correctly: Soak inner pack for 10 minutes, pat dry with towel, place in outer fabric bag, keep hydrated. It’s not rocket science. And I’ve been careful not to hide it away - keeping it where the air circulates around it. It is, after all, the evaporation process that is supposed to act as a cooling mechanism. But I don’t think the cooling is sufficient. Anyone else had any experience with this product? What was your take on it?

Oh well. Our main concern at the moment is the weather. We have had to take a slightly extended break from our progress due to a winter storm warning that we prefer not to mess with. The picture above is nothing compared to what could lie ahead. We are erring on the side of caution and hunkering down until the storm passes. Thank goodness for kind-hearted, generous family members who have offered us shelter for as long as we need it.

And thank goodness for 4-wheel drive.

Looking Ahead.

2010-12-31T16:09:00.000-08:00

Another year is drawing to a close. It is a time for reflecting. But try as I might, I can’t stop looking to the future this New Year’s Eve. Big changes are afoot and I am anxious to get on with it. It’s hard to look back at the past when ahead lies such an exciting future (or when one’s every worldly possession is boxed in cardboard, taped up and awaiting a moving truck).

I mentioned in a previous post that there were diabetes-related reasons for this move. One thing I have learned in life, thanks to diabetes (a little New Year’s optimism is never a bad thing), is that we all need people. None of us can thrive on our own or get along without loving support and help from friends and family.

Diabetes is a tricky one. If you don’t reach out for help now and then and nurture a support network, burn-out and despair can ensue.

I’m burnt out. And despair? I’ve felt it.

My husband and I have been sleep deprived and burning the candle at both ends for almost three years now. Jenna was only just two when she was diagnosed - not too long after the midnight feeds and wee hour diaper changes were a thing of the past. Given this scenario, you can imagine how many times we have had a night out, just the two of us.

I have enjoyed living on Canada’s west coast these past fifteen years, and have truly fallen in love with the mountains, trees and ocean. There isn’t a lot I can complain about living in this nature-lover’s paradise. If you’ve only ever seen pictures, I can assure you, they don’t do it any justice at all. This incredible land scape is a part of me now. It always will be. I have shed more than a few tears in recent days in anticipation of departing. But as sad as I am to be leaving, I am even more excited to be moving closer to my sister and her family. I look forward to my children having their cousins close by to play with, bond with, grow up with. And I am so very happy to be able to see my sister more than once every two years.

As for Jenna’s diabetes management, my sister is eager to learn. She wants to know the ins and outs of pumping insulin. And I am ready to teach. Jenna is at an age where she can verbalize how she is feeling. She does her own checks often and is learning her numbers, as a result. (Another “glass-half-full” mention about diabetes: I believe Jenna has added confidence concerning math and numbers from living the past three years immersed in calculations, ratios and solving for x). Jenna is burgeoning on an age of being slightly more independent with her diabetes management.

I have seen the sun set on my nursing career - a consequence of choosing to be at home with my girls in light of Jenna’s diagnosis. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as proud as I am of that accomplishment. But I have other interests I wish to pursue. Nursing was rewarding but it had it’s dark side. It was an easy decision to make, really. I couldn’t wrap my head around going to work as a nurse, caring for others, while a daycare worker cared for my two year old child with diabetes. Quite frankly, it scared the shit out of me, the very thought of it. Furthermore, who could be more qualified to care for Jenna but her mom who also happens be a registered nurse? I know some people have no choice but to work and my heart goes out to you. But, since we had that option open to us, we chose to take it.

Jenna is almost school-aged now. She will be attending junior kindergarten in the new year (I’m likely going to need some advice on how to handle the whole school issue from all you experienced D-parents out there in the weeks ahead) and her big sister will be enrolled in grade two full time. I will still need to be available for checks and boluses while she is in school, but in anticipation of the little bit of free time I might have, I’ve started to ponder some professional possibilities. Nothing is certain, however, so I’m going to leave it at that. But 2011 should be an exciting year, full of possibilities.

And of course, a very big and important part of my support network is the diabetes online community. The comfort I feel knowing help, advise or just an ear to vent is a few clicks away is immense. I’m forever grateful for all of you. Thank you.

A very Happy New Year to us all. May 2011 be a year full of promise, tolerance, love, kindness and understanding ...and a monumental advancement or two in the search for a cure would be nice as well (nod to all you beautiful scientists out there).

...and now I’m going to ring in the New Year with some dear friends I likely won’t see again for some time. Be well and safe, everyone.

Worries and What Ifs

2010-12-28T08:31:00.000-08:00

I was watching The Sound Of Music yesterday. It is a favourite of mine, having watched it almost every Christmas for as far back as I can remember.

Something occurred to me at the end of the movie when, after the concert, the Von Trapp family escaped from the Nazi’s who were waiting to take Captain Von Trapp to his new commission in the Navy of the Third Reich. At this point in the movie the family is informed that the Austrian borders are closed and they decide at the last minute that they must travel on foot over the Alps to cross into Switzerland.

I felt compelled to ponder, what if type 1 diabetes were thrown into this scenario?

Suppose one of the Von Trapp children was a type 1 diabetic. In those days, things pertaining to diabetes management would have been quite different. I would venture to guess that it would have hindered, if not altogether dashed their plan of escaping a Nazi annexed Austria. Captain Von Trapp may well have had to comply with the orders to accept his position in the Third Reich’s Navy.

In this day and age the idea of trekking over a mountain range, on foot, with seven children, one with type 1 diabetes, without weeks of careful planning and specific consideration paid to diabetes management would be a daunting task fraught with risks. The lugging of supplies alone, not to mention how to keep the insulin chilled would be a sizeable undertaking. Not that it would be impossible, just complicated, as so much with diabetes is. It would be damn near impossible to make such a journey in the late 1930’s with a type 1 diabetic child in tow and have the child fare alright throughout the trip.

While doing a little poking around on line in preparation to write this post I learned that the real Von Trapp family story doesn’t include a foot journey over the Alps at all. Apparently a more comfortable form of travel for the time - a trip by rail - was involved and they went to Italy, not Switzerland. It wasn’t even an escape. They left openly. Nevertheless, human history is full of stories of survival that require people to flee homes and homelands at a moments notice and become refugees.

As the mother of a child with type 1 diabetes I am compelled to insert type 1 diabetes into these scenarios. I can’t help myself. Even though I live in friendly, peace-loving Canada, like any mother, I imagine countless scenarios that could endanger my children, no matter how remote the chance is of them materializing. Besides, somewhere in this world that very scenario is likely playing out and has probably played out countless times in the past. I don’t like thinking about the possible outcomes. I hate imagining what the parents of these compromised children must face.

And it doesn’t have to be political upheaval. Natural disasters occur without discriminating between nations. I watched the documentary on the 2004 tsunami in Indonesia a few weeks ago. The same thought process occurred as I watched in horror while people on vacation suddenly found themselves fighting for their lives. There had to be type 1 diabetics there at the time. If they survived the giant waves, how did they get the supplies they needed to manage their diabetes in the aftermath? No doubt some diabetics found themselves without supplies or unable to get to them as unimaginable chaos unfolded around them.

It is this part of type 1 diabetes that preys on my mind most often - how vulnerable my child is and how reliant on pharmaceuticals she must be. I don’t like thinking about it but how can I not? We have to consider unthinkable scenarios with this disease. We have to be prepared because, to not be prepared could easily spell disaster very quickly.

How do you prepare? How much supplies do you keep on hand at any given time? Have you got a plan? What back up measures have you taken?

And finally, how do you keep from driving yourself insane with worry at times? I am a rational person that doesn’t waste time worrying unnecessarily. But given the seemingly increasing number of catastrophic events that have occurred in the world in recent years, and indeed over the course of our planet’s history, I would be naive to think we are untouchable here in North America (think Katrina).

And in all honesty, sometimes the worrying gets me down.

Diabetes Christmas Conundrums

2010-12-26T22:35:00.000-08:00

How is it that I can measure, weigh and cook a meal from scratch and calculate with Pythagorean precision the carbs in Jenna’s portion and still have her blood sugar go rogue; yet we can go out to a fine dining establishment, eat a fancy meal, totally guess at carb counts, administer multiple boluses for food eaten in increments, and somehow have pristine, single digit blood sugar readings all night long thereafter? I’m talking, unbelievable numbers. Devine intervention numbers! Holy crap she’s cured numbers!

We went out for Christmas dinner for the first time ever. It was magical to tour the Butchart Gardens before hand then eat a four course Christmas feast with all the trimmings. I don’t know how I can explain the spot on blood sugars Jenna had afterward. Perhaps it was a perfect combination of activity - walking (running) through the gardens - along with fantastic carb counting guess work. Whatever it was, it worked. Somehow it just worked.

And while we are on the topic of diabetes conundrums, here’s another puzzler: Why does Jenna’s pump battery decide to end its three month long shift in the wee hours on a Christmas morn, after a rare night of excellent blood sugars led me to the false assumption that my midnight check would be the last time I would have to get up until morning? I was hoping for a 7am wake up time, but the diabetes gods had other plans and were conspiring against me and my constant quest for more sleep.

Butchart Gardens at Christmas time is pure magic.

The girls were nestled all snug in their beds by 8pm, Christmas Eve. They had no trouble falling asleep after stories were read to them. Last year, Jazmine was up sometime between 1 and 2am, jacked up on Christmas hype. I had to talk her down and settle her back to bed explaining that it was still time for sleeping. This year was no different, except for the time. She was kind enough to wait until 3:30am before she entered our room excitedly announcing that Santa had visited. For the second year in a row, I got up to settle her back to bed then crawled back into my own still warm covers.

About 20 minutes later, I heard Jenna’s bedroom door slowly crrreeeaaak open. Now she was awake and curious to see if Santa had visited as well.

“Go back to bed. It’s too early,” I stated firmly from my warm cocoon. The sound of little feet retreating back to bed followed by silence prompted me to breath a sigh of relief.

A while later, perhaps a half hour or more, I had just drifted blissfully into that surreal state of semi-lucid limbo, the one where you still have auditory awareness but your subconscious is spinning its strange little yarn of weirdness...

...BEEP...BEEP.

In an instant I was yanked back into full consciousness.

“What was that?”

“Mmmfph---wzz wut?” groaned a groggy J who, having just been awakened from his long winter’s nap, hadn’t yet managed to regain full control over his verbal abilities.

“I heard a beeping sound,” I replied as I glanced at my phone’s clock, making note of the time. It was 4:30am.

J mumbled something about not hearing a thing as I whipped back the covers - again - to investigate. Of course, my first stop was Jenna’s room, since the sound I heard eerily resembled the sound her pump makes after a bolus of insulin is administered.

As I entered her room, she raised her head off her pillow to look at me and I wondered if she was still awake from when she had gotten up not long before.

“Hi honey...I heard a beeping sound,” I began whispering my explanation as I approached her bed.

“Maybe Santa is here! Maybe it was Rudolph’s nose blinking!” Jenna whispered back excitedly.

I giggled and gave her a kiss for being so darned adorable. “No sweetheart. Santa has already come and gone. I think what I heard was your pump.”

I began searching amid the bedsheets and pajamas for her pump which resides at her waist . When I finally retrieved it and pressed a button, the low battery warning text appeared on the display.

Lalaloopsie dolls were a big hit!

So a battery change was done, albeit clumsily, and a prime/rewind sequence performed. Afterward, I returned to Jenna’s bedside to reconnect her pump. I found her sitting up in bed, all wide-eyed and smiles. I tried to explain that it was still too early to get up but I knew my efforts were in vain. She agreed to stay in bed but her little clock radio that is always serenading her at low volume while she sleeps was softly cranking out familiar Christmas tunes. She remained in bed but she didn’t sleep. Instead she sang.

We were all up - the coffee was brewing, the tree lit and the camera poised, ready to capture the magic of Christmas morning - all before 5am.

But those stellar blood sugars? They more than made up for the lack of sleep.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

2010-12-24T15:12:00.000-08:00

When I was a little girl, the wonder of Christmas wasn’t just about getting presents from a big, hairy fella in a red suit with a penchant for chimney crawling. Oh sure that was pretty exciting, but it was also knowing that people all over the world were gathering with joy and good will in their hearts and enjoying their families, eating good food, and celebrating the idea of loving one another and caring for each other. There is something about being a part of an event that so many people are sharing that I have always found to be a very powerful experience.

I think we humans forget about just how connected we are to one another. We are all in this whole experience together. We spend far too much time criticizing our differences and not enough time finding our common ground. And our common ground is vast - far greater than our differences.

You don’t have to be a Christian, or religious to appreciate what this time of year represents. As Clark Griswold states at the end of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, “It means something different to everyone.”

To me, it’s about being thankful for our health and our blessings and being together with those we love, paying tribute to those we have lost while celebrating our children and the promise they hold of a brighter, more compassionate and enlightened future.

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to each and every one of you. May you feel loved and comforted this holiday season.

Finding The Calm Amid The Chaos

2010-12-20T09:50:00.000-08:00

There are five days until Christmas and, given this year’s circumstances, I am impossibly calm, cool and collected. I keep wondering what is wrong with me that I am so damn relaxed! But I am. It’s strange.

Here’s the situation:

We are moving. And I don’t just mean moving across town. This is a trans-continental move. This is an EPIC move! And it’s happening NOW. Well, not right now, but in three short weeks we’ll be packing our every possession on a semi, then driving across this beautiful, albeit frozen country of ours and going back to my home town. (We won’t be driving the semi - we’ll leave that to the professionals. We’ll be driving our Tundra pick-up - a very capable vehicle for what Mother Nature might have in store for us.)

The reasons for this move are varied, but it has a lot to do with the desire to be closer to my sister and her family. It also has to do with the D. But that is a separate post that I plan on writing very soon.

Right now, the issue is Christmas. And packing. And driving for days on end with two young children across a nation that is, at present, in the icy clutches of Old Man Winter. And all the planning and preparation that these two ginormous events entail.

And...okay, YES. There is the D to consider during all of this. How can we not consider it? It is never something that can be glossed over, even during the simplest of times. I have prepared the lists of things to pack. I’ve ordered the Frio packs to keep cool the three vials of insulin I plan on packing, as insulin likes to be. I’ve taken stock of our supplies and have on order all we will need to top up our reserves. I’ve got the glucagon, which has recently become a more versatile and vital tool in the D toolbox as so many other D families have discovered. (For more info on glucagon mini-dosing, see this awesome post by Lorraine.)

We’ve been discussing the road trip and the need to go low carb with regards to snacking on the road. We won’t be getting much in the way of exercise for several days straight (save for the odd pool time at any hotels we stay at that happen to have such facilities.) This means that the temporary basal function will be called upon often to stave off any spikes. But I want to further minimize the chance of fighting frequent highs which will only serve to make Jenna feel miserable and exhausted. The drive alone will be enough of a physical and mental test as it is, without adding the insult of high blood sugar to it. Doughnuts and muffins, while convenient and readily available, are really not the best choice (and, I dare say, that pertains to all of us.) But I suspect we will all get tired of carrot and celery sticks pretty quickly. So if anyone can recommend any low carb, low fat, low mess, car-friendly snacking ideas kindly leave me a comment.

So you can imagine what our household looks like these days. Among the boxes and packing paper, we have a tree up, although it is a fake one. Next year we will go back to a real tree. But this year, we had to keep it simple and pull out the ol’ faker. The stockings are hung by the chimney with...uh...well...lets just leave it at “they’re hung.” The word “care” doesn’t apply when they are being taken down, tried on, played with, stuffed with toys from Christmases past and put back up in varying order, multiple times a day! If they survive Jenna’s constant mauling due to her inability to leave all that jingles and sparkles alone, I will be astonished.

We even managed to sneak in a cookie baking session the other day, just prior to packing up my cookie sheets and mixing bowls.

Speaking of packing, J and I are on top of it. We have been picking away at the task for weeks now and our garage is steadily filling with an ever growing mountain of packed boxes.

And in light of the packing chaos this year, we have made reservations to eat Christmas dinner out. This will be a first for us. I’m usually at home stuffing, then wrestling a turkey into a roaster and making those fancy cross slits in the bottom of each brussels sprout, the purpose of which continues to elude me. On any given Christmas day I can be found ironing the fancy table cloth and its matching napkins just prior to placing them on the table which is always just prior to dinner being served. Somehow, I always forget this detail until the very last minute. But this year someone else is going to take care of these details. I whole-heartedly welcome this break from tradition, in light of all that is going on. Next year I’m going to do Christmas up right. The tree will be real. The cookie baking will involve more than just one recipe. And the Christmas dinner will be second to none. But the best part about Christmas next year will be sharing it with my Mom, sister, brother-in-law, nieces and nephew for the first time in too many years. It’s something I’ve been dreaming about for so long.

The next three weeks should prove to be unbelievably busy with a lot to consider, not the least of which is Jenna’s diabetes. But through it all I have somehow become even more aware of how lucky we are and I am incredibly thankful. This seemingly ill-timed move has had a strange, paradoxically calming effect on me. I have a heightened awareness of what is really important. We have amazing, supportive and loving family and friends, both here, on Canada’s west coast and back east in my home town.

And the four of us have each other (and our stash of diabetes supplies.) I don’t need or want for anything more, for I know that wherever we (and the diabetes supplies) are, as long as we are together (with our big box of D-supplies and chilled insulin), that is where home is.

Special Sibs of D-Kids Day!

2010-11-28T00:03:00.000-08:00

This post was going to be about my amazing seven year old daughter, Jazmine and how supportive she is of Jenna, her little sister with type 1 diabetes. I was going to recount how she spotted the signs of hypoglycemia in Jenna and took it upon herself to check her blood sugar - not once but twice! I was going to say how caring and sympathetic she is when Jenna is not feeling well.

But then during an exchange with a friend on Twitter I was reminded of an incredibly important aspect of being the sibling of a child with diabetes: they are just as much in need of support and understanding as their brothers and sisters with diabetes, particularly in the weeks and months following diagnosis.

Jazmine was only four when Jenna was diagnosed at the age of two. That’s the same age as Jenna is now. When Jenna came home after a four day stay in hospital Jazmine witnessed her sister having to endure finger sticks 6 to 8 times a day and insulin injections 3 to 4 times a day. Not surprisingly, Jenna was fearful of each needle stick and would cry. While I concentrated on helping Jenna endure these relentless physical trials, Jazmine was going through an emotional trial of her own. It was frightening for her too.

Numerous times Jazmine would run into her room crying, unable to cope with her sister’s distress. I recall feeling so torn at times. Jazmine would often have to go without my hugs and words of comfort for longer than I would have liked while I assisted Jenna.

On one occasion, when I was finally able to attend to Jazmine’s needs I explained to her that Jenna needed us to be brave to help her find her bravery. I told Jazmine that she could help Jenna cope by offering her encouragement. Jazmine needed to be involved. She needed to be a part of it all in some capacity. And really, Jenna needed her to be a part of it too. I told Jazmine that she could be so helpful if she could find a way to cheer Jenna on.

And that’s just what my then four year old little girl did. From that day on, Jazmine conquered her own fears and found her bravery to help her little sister find hers. Jazmine found it in herself to stay by Jenna’s side when Jenna became fearful. She offered comfort and reassurance and was always ready with praise when Jenna endured a frightening procedure. Such a selfless act by a child so young is truly incredible.

My point is that it is too easy to overlook the needs of our non-diabetic children. We get immersed in the daily management of diabetes, especially in the weeks after diagnosis. We can forget that they too are scared and need support, education, involvement, encouragement, comfort...

It’s been said many times before but it’s worth repeating here: Diabetes affects the whole family, not just the pancreatically challenged. Often the siblings are young children who need to be shown how they fit in to this whole diabetes business. If we can include them, everyone benefits.

So in honour of Jazmine, we are going to do something we rarely do but always enjoy when we do it; we are going to the movies. We are going to buy massive quantities of overpriced popcorn and watch the 3-D version of that new Disney animated movie - Tangled.

When I told Jazmine our plans for the day her eyes lit up and her jaw dropped! She couldn’t wait to go tell her sister - her best friend. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate and honour Jazmine than doing something fun together, as a family.

After all, that’s what it’s all about - Family. And nothing is more important than that.

Celebrating Our Special Sibs of D-Kids

2010-11-18T12:01:00.000-08:00

Once again my beautiful seven year old daughter recognized Jenna’s symptoms of a low blood sugar, took the initiative to perform the check, then upon confirming her suspicion quickly reported her findings to me.

Those who follow me here or on Facebook will recall a time earlier this year when this very scenario played out once before. I was so proud that I quickly shared the story online. Jazmine was proud too, and rightfully so. She was a hero that day and repeated that heroic act again yesterday.

And this isn’t the only heroic act worth celebrating, although it may be the most obvious one. There are countless other times that I’ve become aware of Jazmine’s quiet patience and understanding when Jenna has, out of necessity, been in the spotlight for a prolonged period of time, perhaps due to persistent blood sugar problems. Or maybe she’s been taking the brunt of Jenna’s hyperglycemia-induced foul mood and has had to show maturity and understanding in dealing with that. In fact, Jazmine is a hero everyday just by being a loving, protective, big sister to Jenna.

So I got to thinking - shouldn’t there be a day when we, as a diabetes community collective, recognize and celebrate their awesomeness in its many various forms? We all know that, out of necessity, our children with diabetes often require more attention to manage this disease. But our non-diabetic kids are often expected to go above and beyond and because they are such great kids, that’s just what they do.

So another awesome D-Mom, Alexis from Justice’s Misbehaving Pancreas, and I got talking and we both agreed that our non-D kids deserve a day of recognition. It could be celebrated in as many ways as there are D-families to celebrate it. Maybe you make a favourite meal or dessert. Perhaps it can be one big family fun day!

Or it might be as simple as telling your non-D kid, either with the spoken or written word, just how incredible you think he or she is. Because, really, can you ever say stuff like that too much? I don’t think so either.

So the date we decided on is November 28th. However you decide to mark the occasion, we’d like to hear about it. Perhaps you can share your ideas here or on Alexis’ blog in the comment section of our posts. Or if you have a blog, grab the button and blog about your Special Sib of a D-Kid!

Let’s show our non-D kiddos that we know how awesome they are and we love them for it!

A World Diabetes Day Toast

2010-11-14T07:20:00.000-08:00

It’s still dark out.

The furnace is droning on, working to take off the night’s chill. Oatmeal bubbles and snaps as it simmers on the stove. My oldest daughter is lounging in her bathrobe on a chair in the living room watching cartoons. Jenna is still in bed, sleeping soundly.

I’m here tapping away on the keys of my laptop, being tantalized by the smell of coffee brewing, thinking about the bolus I gave Jenna almost two hours ago to correct the high blood sugar she was knee-deep in at 5am. I wonder if she is going to wake up for breakfast before her blood sugar drops too low. But I’m confident her blood sugar will indeed come down, thanks to that precious liquid - insulin.

And on this World Diabetes Day, I’m filled with heart-warming, tear-summoning gratitude for it’s discovery. Without the tireless efforts of Dr.’s Banting and Best my little girl wouldn’t be here today along with countless other children - children who were given the gift of life and allowed to grow up instead of becoming another tragic, heart-breaking statistic.

So, on this day I would like to raise a glass (or at this hour, a mug) to the good doctors, Banting and Best, and to all the scientists working to find a cure for the disease that was a death sentence before their discovery of insulin.

Happy World Diabetes Day. May we one day soon be celebrating a cure.

Six Things I Want To Get Off My Chest

2010-11-09T14:29:00.000-08:00

Today is D-Blog Day so I’m going to share my 6 things I want people to know about diabetes.

Neither I nor my daughter did anything to cause her to develop type 1 diabetes. It didn’t occur because she ate too much candy or was overweight. It wasn’t because I over-indulged during my pregnancy. Type 1 diabetes is an autoimmune disorder caused by the immune system mistaking a person’s insulin producing beta cells in the pancreas for a foreign invader. The immune system destroys the beta cells leaving a person without the ability to produce insulin.
Without working beta cells a person either needs to inject insulin several times a day or infuse insulin via an insulin pump. Without insulin a person will die a slow and miserable death. Before Banting and Best made their miraculous discovery that is precisely what happened to people. Their misery is documented in pictures. I’ve seen the pictures. It is most horrifying and deeply disturbing.
People with diabetes constantly need to monitor their blood sugar and count carbs. They must always be conscious of their activity and hormone levels and their overall physical condition to dose accordingly with insulin.
Humans are poor substitutes for working beta cells and are constantly at risk of either overdosing or under dosing on insulin. The immediate consequences can range from feeling unwell to seizures, unconsciousness, coma or death. The long term consequences are kidney, heart and peripheral vascular disease, neuropathy and loss of vision to name just a few.
My daughter Jenna is a remarkable little girl with a zest for life and a sense of humour beyond her years. She deserves to live a long, full life filled with love and understanding. I want Jenna to live in a world full of compassionate, educated people who won’t judge her out of ignorance. In fact, I want that for both my girls regarding life in general. Understanding and compassion come from being educated. If you don’t understand something about diabetes or have questions I will gladly educate you. Just ask.
I too am guilty of being uninformed in the past regarding diabetes, even though I have a medical background. I cringe every time I recall conducting physical assessments on diabetic patients and asking them if they were “well controlled”. I’m surprised no one told me to go fly a kite, quite honestly. Control of diabetes is fleeting and can change from moment to moment. It is a constant battle with far too many variables to be a walk in the park. It never ends. If there is one thing I would tell health care professionals it’s to not judge a diabetic. Don’t think that because you are a medical doctor or a nurse that you know all there is to know about this disease. Odds are you don’t. This disease is harder than it looks to manage. And even when you seem to be doing everything right it can still mess with you on so many levels. And for goodness sake, don’t ask a type 1 diabetic if they are “well controlled”. It’s just about the most ridiculous thing you could ask.

A Special Halloween Tradition

2010-10-30T17:52:00.000-07:00

I admit, I was very anxious the first Halloween with D. Even though Jenna was rocking her pump for almost two months prior, it was still pretty tense for me.

What if she goes animal on me and starts ripping into the candy like a sugar-crazed...well...KID!

The thing is, it didn’t happen like that at all. Jenna was just like most kids and thoroughly enjoyed the actual act of trick-or-treating. She wasn’t focused on the candy in the least. At least, not until we wrapped up the trick-or-treating part of the program. And after a quick, post-haunting check revealed a low blood sugar, she enjoyed several pieces of candy as we made our way back home. Besides, I find candy in small amounts is pretty easy to deal with. It’s the burgers, pizza, pasta and french fries that give us the most grief with regards to glycemic control.

But candy is still candy and although I firmly believe kids need to be allowed to pig out on junk now and then, I like to limit the amount consumed. Halloween and Easter candy is usually around for months after the fact because it is metered out as after-meal treats. So reducing the overall amount consumed is a good thing.

For several years now, even before the big D came a knockin’, I have employed a little help from Charlie Brown and used the Great Pumpkin concept to help minimize the amount of junk my kids consume. Here’s how it works in our house:

Once home from trick-or-treating we pour out the candy bags and my girls have fun sorting and examining the night’s pull. This is when my husband and I take the opportunity to check all the treats for safety purposes and to perform a little quality control, of course!

After the scoping...uh, I mean....sorting of the treats, we ask our girls to make some decisions as to which goodies they want to swap for non-candy treats from the Great Pumpkin. The more candy they are willing to part with, the greater the trade! Often it ends up being close to half the night’s haul. They then place these treats into a special bowl for placement by the front door of our house. The Great Pumpkin visits sometime in the night and makes the swap. The next morning my girls race to find a few fun items for each of them such as a new video, a toy and a book in place of the candy! Another great item to include, as a friend of mine suggested, is a new toothbrush! I think that’s an awesome idea and I’m going to...uh, I mean... the Great Pumpkin is going to include one as part of the trade for each of my girls this year.

The Great Pumpkin usually leaves a letter of thanks for the great trade and bids them farewell until next year when he hopes they can do business again. My girls enjoy this tradition very much and are only too happy to divvy up their goodies.

The only question I haven’t been able to answer is what the Great Pumpkin does with all that candy.

Before Another Child Is Lost

2010-10-20T22:38:00.000-07:00

The unthinkable has happened. Again.

The unfathomable has happened and we are all left reeling from the reality of what we face. Every. Single. Day.

The unbelievable has happened and a family I’ve never met but have so much in common with occupies my thoughts and my heart.

The unspeakable has happened and I, along with countless others in the diabetes community weep tears of grief, pain and anger.

The unimaginable has happened and mothers and fathers of type 1 diabetic children are left to hug our children tightly as we are snapped back into the sombre and sobering realization that there, but for the grace of God, go any one of us.

We all say, I can’t imagine what they, the parents, are going through. But the truth is, it is only too easy to imagine the heart-wrenching, oppressive pain and grief they must be feeling. We were faced with the reality of what could happen when we learned about the intricacies of managing our children’s type 1 diabetes. Insulin is a double-edged sword. It gives life but it can just as easily take it away. And we don’t have the luxury of being able to say, it could never happen to us. We know only too well how life has a way of dealing out the unexpected. We have been burned before.

You see, there was a time when most parents of children with type 1 diabetes didn’t believe a serious, life-threatening illness could strike our children without warning. Not our child.

And then one day it happened.

We are too wise to hide our heads under that cover of naiveté.

And so, when we hear of a family who is suffering the worst loss imaginable, we all know it could happen to any one of us. It is what bonds us — perfect strangers — in a very real and profound way.
We understand one another and what we go through every day. The reality of what we all face.

What we need to do is find a way of sharing this reality. We need to figure out how to impress upon the public the urgent need for a cure. Because our children don’t look sick. They look just like every other child. Most days people wouldn’t even know that our children are usually feeling the exhausting effects of erratic blood sugars. People would never guess that they are constantly at risk of overdosing on insulin. People don’t think about the long term complications our children face because of type 1 diabetes such as heart disease, hypertension, peripheral vascular disease, vision loss, limb amputation, neuropathy and the list goes on.

And people aren’t aware of just what is entailed in managing type 1 diabetes and the constant monitoring required, from minute to minute, hour to hour, day and night, to keep our precious children safe. To keep our babies alive.

Blog. Talk. Write. Answer questions. Encourage discussions. Be out there. Test in public. Don’t hide the minutia of diabetes management. Encourage your children to answer questions from their friends. Suggest speech topics that involve diabetes.

Raise money. Raise awareness.

Walk.

Don’t be quiet about this disease...

...be loud!

We need a cure.

Before another child is lost.

How Does It Feel?

2010-10-06T00:19:00.000-07:00

I can socialize in type 1 circles and, for the most part, fit right in. I know the jargon; I understand the disease; I have first hand knowledge of what it takes to manage it day and night.

But the one thing I don’t know is how it feels to be off-the-charts high or crazy-ass low. I can imagine all I want but at the end of the day, I have a working pancreas that keeps my blood sugars in pretty tight check. So, I can’t relate to the crippling, confusing and emotionally devastating effects of a 2.1 blood sugar or the exhausting physical stress of a blood sugar of 24 with ketones.

I have some feeble points of reference to draw from. Like most people, I have gone too long between meals or overindulged and suffered the repercussions. Like the time I binged on a bag of Jelly Belly jelly beans I had rationalized buying for treating Jenna’s lows (in spite of the fact that at any given time I have a fully stocked arsenal of carb tabs available for just such instances.) I ate so many jelly beans that I felt decidedly ill afterward and thought it might be interesting to check my blood sugar. I believe I clocked in at 8 point something. Definitely elevated but a far cry from the teens that Jenna experiences several time a week. And by no means could it even come close to the feeling of a twenty-something reading, which isn’t nearly uncommon enough.

If I knew how Jenna felt in states of hyper and hypoglycemia I might be better armed to identify the signs sooner in some instances. It wouldn’t be that much of an issue if my diabetic child was older by, say 5 years or more. Then she might have a little more insight into her physical status. She would be more skilled at verbalizing how she is feeling. Her ability to identify physical symptoms as a manifestation of crappy blood sugar control would be better honed. But as it stands, I am at the mercy of non-verbal, behavioural signs to tip me off to an out-of-range blood sugar.

I wish I could say that I’ve never misread the signs as being merely typical four year old antics—that I’m always cognizant of the possibility that her impish behaviour could be a direct result of a plummeting or sky-rocketing blood sugar and that, at the onset of less than angelic behaviour, I nip off to retrieve the meter and perform a check.

I really wish I could say that.

I can’t.

Usually I can connect the dots fairly quickly and surmise that Jenna’s reluctance to get dressed and brush her teeth while she sprawls, uncooperatively on the floor could be a low.

More often than not I can identify an angry, out-of-the-blue outburst ending in a box of crayons being thrown at an impressive velocity across the room to be a high blood sugar careening out of control.

But there are days when I get caught up in the energy and frustration, when the symptoms aren’t quite so glaring, and I miss it, doling out a consequence, such as time on the thinking chair, without a second thought. Only after my own frustration has abated, allowing the significance of Jenna’s pale complexion to sink in, do I make the connection and race for her meter. And I don’t need to tell you how I feel when the number staring back at me confirms that Jenna’s behaviour had far more to do with physical discomfort secondary to glycemic chaos than typical preschooler antics.

I try to make it a policy to check Jenna whenever I’m in doubt. Because those rare occasions when I’ve missed it are still too many for my liking.

But I’m learning not to blame myself for these lapses in spot-on D management. It’s not like diabetes has a hidden code that, once cracked, will forever-more make D a cake walk. This is one puzzle that refuses to be pieced together. Just when you think you’ve figured it out, the rules change.

As Leighann of D-Mom Blog once told me in a comment to another blog post I wrote, think of all the times we get it right. And truthfully, the fact that all those times we get it right far outweigh the times we don’t is pretty remarkable, given the unpredictable nature of diabetes.

This disease is such an SOB. I have beaten it to a messy pulp a million times in my mind, mostly for the suffering it has caused my child. But also for the heartache my husband and I have endured and will continue endure until our last breath. As incredible and joyful as parenthood is, it can be just as difficult at times. Throw type 1 diabetes in the mix and the stress and worry are compounded.

Kerri posed the question on her blog post yesterday, If you could change one thing about having diabetes, what would it be?

Easy. Without question. I would change places with my daughter and take on this disease myself.

D-Feast Friday!

2010-10-01T08:47:00.000-07:00

Here’s a recipe that has been in my sights to make for some time. Now that Fall has arrived I can’t think of a better time to fire up my oven and roast up some squash, apples and garlic to make this fragrant and flavourful soup. So this is what’s on the menu this weekend at our house! Care to be adventurous and try it with me?

Roasted Squash & Apple Soup

3 lbs squash
2 medium apples, halved and cored
1 head garlic
4 cups chicken stock
Salt and pepper to taste
Pinch of nutmeg
Sprigs of fresh thyme for garnish

Cut squash in half, scoop out seeds and place cut side down on a parchment lined baking sheet.

Cut garlic head in half and place cut side down with squash on baking sheet.

Place apples cut side down on baking sheet as well.

Bake at 350º for 35-40 minutes.

Scoop squash and apples from skins and place in saucepan. Squeeze roasted garlic halves from their skins into saucepan as well. Add 3 cups of the chicken stock and with an immersion blender, blend until smooth. Add more stock to achieve desired consistency. Heat then add salt and pepper to taste. Add nutmeg.

Garnish each serving with a sprig of thyme, if you are so inclined.

Serves 6

Random Thoughts

2010-09-25T17:28:00.000-07:00

“Dude. Can I borrow your lid?"

I’m sitting with my girls as I type this. We are colouring and cutting out dinosaurs, giraffes, and other assorted characters. Each character is getting a popsicle stick taped to the back as well as a fashionable, custom made paper handbag (Jenna’s idea). I’m guessing that a puppet show of sorts is in the works. It’s times like this during parenthood that I anticipated with excitement long before I became a parent.
Today the ice cream truck came cruising up our street. Today— a day when Jenna has been spiking to high heaven and making ketones like a professional....ketone.......maker. We don’t see an ice cream truck all blasted summer, then fall arrives— Jenna has the worst diabetes day she’s had in months and the ice cream truck appears. Irony anyone?
On any given night I can be found, once or twice, between the hours of 10pm and 4am clutching a small, green flashlight between my teeth while I perform a blood glucose check on a sleeping Jenna. It occurred to me that a miner’s hat would be a more appropriate illuminating device for this task. Hands-free, you know? I can’t help but laugh at the thought of strapping on a miner’s hat over my crazy bed-head, fresh out of dreamland. Still, it would really make things easier.
I enjoy Autumn. I’ve mentioned this before, I know. But it’s worth repeating since today has been a delightfully cool and windy Autumn day, in spite of the blood sugar gremlins. Colourful fallen leaves were dancing playfully in the streets and the sweet smell of bonfires laced the air. J and I dropped our girls off at their morning art class then enjoyed a latte while we chatted and perused the aisles of books at our local Chapter’s. It was an hour of calming bliss.

My dishwasher is making very strange sounds and I fear an expensive breakdown is imminent.

Okay. So that’s all the random thoughts I’m having at the moment. I’m sure there are more but I’m being sent to the photocopier for the umpteenth time to make more paper characters. Enjoy the rest of your weekend and maybe think in-range blood sugar thoughts for us, k? Thanks.

I Want A Cure.

2010-09-17T23:47:00.000-07:00

Jenna’s bedtime reading was 2.2 tonight. She had none of the typical symptoms. It breaks her previous all time low of 2.3.

We gave her two carb tabs and I read to her a chapter from the book we’ve been reading before tucking her in and kissing her goodnight. She was exhausted from a full week of school, swim lessons, gymnastics and play. So exhausted, in fact, that when I checked her again 20 minutes later to ensure she was recovering and discovered she was still only 3.6, I could barely get her to eat another carb tablet, let alone the two that I would have preferred to put my mind at ease. She wouldn’t even drink the usual few sips of water we always offer to help wash the sugar off her teeth after treatment!

I thought we had the whole pizza deal figured out. I had attended Gary Scheiner’s talks at the CWD-FFL conference and had taken meticulous notes. I reread the section in his book about how to deal with foods notorious for posing blood sugar problems. Then not long after the conference I applied all of the recommended techniques after a pizza feast and experienced a night of blood sugars that would have made Mr. Scheiner proud. No spikes. No lows. In fact, Jenna stayed within two points of her goal all night!

Perhaps we got a little cocky—dialing up temporary basals and combo-boluses tonight with a little too much reckless abandon.

Or maybe the difference was the pizza itself. I noticed tonight’s pizza glistened with a greasy glaze. Maybe the fat content was markedly higher than the one we had had such success with before.

Or perhaps the increased activity I mentioned previously is a factor. It’s very likely that she has increased insulin sensitivity because of the extra physical demands on her body. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, unless, of course, she experiences jaw-dropping lows because of it.

It just goes to prove that there are far too many variables to be able to pin down one formula to apply to every situation. Diabetes is always a guessing game.

I know how this is going to play out. The 2.2 she had will likely result in a rebound high. And because she had two low readings within the span of half an hour, in spite of treatment, I suspended her combination bolus and temporary basal rate. This means that the delayed high she will undoubtedly experience from the fatty, carby pizza will remain unchallenged unless I ramp up her basals again at some point, or make sure to check her every two hours all night and correct, correct, correct.

After we treated the initial low tonight and settled Jenna to bed, I was tucking my oldest daughter in. She asked me what would happen if Jenna’s blood sugar went to zero. All I said was that it would be very bad and that that’s why we check her all the time, day and night.

But my tone and facial expression must have said more because the look on her face told me she knew what it was that I wasn’t saying.

We left the unspeakable unspoken and hugged for an extra long time before we said our goodnights.

I want a cure.

For every parent who has ever been afraid to let their diabetic child go to sleep at night and for every person with diabetes who has ever been afraid to close their eyes....

...I want a cure.

Cool Give-Away!

2010-09-12T09:37:00.000-07:00

So this is pretty awesome!

Heidi over at D-Tales is hosting a give-away! Cool medical ID bracelets that you just have to check out!

I’m not usually one to enter contests. But since Jenna has developed a sensitivity to nickel and can no longer wear her stainless medical alert bracelet as a result, and since I purchased a really pretty beaded one for her that arrived one size too big and now sits in our diabetes drawer until she does some serious growing....*deep breath*....I’m totally entering this awesome contest.

You should too! Head on over there now! Tell her Sherry sent ya! ;-)

D-Feast Friday: Blueberry Banana Smoothie

2010-09-10T02:00:00.000-07:00

This is a delicious and nutritious drink that makes frequent appearances at our breakfast table. Truth be told it is also an occasional after supper dessert. It is just so darn delicious that my girls ask for it often and I am thankful for that. There are far worse things they could crave. Jenna, being a lover of anything ‘berry’ is always game for this little bit of heaven in a tumbler.

Blueberry, Banana Smoothie

1 cup skim milk
1/2 cup plain or vanilla yogurt, nonfat
1/2 cup orange juice
1 cup fresh or frozen blueberries (I prefer frozen to give it that frosty texture
1 banana, medium, ripe
(I’ve been known to sneak in a couple table spoons of wheat germ now and then for an extra punch of nutrition.)

Blend all ingredients in blender until smooth and creamy. Serve immediately.

*For a variation, try frozen mango pieces or strawberries!

Makes 4 servings with 23 carbs per serving.

A Diabetes Family Utopia

2010-09-07T02:09:00.000-07:00

Imagine a place where the food is delicious, healthy, plentiful and you don’t have to prepare it. Each dish has a card with the serving size and carb count itemized beside it. Glistening silver punch bowls overflow with tubes of carb tabs, Skittles and Starburst candies to treat lows. In this place everybody knows your name and you theirs (gotta love name tags) and speaks the same diabetes lingo you do. When you discuss carbohydrate counts and the fat content of the foods your child is eating, no one looks at you judgmentally like you are grooming your child for a future eating disorder.

Imagine a place where everyone understands, I mean, really understands what it’s like to live with diabetes every single day and night because they live with it too. A place where there are energetic teens with type 1 diabetes who happily and competently care for your D and non-D children while you immerse yourself in learning more about the many facets of diabetes management. In this magical place no dishes need doing, no tables need setting and no meals or snacks need preparing (well, not by you anyway). The coffee and tea is freshly brewed and on tap all day long to help you stay awake and alert in spite of your chronic state of sleep deprivation.

It is a D-family’s Utopia. And it exists. I know. I’ve seen it with my own eyes! Trouble is it only lasts one weekend then it’s gone, like a glorious fleeting dream that you are awakened from all too soon.

The girls pose with Medtronic’s Lenny the Lion

The Children With Diabetes - Friends for Life Conference came to Canada for the first time two weekends ago and welcomed over 500 more people into their family. We were lucky enough to be among those people.

Conference attendees take part in two and a half days of mingling with other D-families and attending lectures by people who have made diabetes and it’s management their life’s work, often because it has touched them on a very personal level. People like Gary Scheiner, a certified diabetes educator and exercise physiologist. He also has type 1 diabetes, diagnosed 24 years ago, and likes to open his talks by sharing the irony that his diagnosis took place in Sugarland, Texas. No lie.

I was pretty pumped (pun intended) about hearing Gary Scheiner speak. He wrote the book "Think Like A Pancreas" which is a must read for anyone managing type 1 diabetes either with MDI’s or with an insulin pump. I refer to him as “The Pump Whisperer” because he has many tricks up his sleeve to help people get the most out of their insulin pump. I attended every talk Mr. Scheiner gave that weekend, feverishly taking notes like some super-keener, nerdy college student determined to pull off straight A’s or die trying. I hope he doesn’t think I was stalking him...

George Canyon performs at CWD - FFL Canada

Meeting George Canyon was pretty awesome too. I’m not the biggest country music fan but he won me over when he opened with Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” at the Saturday night banquet. He also has an amazing presence and charm that is impossible to resist. Earlier in the day George could be found outside the large conference room taking pictures of individual children with type 1 diabetes, with their parents consent of course. He intends to display the photos as a slide show presentation while he performs at the CCMA on Sunday, September 12. George himself was actually taking the pictures. So if you plan on watching that awards show you just might see Jenna’s face appear on the screen behind George along with the faces of many other type 1 diabetic children.

But the absolute best part of the weekend was being surrounded by people who understand because they live it like we do. The dessert served at the Saturday evening banquet was cake with a thick, buttery, chocolate icing. I suspected when she ate it that Jenna’s blood sugar would go rogue hours later while she slept. Sure enough, she spiked pretty high between midnight and 3am. When we were getting up every 2 hours to hack down her ever-rising blood sugar I wondered how many others in attendance were waging the same wee hour war on a post-cake high like we were. It was oddly comforting knowing we were likely one of many.

Dancing in front of the Olympic Cauldron in Vancouver

Looking around and seeing a pump on every other person’s waist, seeing people pull out their meters to check before meals, watching parents as they loaded up their child’s plate and took careful note of the carbs in each item, it made me feel like we weren’t alone after all. But at the same time it moved me to tears knowing just how many lives are affected by this disease — a disease without a cure that is on the rise and no one really knows why.

Throughout the weekend, on occasion, I found myself sitting quietly, emotions surging, scanning the conference room, conscious of the fact that I was surrounded by so many incredibly brave people — children and adults with type 1 diabetes as well as the families that care for / about them. I was humbled and honored to be there making their acquaintance, offering and receiving support.

And I want to go again, a whole lot.

A Moment Worth Sharing.

2010-09-02T14:04:00.000-07:00

I just sat down after cleaning up from the lunch chaos to check email and see who’s tweeting what. My girls are downstairs playing with toy cars and dinosaurs — they call it “Dinosaurs and Cars”. Go figure.

As I sit with my freshly steeped cuppa tea, logging in, perusing and all the while listening with one ear to my girls play, I catch this exchange:

Jazmine: (Gasps) “Oh! Is your site okay?

Jenna: “Ya, it’s okay.”

Jazmine: “Oh, phew. Okay. Where were we?”

...and they continue playing without missing a beat.

I can only imagine, since I wasn’t able to actually see what happened, that Jenna’s site perhaps got caught on something, or someone, as they played. But what struck me was how diabetes is just another part of their “everyday”. And what really touched me was Jazmine’s genuine concern for her sister.

How did I get so lucky to have two crazy-cool kids?

Diabetes Art Day!

2010-08-31T21:35:00.000-07:00

Today is a day that many of us in the Diabetes Online Community have been anticipating for several weeks. It is Diabetes Art Day. I wrote about it here and many have been tweeting about it since it was announced by Lee Ann on her blog, The Butter Compartment.

I’m pretty excited about this. Not just because I get to post art work by my two amazing kids, but because I adore art of all kinds. I’m not one of those people who looks at a piece of art that challenges our preconceived notions about what qualifies as art and says “Well, anyone can do that!” Art is limitless in the many forms it can take. And not all art has to be aesthetically pleasing! Art is a form of expression and not all things worth expressing are happy, beautiful, comforting, pleasing to the eye, perfectly proportioned or warm and fuzzy. Whether it’s of an uplifting nature or a means to express rage, frustration, sadness or loneliness, it is the message that is important (unless, of course, all you care about is filling that wall space above the couch with something that coordinates with your decor) and I have a feeling we all have a message of one kind or another to share with regards to diabetes — call me crazy...

A few weeks ago when this idea was in it’s infancy I began setting aside all the diabetes trash that is generated from the day to day management of Jenna’s diabetes — cartridges, spent insulin vials, used tubing and insertion devices, etc. I told J when he asked about the growing pile of stuff that I was planning a diabetes art project with the girls. I wasn’t sure yet what I was going to do with all of it but I wanted to save it nevertheless in hopes that some kick-ass inspiration would pop into my head.

Jazmine, my oldest daughter, overheard this discussion.

“I have an idea!” she exclaimed with confidence and excitement.

“Lay it on me” I replied, intrigued by her enthusiasm.

“What if we used the site change thingy to stamp paint on paper? We could dip it in the paint, pull back the doo-hicky, place it on the paper and press it to make it click!”

How clever is that?! I was speechless.

Sometimes the artistic process is just as significant as the finished work of art. As the parent of a diabetic child who found infusion site changes quite stressful, I believe this fun technique could be utilized to help children fearful of site changes. The incentive to have another used insertion device with which to create art could assist a child in finding his or her bravery during routine site changes. The message? To every cloud there is a silver lining, if one chooses to see it.

To finish their pieces they channeled Jackson Pollock himself and splattered silver glitter paint as a top layer. Jenna took it one step further and grabbed some seed pods from some spent flowers in the garden as well as a dried cherry tree leaf and added them as a finishing touch. What can I say — she’s very avant-garde.

Here are the finished pieces after they were allowed to dry.

My own contribution to Diabetes Art Day, titled “Parenting On The Glycemic Tightrope”, can be found below or on the side bar of this blog. It’s message is only too obvious to anyone with type 1 diabetes and to D-parents in particular.

A Post From The Past.

2010-08-30T08:24:00.000-07:00

Last weekend my family and I attended our first Children With Diabetes - Friends For Life conference in Vancouver. Incidentally, it was also the first one ever held in Canada. I thought it would be fitting to post here, on my own blog, something I wrote that originally appeared as a guest blog on Six Until Me this past April. I do plan to write about our experience at the conference. But for now, I’d like to revisit another “first”.

* * *

Firsts

As parents our aim is to teach our children how to be independent of us. It is a painstaking, bittersweet process spanning many years and encompassing countless achievements along the way—the first time a baby reaches for a toy, holds a spoon or takes a first step. The first time a child sleeps over at a friend’s house, rides a two-wheeler, drives a car—each first represents a step closer to the goal of independence and is celebrated accordingly. Having a child with Type 1 Diabetes adds considerably more to this list of firsts.

My daughter, Jenna, will be four years old in a few weeks and her two year diagnosis anniversary will follow nine weeks after that. I haven’t pushed her to learn to perform any of the routine tasks related to the management of her diabetes. She’s still quite young and lacking in some fine motor skills to accomplish the tasks involved with ease. It takes a steady hand to zero-in on that bead of blood with a test strip then allow enough time for the strip to slurp it up until an adequate sample is obtained. Besides, she faces a lifetime performing the never-ending, daily litany of blood sugar checks, boluses, site changes and corrections. There’s no hurry. Like other aspects of raising a child this will be a process requiring time, patience and a relaxed, supportive approach—the pace of which will be set by Jenna and her cues signaling readiness.

Last year on a few occasions, I tested the waters and offered Jenna the opportunity to do her own blood sugar check. Each time she refused I would do the check myself without further discussion. Then one day during a family camping trip I offered her the lancing device expecting her to refuse as usual. This time, however, she surprised me when she quickly took it from my hand with such confidence—more than she was prepared to commit to. Jenna’s expression when she pressed the device to her finger and triggered the lancet was that of shock, bordering on panic. It was then that I knew she hadn’t really intended to perform her own check. But when she saw the drop of blood and realized what she had done her panicked expression changed to one of proud amazement, like when a child snaps her fingers for the first time or blows her first chewing gum bubble.

We congratulated her on this achievement being careful not to overdo it. Jenna isn’t one for a lot of fanfare. She is uncomfortable in the spotlight and becomes annoyed by too much ado, perhaps feeling patronized. I thought this would signify a turning point whereby Jenna would feel empowered and take more of an active role in her diabetes management. But this was an isolated event. Jenna refused to do any more checks after that.

Then one day this past January, five months after the unintentional lancing incident, Jenna was just about to enjoy a mid-morning snack. She had washed her hands and was pulling out the kitchen stool to sit and enjoy her cheese, crackers and half an apple. I asked her to get the checker ready which entails getting a strip out (she has finally mastered uncapping the container without flinging strips everywhere, for which I am truly grateful) and inserting it into the meter. Jenna said “Sure Mom.” After a brief moment she said something I wasn’t expecting; “...actually, I’ll do my own check today.” Then without hesitation she proceeded to do just that, as if she had done it a hundred times before.

When she was finished and the number appeared I kissed her on the top of her head and with as much restraint and composure as I could muster I quietly said “Good job, honey!” But inside I was bursting. I realized that this was the way it was meant to happen. On her own terms Jenna had done her blood sugar check and had taken one more step closer to her independence—a step I wish with all my heart she didn’t have to take. But the fact of the matter is it’s just one in a long line of firsts necessary for her to become independent in life and in the management of her diabetes.

It’s also just another reason for me to be proudly in awe of Jenna—my beautiful, brave, strong girl.

Let Them Eat Cake!

2010-08-26T23:42:00.000-07:00

This D-Feast Friday is a tribute to people who can’t digest gluten. It is a gluten free chocolate cake recipe using quinoa (pronounced keen-wa)! A friend forwarded me the link and I admit, I was skeptical. But I was also intrigued.

The only problem I have with the recipe is the fat. If my calculations are correct the fat content per serving, if a serving is 1/12 of the cake, would be about 11 grams. The carb count per serving is 33 grams.

If I were to make the cake again I would reduce the butter to 1/2 cup and the sugar to 1 cup. That would reduce the fat content per 1/12 of the cake to about 7 grams and the carb count to about 25 grams. I suspect the end result wouldn’t be affected much by this tweaking.

The cake was quite good. It was incredibly moist. In fact, it could almost be classified as a pudding rather than a cake. But if it’s chocolate you are craving, this will satisfy.

I dusted the top with icing sugar to pretty it up a bit. I also got busy with my paring knife and made these fancy-schmancy strawberry garnishes!

So here’s the link where you can find the recipe and here’s a picture to tantalize you:

Have a fabulous weekend everyone!

Bravery, Bears and Purple-Tongued Giraffes

2010-08-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

The sound of sleepy feet enter just as my quiet bedroom is starting to show signs that the sunrise is mere minutes away. In a moment a tousle-haired Jenna is standing beside my bed in Hello Kitty pajamas, rubbing her eyes, waiting for me to draw back the covers and invite her in. She snuggles up behind me and throws one leg over my hip. Some shifting and positioning takes place, then finally she settles into her comfortable spot. We snuggle and doze for the next little while.

Then...

“Mom, can we get up and have breakfast now?”

“Sure. Are you hungry this morning?”

“Yes. So hungry I could eat a bear!”

“A whole bear?! That’s pretty hungry!” Jenna snuggles in closer and I wrap my arm around her tightly and kiss her forehead.

“Yeah. But I wouldn’t eat an elephant. I like elephants.”

“Elephants are cool. And so are giraffes.”

“Ya. Giraffes are tall and they have spots. OH! And they have purple tongues!”

“What about deer?”

“I love deers. Especially Bambies. They are so cute. We should watch that movie sometime, Mom.”

“Oh yeah? I’ve never seen that movie. There’s a sad part in the movie that I’ve always been afraid of watching.”

Jenna pulls back from me to see my face. “Really, Mom?”

“Mmm-hm. I’ve only ever heard about it. It has something to do with a forest fire. But I’ll be brave and watch it if you will.”

“I can’t believe you are afraid, Mommy. I mean, you’re a grown-up!”

“Everybody is afraid sometimes, sweetheart. And you don’t have to be a grown-up to be brave. Why, you’re one of the bravest people I know!” Jenna snuggles close again.

After a brief pause she asks “...sight changes?”

“Sight changes and everything else to do with having diabetes. You are one brave little girl.” She wraps her little arms around me and we hug. Tightly.

“Okay! Let’s go find a bear for breakfast!” I say as I throw back the covers. Jenna giggles in her delightfully infectious way and bounds out of bed.

I love my life.

A Pancreas I am Not.

2010-08-21T23:52:00.000-07:00

Ugh.

I’ve had one of those days. You know the kind of day where you are to be reminded of just how human you are? The kind of day you wish you could grab diabetes by the throat and choke the living crap out of it?

Here’s how my morning played out:

A 9:30am appointment to get my hair cut and coloured meant I had time to get up, shower, get breakfast for the kids, load up on my morning caffeine quota and head out the door.

Cold cereal and fresh blueberries were on the menu. I usually try to check Jenna’s blood sugar and bolus her at least five minutes before she actually tucks in -- my attempt at dodging a post-prandial spike.

We did a check and the number 10 appeared. I dialed up a dose to cover the correction as well as the 32 grams of carbs she was about to consume.

“Did you feel the buzz, Jenna?” I asked. It’s a routine question we have taken to asking Jenna to ensure the pump received the signal from the meter to bolus her. The Animas One-Touch Ping vibrates three times just before the insulin dose is delivered. Sometimes we can hear the vibration. But more often we miss it.

“Mm-hmm” Jenna responded quickly then resumed her chat with her sister about what they were going to play after breakfast.

I weighed the cereal, washed the berries, poured the milk and breakfast was served.

Fast forward to my hair appointment.

I had been sitting in the salon chair for the better part of an hour. The colour had been applied and I was thumbing through one of those Hello! magazines, reading some mindless, trivial crap about the rich and famous, enjoying a little me time while the colour proofed, or whatever it is that colour does after it’s been applied to one’s hair.

My phone rang. It was J.

“Did you bolus Jenna for her breakfast this morning?”

“Uh, ya. Why?”

“Well, she was acting funny -- not cooperating with getting dressed and tidying up -- so I decided to check her. She’s 26!”

“Did she wash her hands?” I replied while my heart took up new residence in my throat.

“Yes. After the first high reading I got her to wash her hands. The second time it came back even higher! I’ve just given her two units to correct.”

“What the... I’m sure I bolused her! I remember asking her if she felt the buzz!” I started running through the sequence of pre-breakfast events in my head. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach as I realized I couldn’t actually remember pressing the Go button to deliver the dose. “Check the bolus history. I’ll stay on the phone.”

A minute later J reported to me that there was no entry for a breakfast bolus in the pump’s history. The last bolus was sometime in the night to correct a reading just a few points above her target. Her breakfast bolus was indeed missed.

I sat in the salon chair in a decidedly more somber mood than the one I was in only moments before. I felt sick. I felt sad. But what’s worse, I felt guilt.

It came crashing down on me like an anvil in one of those old Looney-Tunes cartoons. I couldn’t believe I had missed pushing one little button. One stupid little human mistake and now my little girl was enduring the discomfort of a lunar-bound blood sugar. I sat there, looking at myself in the mirror with colour on my hair, judging myself. I looked so ridiculous.

I felt foolish thinking how only moments ago I was looking at pictures of Victoria Beckham walking with two of her three sons at an airport on her way to some fancy-pants famous people function, wondering how she could be so damn thin after having three babies. All the while my baby was at home suffering the physical agony of hyperglycemia and it was my fault.

I know I’m human. I know I can’t expect to be perfect. But this silly little human mistake had such a huge impact on how Jenna felt, which is to say, like shit. I had trouble not beating myself up about it. Like most parents, where the well-being of my children is concerned, I strive to be as close to perfection as I can be.

I sat in that salon chair, holding back the tears, feeling very small and all too human.

An hour and a half later Jenna’s pre-lunch blood sugar was 4.8. The two units of insulin had taken care of my mistake and she was her usual four-year-old, delightful self again. The beast that is “D” had been beaten into submission once again and had retreated back to it’s dark cave. All was right with our world once more.

But damn. I sure do miss her pancreas.

Life’s A Beach

2010-08-17T11:57:00.000-07:00

So we have been spending our fair share of time at the beach this summer. There’s just something about sitting on warm sand, the sound of waves swishing a rhythmic lullaby, that makes my heart sing. It’s like my second home, coming from a beach town in Southern Ontario like I do. And my girls are fans as well. They love playing in the sand, finding shells, watching little crabs in tidal pools, playing in the surf... it’s all good.

On our most recent beach excursion we arrived after lunch as low tide was mid-afternoon. All was going well up to this point. As I pulled into my parking spot and began unloading the crazy amount of beach accoutrements that we require, the girls began unbuckling. I came around to assist Jenna out of her seat when she told me that she had caught her infusion site on the seat belt.

“But it’s okay, Mom. I put it back. I don’t need a site change” she said with a slight hint of desperation in her voice as if she was hoping I would agree and let it go.

I took a look at the site and sure enough, it had been ripped out and was no longer infusing sub-cutaneously. I could see that Jenna had re-adhered it to her arm in an attempt to make things right again. But a site change was in order, nevertheless.

I got right down to business. I was grateful that I remembered to pack the diabetes back-up supply bag that usually accompanies us on any trips longer than an hour and farther than a 20 minute drive from home. Otherwise, this would have been the shortest beach trip ever with two sad little girls and one stressed out, guilt-ridden Mommy headed back home again.

Jenna handled the site change like a pro. She does with all site changes now. She will tell me to wait while she “...finds [her] bravery” and a moment later, when she gives me the go-ahead I waste no time and just get the job done. She’s amazing.

So with her new site in place we were ready to get down to some serious beach fun. And a couple hours and a few sand castles later we were ready to pack up and head for home again.

Back at our car I was performing our usual routine of packing up beach stuff and assisting the girls into dry clothes (and attempting in vane to limit the amount of sand we take home with us). I placed a fresh t-shirt over Jenna’s head and was trying to persuade said shirt over her still damp arms when -- OOPS! The shirt got caught up on her new site and pulled it out as well. It seemed to come out with very little provocation, however, and I wondered if, in our haste to hit the beach, I wasn’t careful enough to ensure good adhesion.

Another site change was in order.

So it was a beach day bookended by site changes. And even though she handled two site changes over the span of a little more than two hours like a seasoned pro (which I guess is indeed what my four year old baby girl is at this point) my heart broke a little for her. But I don’t show her that. I face these challenges the way she now does. We just get on with it. It’s a part of life for her. Since she was diagnosed at the age of two it’s the only life she remembers. She knows nothing else.

Another D-Feast Friday Coming Your Way!

2010-08-12T21:48:00.000-07:00

I enjoy stuffed peppers but have always made them the typical way, with ground beef and rice as the main stuffing components. Usually the binding sauce is something tomato based. But I wanted to see if I could “healthy” it up a bit and avoid using rice since we eat rice at least once a week, and quite frankly, we’re all getting a little tired of rice. So I opted for extra lean ground turkey and barley and omitted the tomato component.

Once again, the measurements are approximations only. So don’t start measuring liquids from the bottom of the meniscus at eyeball level or scraping dry measures with any flat edges. It’s just not necessary. If a measure seems a little wonky to you, by all means tweak away! This also means that my carb count per serving is an approximation.

But there’s no denying the nutritional merits of this dish. Lean protein, fibre, and minerals like selenium, phosphorus, copper and manganese are all there thanks to the turkey and the barley!

My kids absolutely loved this meal. They asked for it again two days later when I asked them what they felt like for supper!

Sherry’s Turkey and Barley Stuffed Peppers

What you’ll need:

4 large or 6 small bell peppers of various colours
2 tbsps olive oil
1 lb extra lean ground turkey
1 medium onion minced
2 carrots coarsely grated
2 celery ribs chopped finely
2 cloves of garlic minced
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1/2 tsp poultry seasoning
1/2 cup pot barley
1 1/2 - 2 cups vegetable broth
1/2 cup seasoned bread crumbs
1/4 cup parmesan cheese finely grated
1 tbsp olive oil

What to do:

Cut peppers in half and remove stem, ribs and seeds. Arrange in a large lasagna pan, open side up. Set aside.

Heat a large skillet and drizzle in 1 tbsp olive oil. Brown ground turkey in skillet and then place in another dish. Set aside. Return skillet to heat and drizzle in another tbsp olive oil. Sauté onion, carrots and celery until soft, about 4 - 5 minutes. Add minced garlic, salt and pepper and poultry seasoning and sauté another two minutes. Return turkey to skillet. Add pot barley and 1 1/2 cups of vegetable broth. Stir and cover. Reduce heat to simmer for about 15 - 20 minutes, stirring every few minutes. As it simmers, if barley mixture appears dry add remaining 1/2 cup vegetable broth.

Mixture is ready to stuff in peppers when it is the consistency of oatmeal and the barley is par-cooked. Stuff pepper halves dividing stuffing evenly between each pepper half. (You may find you have left over stuffing. Don’t worry. It’s good on it’s own too!) Pour enough water in lasagna pan to cover bottom. Cover pan tightly with foil and place in a 400° oven for 35 - 40 minutes.

Meanwhile, mix bread crumbs, parmesan cheese and olive oil together to make a mixture that resembles damp sand. Set aside.

Remove baked, stuffed peppers from oven and remove foil. Carefully top each pepper with about 1 tbsp of mixture and return to oven, uncovered for an additional 10 - 15 minutes until topping is golden brown. Watch them carefully so as not to over brown the topping.

These are a meal on their own. But I would be inclined to serve them with a tossed salad.

I figure the peppers are about 8 - 10 carbs per half pepper.

Diabetes Art Day

2010-08-11T23:15:00.000-07:00

Lee Ann Thill is an art therapist who specializes in working with type 1 diabetics. She is also a type 1 diabetic and a blogger that I have been a fan of for a couple of years. In fact, she and Kerri were two of the first bloggers I found when I reached out via the internet to connect with people who understood the realm of diabetes. So they hold a special place in my heart. Unbeknownst to them, they saw me through a rather dark time -- the first year post-diagnosis period when I was so very afraid of the uncertainty that Jenna’s future seemed to hold. I am more than grateful.

Anyone who knows me from way back knows that I was / am somewhat of an artsy-fartsy myself. So when I read that Lee Ann has decided to host a Diabetes Art Day the idea really spoke to me, especially given that I have two little girls, one with diabetes, who just happen to LOVE creating art, as most children do.

So I’m spreading the word about this event in hopes of inspiring others to take part in this special day. Now, I know that some of you reading this have already decided that this isn’t for you. Perhaps you made up your mind a long time ago that art just isn’t your bag and you’re okay with that. But I urge you to reconsider and remember that we are all artists in our own way.

Haven’t you ever made a pizza and arranged the toppings just so? What about organizing a drawer or cupboard so that it is more functional and aesthetically pleasing? Ever arranged a bouquet of flowers, trimmed a hedge, rearranged the furniture in a room, planted a garden, drawn a doodle on a scratch pad, placed food on a plate so that it looks appetizing, rebuilt that engine and marvelled at it’s beauty, knitted or sewed, placed posters on a wall, played with play-do with your kids? I could go on but you get my point. Any of these activities qualifies as art or creative flare. You have it in you -- you really do.

This is such a neat idea! It will be like an online art gallery featuring art from the diabetes community. I can’t wait to see what others create. This will be AMAZING!

...but only if people participate. So what do you say? Feel like getting in touch with your creative self? Your inner child, if you will?

The date for posting or submitting your art is September 1st. If you mosey on over to Lee Ann’s fabulous blog you’ll find all the details.

So away you go then! And happy art-making!

D-Feast Friday. My Go-To Chicken Recipe

2010-08-05T23:49:00.000-07:00

I should warn you that when I make this it is without an actual recipe. I am the kind of cook that doesn’t have a lot of patience for following recipes, at least where cooking is concerned. With baking I’m more inclined to follow a recipe, albeit loosely. But when I’m cooking supper I tend to go by feel and intuition. (It makes for some pretty interesting gastronomic experiences, to say the least!) So when I decided to share this “recipe” I realized I would have to actually break out the measuring cups and spoons and make some attempt to quantify the ingredients. Splashes, glugs and dashes are just too subjective.

Really what I’m saying is please don’t get too hung up on exact measures with this recipe. The measurements I site are merely guidelines. And for goodness sake, don’t be afraid to substitute or omit something if it doesn’t agree with your palate. Except for the chicken. That’s kinda the backbone of the recipe. AND the lemon! You can’t omit something that is part of the title. And maybe keep the capers. They’re just too good to leave out. OKAY! So you can’t really omit anything. Just try it. I think you’ll like it.

Lemon Chicken with Capers

What you’ll need:

4 - 5 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
salt & pepper to taste
1/2 cup all purpose flour
4 tbsp olive oil
1 tsp butter
2 cups organic chicken broth
4 tbsp organic lemon juice
3 tbsp rinsed and drained capers

What to do:

Rinse and pat dry your chicken breast with paper towel. Slice each chicken breast horizontally as shown in my nifty picture.

Arrange chicken on cutting board and season lightly with salt and pepper to taste on both sides.

Heat a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add two tbsp of olive oil and half a tsp of butter into the skillet. Dredge each seasoned chicken breast half in the flour and place into the hot skillet until skillet is full but not crowded. You will likely have to do two batches.

Brown chicken 3-4 minutes on each side until golden then remove from skillet to a dish. Add remaining two tbsp of olive oil and half tsp butter to skillet before browning second batch of chicken. Remove second batch of chicken to dish.

Return skillet to heat and pour in chicken broth and organic lemon juice. Bring broth and lemon juice to a boil and loosen browned bits from skillet with a whisk. Allow to reduce for about 5-6 minutes before returning all browned chicken breasts to skillet. Reduce heat to simmer. Sprinkle capers over chicken as it simmers in skillet for an additional 5-6 minutes.

Serve with a white and wild rice blend cooked in chicken broth (instead of water) with a splash (sorry--a tablespoon or two) of lemon juice and some steamed vegetables.

Here I served it with a corn succotash because I had a few cobs left over from supper the night before. But the plate would look really, REALLY pretty accompanied by Lorraine’s Broccoli-Craisin Salad! I made that last week and it’s so darn tasty!

I don’t have any nutritional information for the chicken. But I figure that one serving (1/2 breast) would have about 5 carbs if approximately 1 tablespoon of flour adhered to it during the dredging stage.

Enjoy!

Please Don’t Judge Me...

2010-08-04T17:03:00.000-07:00

...but I couldn’t resist:

“Hey, Diabetes! Check me out!"

A Family That Neti’s Together...

2010-08-02T00:27:00.000-07:00

We are nearing the half way mark of summer.

Do you believe that? Summer is almost half over already! I’ve become increasingly aware of the shortening days. My garden has passed it’s prime and most of the late blooming flowers are in full bloom now. My tomatoes are fruiting, zucchinis are zuking and I figure it’s only a matter of a couple of weeks before we will be hearing the delightful sound of crickets at night as they embark on their mating ritual -- a sign of summer’s grand finale.

I enjoy Autumn so this is an exciting time for me. I love many things about Autumn. I love all seasons but the cooler months are when I feel my best. Years of asthma and seasonal allergies have played a huge roll in fostering this preference. And if this spring and summer are any indication, Jenna will likely develop this same love of Autumn for the relief it brings.

Allergies. Oh how I suffered growing up. They seem to have subsided over the last few years for me. But for the first time, Jenna suffered this summer much like I remember suffering in my youth. She has spent the past three months in a near constant state of nasal congestion, sneezing and mouth-breathing at night, all of which makes for poor sleeps, short tempers, and sucky blood sugars. Just what she needs in addition to being awakened at least once a night for her routine blood sugar checks.

I’m not one for medicating without exhausting other non-pharmaceutical interventions first. But there were a few times this summer I was forced to pull out the pediatric antihistamine medication. It proved to be rather ineffective, but I had to try. She was miserable at times.

So when Jenna was scheduled for a routine pediatrician check-up a couple weeks ago I was sure to mention the trouble she’s been having with environmental allergies this summer, especially after her hgA1c rang in at a solid 8. This is a perfectly acceptable number for Jenna’s age but it has gone up from 7.5 three months prior. I wondered if her allergies are to blame for the rise. Dr. M agreed that this could very well be the culprit. He also agreed that antihistamines can be useless sometimes with some people and recommended nasal irrigation instead.

You read right. Nasal irrigation.

Any time a doc recommends an intervention of some kind that does not involve a pharmaceutical, he or she scores big points with me. But nasal irrigation? For a four year old? Really?! If you aren’t familiar with this procedure, it is the practice of flushing out the nasal cavity with a saline solution and the help of a neti pot, syringe or irrigation bottle.

Now, I personally have performed nasal irrigation on myself many times for allergies and found it to be very effective and, in fact, quite soothing. But it takes some practice to perform it without sucking back the saline solution and sending one’s self sputtering and coughing -- or worse, swallowing a glug or two of the briny rinse. So I had some doubts about whether or not Jenna could master it. I thought that if I could even convince her to try it, she would likely have an unpleasant experience and never want to do it again. But out of desperation I was still willing to give it a go.

I purchased a pediatric sinus rinse kit and planned a tandem nasal irrigation party at Jenna’s bath time. I reckoned I could demonstrate with my own kit at the bathroom sink as she watched from the tub.

So that’s what I did. And in spite of Jenna and her sister laughing hysterically at me while I irrigated my nose in front of them, Jenna was eager to give it a try. (I admit, I was laughing too and just as an aside, laughing is not recommended while you perform nasal irrigation. Take my word for it.)

Jenna did surprisingly well. She couldn’t quite get the steady stream of solution going in one nostril and coming out the other but she was able to squirt some up each nostril then expel it out again. She repeated this enough times that the irrigation served its purpose and flushed out much of the allergens from her nasal cavity. She had a peaceful sleep that night; it was the first sleep of easy nasal breathing she had had in weeks -- dare I say months.

So now, each bath time I arm her with her bottle of nasal irrigating solution and coach her again on technique. And each time she does wonderfully and enjoys easier breathing afterward.

So, even though I suspect I have ventured dangerously close to “too-much-information” territory, that is what’s been going on in our household this summer -- that and a healthy dose of camping and beach fun.

But I’ll talk about that in another post.

The Premier of D-Feast Friday!

2010-07-22T22:51:00.000-07:00

To kick off my participation in D-Feast Fridays, I am going with a meal idea that I’ve recently blogged about, mainly because it is something I’ve recently photographed. It’s nothing difficult or extravagant, but what it lacks in sophistication it makes up for in visual appeal and healthfulness. So here’s my first contribution to D-Feast Fridays! Next week I’ll tackle something a little more involved.

Veggie Kabobs

Ingredients:
-An assortment of your choosing of various pretty, fresh vegetables like zucchini, cherry tomatoes, bell peppers (all colours), red onion, mushrooms, egg plant, etc. Be brave. Try different veggies!
-olive oil
-salt & pepper

Method:
Cube or slice your vegetables but not too small. Cut your zucchini to about 3/4” thickness. Cut your onion and break up the layers so that each piece is approximately 1 1/2 to 2” square. Chunk your bell peppers to be relatively the same size as the onion. Cube up your eggplant to about 1 1/2 to 2” cubes. Of course, the mushrooms (provided they are button size) and cherry tomatoes need no slicing.

Now comes the fun part. I get my kids involved in this step. They love it! Start skewering your lovely chunked veggies on metal or pre-soaked bamboo skewers. Mix 'em up. Encourage your kids to create patterns! Just leave an couple of inches at the end to avoid the veggies slipping off on the grill. Then lay all your loaded skewers on a large cookie sheet. Brush them with olive oil and sprinkle a bit of salt and pepper over them to taste. I’ve even been known to go with Mrs. Dash or just my own blend of herbs and spices like garlic powder, onion powder, paprika, etc.

Preheat your grill and place your skewers on. I find it takes no longer than about 6 to 8 minutes on the grill with a few turns to grill evenly. You’ll find the tomatoes will crack open but as long as you are
gentle with them they should hold on to most of the juicy, sweet goodness inside.

I serve these over brown rice or you could even do a risotto! You can keep it vegetarian or do up some chicken skewers to go with.

I don’t count any carbs for these beauties. Only the accompanying starch is what I bolus Jenna for.

Feeling Different

2010-07-14T00:25:00.000-07:00

We went to the beach the other day. It was a beautiful, sun-drenched day of beachy fun, sand castles, splashing in the surf, running on the sand and hunting for the elusive (and hideous) geoduck, (pronounced “gooey duck”).

I packed a cooler with fresh summer fruits, individual serving sized packs of crackers, cheese, raw veggies and cold water. No sandwiches, no salads, just grab-and-go type snacks. Jenna enjoyed spot-on blood sugars in spite of being disconnected for a good portion of the time. I would just connect her long enough to give her a bolus for whatever carbs she consumed then promptly disconnect her, slip her pump back into the cooler (to keep the insulin happy and hidden from the hot sun) and send her off to run and play once more.

Watching Jenna play in the sand and surf with no pump strapped around her waist put a smile on my face. I know she enjoys being free of it, if just for a little while. Only the presence of her infusion site over her right deltoid told the tale of a child with more going on than the average 4 year old.

We had a blast. But during the drive home, Jenna shared an experience she had while she and her sister were off playing with several other beach-going kids. She became mildly upset as she explained to me that other kids were asking her what “that thing” was, referring to her infusion site. I asked her if she taught them something about diabetes and she said she didn’t tell them anything because she didn’t like having something different than everyone else. She punctuated our conversation by saying “I wish I didn’t have diabetes”.

You can imagine what this did to my heart. I couldn’t help wondering if this was but a taste of what the next 15 years holds.

I told her that if she wants we could be sure her site is hidden the next time we go to the beach. She shook her head, then turned her scowling face toward the window, quivering chin and all. I knew that, for now at least, she didn’t want to discuss this any further.

It made me think of how wonderful it will be for her when she attends any event where type 1 diabetics of all ages convene. She needs to feel like she’s not alone. She needs to meet people in real life that have diabetes like she does. I fully intend to sign us up for a family diabetes camp next year. This year I tried but the camp filled quickly and we were unable to secure a spot. But next year I’m all over it, come hell or high water. If I’m not the first one reserving a spot I’ll be surprised. That’s how badly I want this for her - for us.

But this summer will end with a fabulous bang when we attend the CWD - FFL Conference in Vancouver! As a family we are excited about this event. But individually, our reasons for being excited are varied.

Jenna asked me if they’ll have a bouncy castle there like at the JDRF Walk To Cure Diabetes. I told her I’m not sure but I bet the hotel will have a pool. Her eyes widened to saucer proportions and her hands clapped together excitedly.

That’s all she needed to hear. She’s in.

The Right to Affordable Health Care

2010-07-12T11:49:00.000-07:00

Diabetes is a disease that has left my child reliant on insulin in order survive. In addition to insulin, there is a plethora of other medical paraphernalia required to monitor her condition every day to keep her healthy and safe from harm, all of which cost money.

As Jenna’s Mom, I have imagined every hypothetical, rational scenario (and a few irrational ones too) that would lead to a situation in which I would be unable to obtain the life-sustaining insulin and supplies my child needs: natural disasters, stranded on a deserted island, melting of the polar ice caps causing global flooding and all the pharmaceutical manufacturers along with it rendering them unable to churn out our precious insulin, The Rapture... I’ve envisioned them all. But as a Canadian, financial hardship is one scenario that isn’t that much in the forefront for us because we have a government funded health care system.

Imagine not being able to afford the insulin you or your child needs to live. Or the syringes to administer that insulin. Or the blood glucose test strips to determine how much insulin or food he requires. Or the hospital bill for that 2 day stay in PICU after an unfortunate and frightening dance with DKA. It’s the kind of scenario one would picture in relation to some third world country, which doesn’t make it any less tragic. But what makes it so utterly inexcusable is that it is happening to people right next door in one of the richest countries in the world.

Our system in Canada is far from perfect. In fact, there are those who could find plenty wrong with it. But as a rule no one need go without necessary care and medication just because they are unable to afford it. So it’s hard for me to wrap my head around anything less.

Every human being should have access to health care no matter what their economic situation is or what geopolitical boundaries they are defined by. And furthermore, no one should be forced into financial ruin to sustain the life of a family member stricken by disease. It’s hard enough to deal with managing chronic illness day after day. To then pile on the financial burden that goes along with it for some is adding insult to injury in a very literal sense.

I have recently become friends with another D-Mom (thanks to the D-OC.) She fights the “D” every day for her beautiful son, just as we all do for our children. She has started a petition. It is a push to set up a “Diabetes Life Net” to make insulin and other diabetes supplies accessible for people with limited financial resources.

Please take the time to read her petition and sign it if you agree.

And really, how can you not?

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/justice4diabetics/

Lunar-Bound Blood Sugar

2010-06-25T23:49:00.001-07:00

It seems we are to burn the midnight oil tonight, battling a high blood sugar - 18.8 mmol/l to be specific. I’m not sure why this high has materialized on a night I would have wagered would be an “in range” one.

But as I look out my window into the night sky, I wonder...

...could this be to blame?

Well, moon? Do you know anything about these blood sugar shenanigans? You’ve been blamed for crazier things...

Walking The Walk

2010-06-23T11:47:00.000-07:00

This weekend was our JDRF walk to cure diabetes and it struck me how my feelings related to this day have evolved with each passing year since Jenna’s diagnosis.

For three years now we have attended in some capacity and each year I have experienced sudden surges of emotion while in attendance that force me to breath deeply and center myself, lest I burst into a teary, fragile mess. Something about a gathering of people affected by the same life challenges we are with hopes of a cure in our hearts causes my maternal heart to swell. Of course, nothing compares to the raw emotion I felt the very first time we attended.

The first walk was only a week after Jenna’s diagnosis. We were still in shock. I hadn’t started a team; I hadn’t canvassed for pledges; I hadn’t even completely unpacked from our four day hospital stay just yet! I was still trying to wrap my head around how this happened to my little girl.

Upon our discharge from hospital our Diabetes Nurse Educator informed us that a walk was scheduled to take place in our area in just a couple of days. She encouraged us to attend to network and meet other families like us.

So that Sunday we packed our brand new, hospital issued, Accu-chek backpack full of all the stuff we had been supplied with that was now a part of every single outing we would take from that point on, and we headed to the park where the event was in full swing.

We arrived late. The stragglers were just trickling in - returning from the 5k walk. But most of the people had already returned and the announcer on the bandstand was in the process of drawing names for the prizes they were giving away. There were several tents set up with different meter and pump brands displayed. Each company represented had some branded item to send us home with, gratis.

It was all so very strange. So surreal. I felt like an alien on another planet - like we were the only ones new to this. Everyone else seemed to know each other. Everyone looked relaxed and happy, as if they were attending a family reunion. But we felt like fish out of water (except for Jaz and Jenna who were intrigued by the slight “carnival” feel to the whole affair.) Yet I wanted to reach out to people. I thought of all places, this would be a place to find understanding and comfort.

Sometimes I think it was just too soon. We were in a very different place than the majority of those in attendance. We had one brief heart-to-heart with a rep from Accu-chek. He asked us how long since our daughter was diagnosed. We told him, and after his eyes widened at the realization of just where our headspace was, he promptly dropped handfuls of 10-count test strip sample canisters into one of the branded bags we had been loaded up with as we aimlessly drifted from one company tent to the next.

I was touched by this gesture even though it was mainly the promotion of yet another product, which shows just how hungry I was for some empathy and compassion. Not that I wasn’t grateful to have some freebee goods thrown our way. It just felt so strange to be a part of an event that was supposed to be geared toward finding a cure for this life-threatening disease. But at every turn I encountered corporate sponsors promoting the stuff aimed at managing diabetes - not curing it. And short of displaying a sign that said “We are new to diabetes and we are hurting. Please hug us and tell us it will be alright,” no one there had any way of knowing our situation. Consequently, no one offered us any encouragement or comforting words.

Last year, we did register a team with JDRF. We canvassed. And the support we received from family and friends was overwhelming. When we arrived to the walk we checked in and an older woman seated at a table, wearing a JDRF hat and t-shirt found our team name on the computer print-out.

“ooOOOOOooooh! Well done! Thank you very much! “ was her reaction when she saw the amount our team had raised.

I was given an incentive claim slip and instructed to take it to another table where I was told I could claim my “incentive prize” for the amount of money I raised.

Incentive prize?! What’s THAT about?!

I didn’t want any prize, unless a cure counts as a prize! It felt wrong to accept a prize for raising money to fund research to find a cure for the chronic, life-threatening disease my daughter has. It seemed to cheapen what I had done.

But they gave us our JDRF backpack anyway. A few weeks after the walk it came in the mail. It’s pretty nice. We use it quite a bit, actually. But in no way does it hold a candle to the incentive of finding a cure. (Did I even need to write that?) But that’s just how ridiculous the whole idea of an incentive prize is to me. And every time I look at that backpack I wonder if a portion of the funds raised has been used to purchase these “incentive gifts”.

Money that was given to help find a cure is instead being used to buy thank-you gifts?! Banish the thought! It couldn’t be! These gifts must be donated.

This year we made t-shirts. I wanted to get my girls involved in the event and I thought t-shirts would be the perfect way to do that. And it was. They loved it. We all wore homemade t-shirts and received numerous compliments on them both at the event and afterward.

We all wore the t-shirts for the entire day and I was surprised to learn just how effective t-shirt messages are at bringing about awareness.

After our walk we headed to a grocery store to pick up a few things for dinner that night. J and I were asked on two separate occasions to explain our t-shirts. We capitalized on the opportunity to spread some information and answer questions.

On yet another occasion J was in a store attempting to locate an allergy medication for Jenna as she has been suffering particularly badly this spring, and by chance met up with an old work colleague who happened to be in the store at that time. They chatted briefly, catching up on each other’s lives and the colleague commented on J’s shirt. J explained about the walk we had just completed to find a cure and his friend said “Oh that’s right. Remind me...what does your daughter have?”

“Type 1 Diabetes.”

“Right. Well, I’m glad it isn’t something life-threatening.” He replied, sounding relieved.

“Well, actually, it IS. Hypo and hyperglycemia are both very life-threatening conditions and are common among type 1 diabetics. Not to mention the long-term complications that can result from years of unstable blood sugars.”

The shock his friend expressed at finding out how serious type 1 diabetes is serves as yet another example of the lack of information the general public has with regards to this disease. It’s also another glaring reminder that we all must be prepared to educate and inform. I was proud that J seized the opportunity to enlighten his friend. It is this kind of ignorance that causes indifference among those not touched by type 1 diabetes.

Of course, this year I was given an incentive gift - again. And again I found myself feeling guilty for accepting it. But I rationalized that it is most likely something donated to JDRF by their corporate sponsors. JDRF can’t be purchasing these gifts with cure money! Besides, I can take those gift cards and buy my girls some clothes. That way the money is being put to good use.

Then, by sheer coincidence JDRF emailed me a survey yesterday as I was composing this post. They were looking for feedback regarding how I felt the event was run. Some of the questions were related specifically to the issuing of incentive prizes. Among other things, they asked if I felt the prizes were important to my participation in the event, if I was aware that JDRF had to purchase these prizes, and if I was aware that I could donate the prize back to JDRF to help redirect the funds back into research for a cure!!

I instantly felt all kinds of foolish.

DONATE THE GIFT BACK! Of course!! Why, oh why didn’t I think to do this or at least inquire as to how the prizes are obtained by JDRF?

So next year, barring the discovery of a cure, (I know, I know, but I’m trying to be optimistic here) I will be participating again in the JDRF Walk To Cure Diabetes. I will campaign as I have done these past two years. I will take it a step further and attempt to organize a fund raising event myself for the first time. And next year I will enthusiastically donate my incentive gift BACK to JDRF.

Oh. And by the way, I was sure to let JDRF know in their survey just what I thought of the whole “incentive prize” concept too. I hope more people consider donating their prizes back to JDRF so the funds can be redirected back to their intended purpose: finding a cure for type 1 diabetes.

Sick of Lemonade

2010-06-17T01:50:00.000-07:00

I’m usually a relatively upbeat person. I don’t complain a whole lot. I try to look at the positive side to otherwise negative aspects in life. I strive to make lemonade out of all those damn lemons we all get hurled at us now and then in life. That’s what we’re supposed to do. Right?

I mean, I have even tried to put a positive spin on Jenna’s diabetes when naming my blog. The very first blog post I wrote explains how the name came about. It was my attempt to make sense of what was happening to my beautiful baby girl. I knew from a nursing perspective what type 1 diabetes was all about, but from a parent perspective? Not so much.

I haven’t really experienced any prolonged feelings of anger or rage about Jenna’s diabetes. I’ve certainly had acute bouts of anger born of frustration, like when I’m getting up every two hours in a night trying to deal with a stubborn high blood sugar (such as tonight, which is why I’m up blogging.)

But if I were to describe my overall feelings with regards to Jenna having diabetes it would be that of profound sadness. Sadness of a grieving nature. The kind of sadness that caused me to lose a shocking amount of weight after her diagnosis because the thought of eating made me ill. I was actually angry at food for a while after her diagnosis, oddly enough. But I never blamed anyone for her getting this disease. It is what it is. And tragically, Jenna is one of millions of people who suffer with this damn affliction. We all know diseases such as type 1 diabetes are out there but none of us truly believes it could happen to our child.

I try to be positive about it though. Mostly that’s for Jenna’s benefit. I certainly don’t want to be a bitter, angry Mom due to her diabetes. That would only make her bitter and angry or perhaps she would eventually feel responsible for being the cause of my negativity. I wouldn’t want her to carry that kind of burden on top of what she already has to cope with. Also, I don’t want Jenna to ever think she should be pitied or that she can use her diabetes as an excuse for why she can’t do something. That would be like clipping her wings. And she was born to fly.

I have stated in a previous post that I have learned to accept her diagnosis. But that should not be interpreted as me being okay with the fact that my little girl’s pancreas has been attacked by her own immune system and, as a result, no longer makes the insulin she requires to live. I am absolutely NOT okay with that. It merely means I have dealt with the initial shock and overwhelming, crippling sadness that I once felt. I had to do this in order to carry on and be the mother that my two little girls need.

Type 1 diabetes is an incredibly misunderstood disease. Some believe it can be brought on by eating too much candy. Others think that once someone is on insulin they are cured. Still others believe that in this day and age, no one dies of type 1 diabetes anymore and if someone does die, well, he probably didn’t take good enough care of himself. All of these beliefs are false. This disease is chronic, constant, relentless, unpreventable, unpredictable and, as yet, incurable.

Living every day with diabetes is like living with the Grim Reaper standing just a few feet away from you - quietly, patiently, biding his time, waiting for an opportunity when you aren’t looking...

Some nights when I can’t get Jenna’s blood sugars to come down and she starts showing ketones in her blood, or when she has a scary low that I was lucky enough to catch, I sense that death has briefly take a step closer to my baby girl. It terrifies me.

Some people who don’t know might think that is a bit dramatic. I’m sure most people with type 1 diabetes would agree with me when I state emphatically that it is not. This disease is frightening. And what makes it so frightening is how much diligence, care and conscious effort it requires to stay safe and healthy all day, day and night. Every. Single. Day.

But the real bitch of this disease is that no matter how much care and diligence is taken, sometimes people with diabetes still die. Just in the past two months alone I have been made aware of three deaths of young people with type 1 diabetes. The youngest victim was a 13 year old boy with his whole life ahead of him. I have a lot of difficulty reading about these tragic stories, for reasons that are all too obvious.

I read recently that the most common cause of death in young people with diabetes is from insulin reaction, causing severe hypoglycemia.

Imagine that! Death by the very thing that has saved you countless times in the past! I can actually remember my emotional reaction many years ago, long before I became a mother or a nurse, when I learned that type 1 diabetics are in constant danger of dying due to insulin overdose. I was horrified! What kind of sick irony is THAT? And now I’m the mother of a child with type 1 diabetes. And I get up multiple times a night to make sure my little girl is safe and her life-saving treatment isn’t poised to take her life. Or conversely, that her treatment is doing it’s job and protecting her from diabetic ketoacidosis - another deadly condition that can develop from not enough insulin.

People are uncomfortable when someone speaks to them of an unfortunate event or circumstance that they are coping with in their life. Often the person listening feels compelled to offer a reply of “Well it could be worse, you know” or “You think you’ve got it bad!” as if pointing out why someone’s misfortune isn’t as bad as someone else’s is actually helpful. Really, this approach serves to help no one but the listener, easing the discomfort they feel from not knowing how to respond when someone else has experienced something shitty in their life. So to spare people that discomfort and to spare me having to hear, yet again, why someone thinks I should be grateful, I don’t often focus on the dark side of this disease. I put forth a positive, “this won’t bring us down, no sirree!” type of front. No one likes a complainer.

But I’ve bared a little more of my soul in this post. Even though I am, in fact, grateful, probably more so than the average person, I’ve shared some of the darker side of type 1 diabetes. Because the fact is, most type 1 diabetics are the furthest thing from being complainers. They are SURVIVORS. They are incredibly courageous people who cheat death every day of their lives. They endure frequent bouts of physical and emotional stress. They are performing a never-ending tightrope act with no safety net. They deserve to not live in fear. They deserve our respect.

And they deserve a cure.

The Annual Vegetable Garden Post!

2010-06-15T23:56:00.000-07:00

With summer only days away I feel compelled to discuss a topic I broached last spring. Gardening. I love it. And my goal is to have my girls love it too.

Last year we planted our first real vegetable garden. I’ve worked on farms and I’ve had flower gardens and certainly I’ve grown deck gardens that included herbs and tomatoes in pots, but as for a proper GARDEN - garden, last year’s was the first.

It was such a huge hit with my girls. Not only did they help plant and tend the garden (at least until the novelty of weeding waned) but they also enjoyed the fruits of their labour. They had a great time playing in the back yard then heading over to the carrot patch or the tomato plants at their leisure and pulling or plucking the treat of their choosing. There is something strangely satisfying about extracting a vegetable from the ground - a vegetable that you’ve grown yourself! It’s right up there with collecting eggs from a hen house or feeding a baby goat - two experiences my girls have been fortunate enough to have had.

So, in light of last year’s success, we’ve expanded our vegetable garden and included a few veggies we didn’t try last year. We dedicated one whole plot to potatoes. And my goodness are those potatoes happy!

We are also attempting beets again this year. Last year’s beet crop failed. I’m not entirely sure why but I suspect it resulted from a prolonged heat wave that hit around the same time we were on vacation and the garden didn’t get the watering it should have. This year’s crop seems to be faring better. In fact I have recently pulled the very first official beet myself, washed it and eaten it, greens included, standing right there in the garden. It was delicious.

We are also growing onions, radishes, lettuces, broccoli, zucchini, tomatoes, garlic (love garlic!) and of course carrots.

The great thing about the garden is it’s sort of like a “diabetes-free zone”. Jenna is allowed to eat at will with no pre-snack check (unless I suspect a high or low, of course) and no bolus. Yes, I realize that certain veggies have significant amounts of carbs in them, but this is just one sacred area I like to minimize her diabetic burden. There really is no better way to turn a kid on to vegetables than to have them eat them freshly picked. So, to awaken the vegetable-lover in each of my girls I try to keep the garden as positive and as free a place as possible. Besides, when she’s outside, Jenna is active - running through sprinklers, skipping, playing tag. She is more apt to burn through the few carbs she might get from her garden snacking. So it balances out, usually.

And speaking of carbs balancing activity, I’d like to share a couple of pictures I took in the garden this week of a creature that burns the sugar it’s diet is chiefly comprised of as it is eaten! This little hummingbird really took to the camera and allowed me to get several amazing shots as it fed on the nectar in my Red Valerian.

Thanks for photo-op, little hummingbird!

Happy gardening!

Two Years

2010-06-09T11:07:00.000-07:00

Today marks two years since Jenna’s diagnosis with type 1 diabetes.

Two years of lancets, alcohol swabs, insulin pumps, test strips, carb tabs, carb counts, carb factors, infusion sets, insertion devices, reservoirs, combo boluses, corrections, injections, calibrations, calculations, insulin to carb ratios, sensitivity factors, tangled tubing, occlusions, site changes, ketones, glucose meters, air bubbles, rebound highs, stubborn highs, delayed highs, sickness highs, highs for no damn reason at all, lows, scary lows, persistent lows, tummy cramps, tears, worry, sleeplessness, aging and living from one blood sugar check to the next.

But it has also been two years of laughter, celebration, love, growth, learning what really matters, being thankful for the good numbers, finding the balance, fighting the good fight, making new friends, offering support and getting some in return, eating healthfully, finding beauty in simplicity, discovering hidden strength, realizing that the greatest growth comes from overcoming challenges, learning to live in the now, being truly grateful for good health, understanding how good life is.

Diabetes isn’t something I would have chosen for our family. And there is no denying the challenges it has presented. But it has also afforded us great opportunity. In some ways it has been a gift, as strange as that sounds.

Diabetes is merely one fibre in the vast fabric that is our life.

And what a beautiful fabric it is!

I've Always Wanted to Be a Superhero

2010-06-07T22:48:00.000-07:00

The Diabetes Online Community or DOC, as it is affectionately called, is a plethora of talented, colourful people, each bringing something uniquely his or her own to the diabetic table. This is an amazing group of people to be connected with.

I recently became aware of yet another talented member of this incredible, diverse neighbourhood. Chris Bishop is the author of Type 1 Tidbits and he has created a really cool blogroll. Each blogger listed has a superhero avatar - the message being that we are all superheroes, those of us who fight the good fight with diabetes every single day. I can get on board with that.

Chris is not only a talented person with type 1 diabetes, he is also incredibly perceptive! He's never met me in person yet here's my superhero avatar:

That's me in the purple get-up with the hot pants and the bitchin' boots! How badass am I ?!

It's like looking in a mirror.

A Hero Among Us

2010-06-01T22:30:00.000-07:00

I talk a lot about my youngest daughter, Jenna, on this blog. You know, the one with diabetes. But this post is mostly about my oldest daughter, Jazmine. She is one special kid. Once you read this, I'm sure you'll agree.

Yesterday morning Jazmine and Jenna were downstairs playing. I had showered and was drying my hair when Jazmine appeared at the bathroom door, wide-eyed and looking intense.

"Jenna was all whiny, weepy and crying for you, Mom, so I checked her and she's 2.8" she explains in a calm, yet earnest manner.

Before she even got the entire sentence out I was sprinting down the hall toward the kitchen to raid the stash of carb tabs I keep in the coffee/plastic dish/spare keys cupboard. (There's no rhyme or reason to my kitchen cupboards, in case you are wondering.)

"Good job, honey! You're one awesome big sister! I'm so proud of you!"

I grabbed a couple raspberry carb tabs and headed downstairs. Jazmine, beaming with pride for her cleverness and quick-thinking, was hot on my heals.

"I want to give her the carb tabs , Mom."

"No problem!" I handed her the carb tabs and let her take the lead. I'm not exactly sure why it was important for Jazmine to give Jenna her antidote but I respected her need to see this mini-crisis through to the finish. She had single-handedly identified the signs, took the initiative to conduct a blood sugar check, interpreted the results to be low and requiring immediate intervention, then quickly alerted me. So I hung back and watched as Jazmine fed her little sister two carb tabs and offered comforting words to her while she chewed the chalky-sweet remedy she so badly needed.

We sat together for a while afterward, the three of us. I held Jenna in my arms as the sugar worked its way through her system, easing the symptoms of her hypoglycemic state. I told both my girls how proud I was of them - Jenna for allowing her big sister to do the blood sugar check, and Jazmine for being so responsible and using such good judgement at the tender age of 6.

When I shared this with my facebook friends I received some wonderful feedback that I was sure to share with my girls. Someone said what a lucky Mommy I am.

I couldn't agree more.

Lessons Learned and I'm Grateful For Them

2010-05-25T23:47:00.000-07:00

Last week something happened that shook me to my core; a diabetic experience that left me feeling so vulnerable and, for a while, like everything I thought I knew about this damn disease meant nothing. It was the glycemic equivalent to that dream we’ve all had - the one where you are running as fast as you can to escape some dark force but the harder you run - the slower you move, like you are running the wrong way on a moving walkway. I learned a couple of invaluable things during this experience that I will remember to apply to future experiences.

* * * * *

It was a soup and sandwich night - a supper that has two distinct perks: easy preparation and easy on Jenna’s blood sugar. Nothing crazy-high in fat or carbs. It was a straight forward bolus. The night should have been a cake-walk, as blood sugars go.

A bedtime blood sugar check reveals a lovely 7.1 mmol/l. Nice.

Two hours later, at 10:00pm we perform one more routine check just to make sure things are still tickity-boo. WHAM! We get sucker-punched with a whopping 17. I stare in disbelief at the meter while my heart pounds in my chest.

I quickly come to grips with the reality that this night has taken a sudden, unpleasant turn, dial up a hefty correction, press Go on Jenna’s pump and set my alarm for two hours later.

Okay. So it’ll be okay. I’ll check her in two hours and she’ll be on a slow descent back to a respectable number - maybe even single digits! Back to bed I go and try to sleep for two hours while I put my faith in Dr. Frederick Banting and Charles Best and that bolus.

Midnight. Another check. SMACK! Another cheep shot from out of nowhere slaps me across the face with an 18! I decide it’s time to check for ketones. Yup. She’s got ‘em. Only trace but they’re there! Time for some drastic measures. I decide a site change is in order. Her site must be tired given that it is almost four days old. I feel guilty for trying to squeeze another day out of it beyond the recommended three. But up until 10:00 pm she was getting great performance from that site. Nevertheless, a change must be done. I go for the site-change-in-her-sleep maneuver. I’ve done it before with success. I just have to be slick, organized and quiet.

I perform the site change and Jenna only stirs a bit. We load up another cartridge and perform a rewind/prime sequence on the pump, reconnect her and secure the pump in its pack around Jenna’s waist. I then administer the correction for this last high reading with a little extra to help fight those nasty ketones. I decide to leave the old site in place until morning when I can apply adhesive remover to assist in its removal.

Good. That ought to do it. A bad site! That’s what it must have been. All should be good now. She’s got a nice fresh site in place, a solid correction is in play and I can breath a little easier. I figure I should give the bolus a little extra time to work on that stubborn, ketone-laced high before I check her again. Back to bed and an alarm is set for two and a half hours later. Time to log some zzzz’s.

2:30 am. I stumble out of bed and make my way to the hall to clumsily load a test strip into the meter, grab the little flashlight and shuffle to Jenna’s bedside whispering - please let it be a good number - please let it be a good number - but optimistic that things will be on the right path. It has to be! I don’t have many more tricks up my sleeve!

TWENTY-FRICKEN-FOUR!!

At this point I’m fighting panic. I’m confused, angry, afraid and desperate to find the cause of this insanity. I fight the urge to fall apart. I check for ketones and, of course, they are increased. What. The. Hell.

J and I discuss what our next move should be. We trouble shoot the problem. The insulin. Maybe the insulin has gone bad. We need to break open a fresh vile to rule it out. So as we discuss and open the fridge to retrieve a new bottle of insulin, Jenna wanders out of her room. She sees the goings on and calmly inquires “Site change?”

J tries to allay her fears saying “No sweetheart. We’re just going to change the insulin.”

At that moment something inside me steps in and takes over. “Actually, let’s do another site change. It couldn’t hurt.”

I’m not sure what made me think that putting Jenna through two site changes in less than three hours was necessary. I thought it would be a tough sell to both J and Jenna. But J only briefly looks at me like I’m crazy then promptly gets on board with the plan. Surprisingly, Jenna is game as well.

We do a second site change, change out the cartridge with fresh insulin and give yet another correction. Again I decide to leave the second cannula in place until morning. We settle Jenna back to bed with a total of three cannulas in-situ - two duds and an active one - and return to bed as well.

5:00 am. A glorious 12 stares back at me from the meter. It’s still out of her range but it’s obviously on its way down from that ghastly 24. Again I become emotional only this time it’s tears of sheer relief...and a splash of pure exhaustion.

Later that morning, after breakfast and another blood sugar check confirms that things are indeed back to normal, I decide to remove the two cannulas that tell the tale of a long, anxiety-riddled night of hyperglycemic hell.

This was the four day old site:

And this was the two hour old site:

A bent cannula that had not even penetrated her skin. It left a bruised mark but did not puncture at all. She was getting absolutely no basal insulin for more than two and a half hours, not to mention missing a correction bolus!

I was horrified when I saw this. It had never happened in our twenty months of pumping insulin. But I was also incredibly thankful for my inner voice - my intuition that told me to perform another change on Jenna. I shudder to think of what could have happened had I not listened to my gut and done a second change.

So the two main lessons I have gleaned from this experience are that cannulas can malfunction and that I should always, ALWAYS listen to my inner voice. The value of my mother’s intuition has already made itself known to me countless times in my seven years of parenthood. But I still marvel at it’s incredible, unexplainable power. And I am always thankful for whatever sense prompts me to heed it.

Note: I am not suggesting that anyone should handle a similar situation the way I have described here. There are protocols that should be followed in situations like these. If you have questions about how to deal with a similar situation, please contact your CDE or healthcare provider.

Bravery

2010-05-19T23:50:00.000-07:00

When a four year old has to have blood drawn it’s a big deal. Even though Jenna has had more pokes in the past two years than a hundred non-diabetic adults combined (and I strongly suspect that is a gross underestimation), she still becomes anxious at the idea of having blood drawn.

Recently Jenna had a routine appointment with our new pediatrician, Dr. M. It went well, I guess. He seems like a nice guy. He certainly worked hard to make my girls laugh and impress upon me his rapport with children. And he didn’t make any inappropriate references to Jenna’s weight or any ignorant assumptions about the diet I provide her. Smart.

Dr. M wrapped up the appointment by discussing the required, routine annual blood work that needs to be drawn on Jenna. He stated he would write up a requisition and fax it to the lab of my choice. I told him the lab we like to go to for all our phlebotomical needs (no, that’s likely not a real word) and he assured me the requisition would be there awaiting our arrival. This isn’t the process I am used to when lab work needs to be done. I’ve always been given a requisition at the appointment then taken it to the lab myself. But I figured it was the way this doctor liked to do things. Who am I to question it?

Almost a week later, on a Thursday, a day I decided would be the least busy day to tackle this daunting task, I decided to take her in to have it done. I had prepared Jenna the previous day for what to expect by casually telling her we would get her blood work done the next morning. I thought a casual, "Oh yeah, by the way..." approach would help keep Jenna calm. I refreshed her memory, referencing the previous year’s blood work experience and the Emla I would apply to help make the procedure ouch-free. She seemed relatively unphased by our brief chat.

The next morning after the girls ate breakfast, got dressed, brushed teeth and hair, etc., I applied the Emla. Jenna still seemed unconcerned. An hour later we were off.

We arrived at the lab and I approached the reception desk to give Jenna’s name so that her previously faxed lab requisition could be located. But the woman at the desk would have none of my unorthodox “standing-in-line”, “name-giving” ways and curtly told me to take a number and have a seat.

A number. There were all of five people present in the tiny waiting room. But the impersonal number system was to be strictly adhered to, nevertheless. This set the tone for the next hour that we were at the lab. That’s right - one whole hour to have blood drawn on a four year old that should only take five minutes.

A few minutes later the woman at the desk called my number. No one else had been called before me and I sat, literally, no more than three feet from her. As I approached the desk the thought crossed my mind to ball up the numbered slip of paper and flick it at her. Not that I would, but it was mildly satisfying to envision it. I explained that my daughter’s pediatrician had faxed a requisition for lab work. She reached for a stack of requisitions and began thumbing through looking for Jenna’s name.

Nothing.

Again she sifted through the stack of papers and again turned up nothing.

My heart sank at the thought of having to go through the whole procedure all over again another day. It wouldn’t be fair to Jenna. Heck, it wouldn’t be fair to me! I was doing my best to hide a truck load of anxiety related to how Jenna would fare while her vein was being tapped. Every other previous blood draw has been an upsetting experience for Jenna. I might not be able to convince her to be such a willing participant on another day. So I decided at that moment that come hell or high water, this blood work was going to be drawn today and I was going to make it happen.

...somehow.

I explained our situation and made it clear that postponement was really not an option. So she handed me the phone number of Dr. M’s office on another blasted little piece of paper and wished me luck.

I spent the next forty minutes or so on my cell phone making calls to his office as well as to our Diabetes Nurse Educator, leaving desperate voice mail messages and talking to medical office personnel - pleading for their help, then waiting for return calls and good news.

During this time my girls kept themselves entertained with an assortment of story books and colouring books I, thankfully, had had the foresight to pack.

Finally the fax machine hummed to life and a requisition materialized with Jenna’s name on it. Dr. M had come through. Right then I forgave him his forgetfulness where only moments before I was composing my “You Dropped The Ball HUGE, Doc” speech. Actually, I was pretty impressed. Obviously he had forgotten. But I was also told by his staff that he wasn’t in the office that day. So he must have given his staff a phone order on his own time. That’s pretty cool.

Jenna was calm right up until the tourniquet was applied at which point her anxiety came rushing to the surface and she began to cry. I held her on my lap and restrained her little arm while the skilled lab tech got the job done quickly and efficiently. Unfortunately Jazmine became upset not long after Jenna did. I found myself in the torturous position of having to keep focused on Jenna to attend to the task at hand while Jazmine had to go without comforting. Sometimes Mommies just don’t have enough arms.

After it was over the lab tech handed Jenna two stickers and we all agreed that she was one very brave little girl. Jenna, still weeping, disagreed with us saying that she wasn’t brave because she cried. I told her even brave people cry and that she is, in fact, one of the bravest people I know. She accepted her bravery stickers then wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big hug.

I sure wish she didn’t have to be so brave.

A Cure

2010-05-16T16:31:00.000-07:00

This is the last day of Diabetes Blog Week and I'm proud to say I saw it through to the end. I'm even more delighted to have made so many new friends! Thanks to Karen of Bitter-Sweet for making this happen. And thanks to all the bloggers who shared your feelings so eloquently. I enjoyed reading your words. And given the sheer volume of blogs out there who participated I'll be enjoying your words for days, dare I say weeks to come.

The morning after my daughter’s diagnosis, while I sat cradling her weak little frame in my arms in a hospital room, the tears streaming down my face in a non-stop cascade, a doctor entered the room - the same doctor that doubted my suspicion that Jenna was displaying symptoms of diabetes and reluctantly wrote a requisition for lab work only three days before.

He sat and talked to me about Jenna's diagnosis. He told me a cure was very close. My heart skipped a beat and for a moment the flow of tears slowed.

“Really? ...a cure?!” I said with a sudden surge of hope.

“Oh yes. A cure is no further away than five years” he responded. This gave me a great deal of hope. As I type that statement now I feel foolish at how very naive I was.

Since that day in the hospital I have done what I needed to do to cope. I have educated myself so that I would be better equipped to manage Jenna’s diabetes and keep her as healthy as I can for the next five years so that the damage to her body is minimized for when she can line up for that cure that is so close. But during this self-education I also became aware of the fact that doctors have been promising type 1 diabetics a cure “within five years” for the past thirty years. My hope for a cure has been put firmly into perspective. As much as I want to believe a cure will happen in my daughter’s lifetime, the most I allow myself to truly hope for is improvements in treatments.

I won’t stop fundraising or raising awareness though. I’ll talk to whoever will listen and educate those who need educating. I will keep fighting as long as I’m alive. I’m the parent of a child with type 1 diabetes - a disease requiring attention every minute of every hour of every day of her life. A disease that threatens her longevity and quality of life. A disease who’s very treatment could endanger her life. When Jenna gets tired and has lost her will to keep believing, as has happened to so many other adults living most of their lives with this disease waiting for a cure that never comes, I will still be fighting.

But you can bet your next order of diabetes supplies I'll be throwing the grandest gala ever thrown if...IF a cure is found.

I’ve written previous blog posts here and here on the subject of a cure.

Images of The Past Two Years

2010-05-15T22:20:00.000-07:00

These snapshots follow a timeline starting from just before Jenna's diagnosis:

Two years ago, Jenna and I were spending an afternoon at the beach. She was showing symptoms but had not yet been diagnosed. For the first year or so after her diagnosis this picture as well as others from that day were very difficult for me to look at without becoming emotional, imagining how she must have been feeling.

This was taken while Jenna was hospitalized for four days after diagnosis. Her hospital room window looked out over a green belt. She often saw bunnies out there eating clover and such.

The girls and me just a few weeks after her diagnosis.

Jenna holding her brand new insulin pump. This was taken at her pump start up right after her very first infusion site insertion, hence the tears.

Jenna's first Halloween with diabetes. Thankfully, it was also her first Halloween with a pump!

We attended a wedding last spring. Jenna enjoyed a luscious piece of chocolate cake - savouring every last crumb - while Daddy was busy pressing buttons on the pump. We guessed at the carb count and if memory serves, we battled a high all that night. It was totally worth it though!

I was quite proud of myself when I got the idea to have a dry erase board on our fridge to keep track of carb counts for each meal. We used it faithfully for a year or so. Now we are seasoned carb counters and my mental math skills are smokin' these days. For the most part the dry erase board sits idle now, save for the odd doodle or birthday party invitation.

This is just one heckuva sweet picture of my two babes walking hand in hand on the beach. Yes, I'm a proud mama. I won't deny it.

We made some paper pumps for Jenna's stuffed toys one morning. Read more about that here.

Please understand - I don't condone this kind of behaviour. But this is a testament to Jenna's spirit. She has a great sense of humour with a delightful splash of attitude and it's what has seen her through many of life's trials up to this point. I'm betting it will see her through many more. Give 'em hell, sweetheart!

My Moronic Moment

2010-05-13T23:59:00.000-07:00

It’s day five of Diabetes Blog Week and I’m going to play my wild card. I've got a moronic moment to share and it's a doozy. I probably should just stick with the assigned topic and talk about exercise rather than expose my inner numb-skull but I've been meaning to share this one all week. If I don't get this off my chest now I'll miss my opportunity to purge. So I shall commence purging....now.

I’m human. I screw up every now and then. And I’m okay with that...unless those screw ups have an adverse effect on my child’s wellbeing. Then I'm totally NOT okay with it.

Jenna gets a break from her ever-present Animas One Touch Ping during two activities: swimming lessons and gymnastics classes. During those activities her pump takes up temporary residence in my purse. Now, for those of you who aren’t familiar, the Animas One Touch Ping is a pump and meter duo that communicates remotely with one another. So you don’t have to actually handle the pump to administer a bolus. It can all be done with the blood sugar meter from several feet away, if necessary.

After her lessons are over Jenna heads to the change room to change from her body suit or swim suit back into her regular clothes. At this time her pump should be extracted from the cavernous pit that is my purse, the lure-lock engaged and the case strapped back around Jenna’s waist.

It SHOULD be.

I try to keep everything in order and be the organized anchor for my family. Like most moms, it is a job I take quite seriously. So you can imagine how I’ve felt when not once, not twice, but three times I have forgotten to reconnect Jenna’s pump after a swim or gymnastics lesson and on one occasion have even gone so far as to bolus my purse for her snack, assuming the pump is where it should be - connected to Jenna! The sickening moment of realization occurs when, sometimes up to two hours later I check her blood sugar and discover that it’s on a trajectory for the freakin’ moon.

If motherhood has taught me anything it is humility. I have proven to myself time and time again that I am human. But diabetes seems determined to poignantly drive that point home now and then. Furthermore, as much as I love the remote bolusing capabilities of the Animas One Touch Ping, this is it’s one Achilles heel; it is too easy to forget to reconnect when you don’t have to actually handle the pump to bolus, setting the stage for precisely this scenario.

It is because of this that I’m thankful for another piece of technology - my iPhone and it’s ability to be programmed with reminders and alarms! I love my iPhone almost as much as I love Jenna’s pump. It has since spared me countless potential episodes of self-loathing. Just imagine if Apple and Animas combined their awesomeness and collaborated to create a new insulin pump - the “iPump”. No...the “iPing”! ...sweet.

To Carb or Not To Carb

2010-05-13T02:00:00.000-07:00

Day four of Diabetes Blog Week has arrived and our assignment is to discuss what we eat. There are two general schools of thought: eat what you want and just bolus for it or limit your carbs to better maintain glycemic homeostasis. Truthfully, I see both sides of the debate. However, I was also raised in a household where the meals provided were wholesome, home-cooked and had carbs aplenty. My mother is a fantastic cook and made nutritious meals from scratch, with love and on a shoestring budget. Desserts were almost always part of our Sunday menu and were always homemade. It’s what I lived so it’s what I learned and for the most part it’s what I practice now raising my own family.

Initially, after Jenna’s diagnosis, I tried to limit our carb intake. I had been given a meal plan by our dietician which specified how many carbs Jenna could have at each meal and snack. To stray from that would mean Jenna would suffer either a high or a low since she was on multiple daily injections and her insulin dosing was given long before her actual meal or snack. So it was in her best interest to try to adhere as closely as possible to the plan.

But Jenna was two at the time and if you’ve ever raised a two year old you can imagine just how difficult this task was for us. Some days Jenna was super hungry and wanted more than just her 35-40 carb allotment for breakfast. Other days she wasn’t as hungry and I would be pleading with her to eat her 20 carb morning snack that she had been dosed for before breakfast. This clearly wasn’t working for us. So after three months of MDI’s we started Jenna on an insulin pump and began enjoying food again. REAL food. GOOD food. Without quantity restrictions.

Now, I can’t say that things have gone right back to the way they were before Jenna’s diagnosis. But the changes that remain in play are good changes. More careful thought is given to each and every meal and snack I prepare now. Like most people affected by diabetes I have become an avid label reader. Carb counts are crucial but so are other nutritional components. I pay very close attention to fat and fibre content as these influence the glycemic index of foods which is important in determining how the carbs will be absorbed by Jenna. I try to limit high fat foods and those foods that are notorious for messing with blood sugars like pizza and pasta. Because these foods are commonly eaten for supper, they tend to creep up on a person with diabetes when they are in their most vulnerable state - sleeping. Waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of Jenna chugging an entire sippy of water after a pizza supper means she is likely in the mid to high teens and the fatty, high protein, high carb pizza is to blame. I won’t lie to you, I feel tremendous guilt when this happens. It sucks.

However, Jenna loves pizza and so does her sister. So while I limit it, I don’t eliminate it from our diet completely. I don’t want to make certain foods forbidden and leave Jenna feeling deprived. I mean, what childhood is without the occasional pizza and movie night or spaghetti dinner with loads of parmesan cheese? So we figure out how to make it work. And if combo boluses and raised basals don’t take care of the inevitable blood sugar spike, we just correct the crap out of it until we stamp it back down into submission again. In a perfect world the boluses would match Jenna’s needs and she wouldn’t have any episodes of hyper or hypoglycemia taxing her four year old body. But then, in a perfect world there would be no such thing as diabetes.

So, as cliché as it sounds, for us moderation is the key. Food is a huge part of how we socialize and experience life and Jenna deserves to live her life as fully as the next person. So we do the very best we can. The rest is beyond our control.

To find links to other awesome blogs writing about this very subject today visit Bitter-Sweet.

Our Biggest Supporters

2010-05-12T02:00:00.000-07:00

Since diabetes is truly a family affair and since the youngest member of our family has it, we all support one another in different ways.

Jenna gets support from all of us. We manage her diabetes care and all the emotional stuff that goes along with it as a team. And when things just get to be too much for her and she’s sick of being a human pin cushion or has been riding a stubborn high for too damn long and is feeling pretty rough we rally behind her and let her know we are there for her through thick and thin. Sometimes, when she’s had it up to HERE with all the finger sticks, we will offer to let her give one of us a check. She likes being on the other end of the lancing device for a change and I enjoy taking the occasional peak inside my own internal glycemic workings. There are times when she doesn’t feel like doing her own check that her big sister happily offers to do it for her. And when Jazmine does perform the check, she is always so proud to report the reading to me; She’s eight point two, Mom! She needs a correction! I'm left to quietly wonder how my six year old knows that eight point two warrants a correction. It amazes me just how much Jazmine has absorbed in the last two years. Evidently, she’s been paying attention!

But like I said at the beginning of this post, diabetes is a family affair and the rest of us need support on occasion as well. Jazmine has had some difficulty in the past with witnessing the physical trials Jenna has had to endure. She has been known to make a hasty exit when we’ve had to restrain an unwilling Jenna to have an injection or a sight change. Recently, during some routine blood work at the lab (which I will be blogging about next week) Jazmine became quite emotional reacting to Jenna’s upset. My heart broke for both my girls that day. I was busy holding Jenna during the blood draw and was unable to comfort Jazmine while she watched her little sister endure yet another physical assault.

J and I are always there for each other. There have been many nights when I’m feeling tired and burnt out from too many wee hour checks or when diabetes seems hard pressed to relinquish control and I get feeling down. Sometimes when we just can’t seem to chop down a high I get almost panicky at the though of just what kind of damage could be happening inside my baby’s body. J knows just how I’m feeling, being the other half of this parenting team. We both curse the “D” together. Literally. Nights like that--if diabetes was an ass, my shoe print would be all over it!

My mother-in-law has also been a source of support. She has been willing to learn all the diabetes “stuff” in order to fill in for us if we need her to. She has mastered the blood sugar check and is presently in the process of becoming more comfortable with dosing Jenna using her pump. She has even spotted a low before things got too crazy! I’m thankful that she is open to this. I’ve heard of other grandparents who are so afraid of learning these tasks that they refuse to care for their diabetic grandchildren. As much as I can understand their fears, I find that to be terribly sad for everyone involved.

I’ve also had friends from my childhood support me in numerous ways. Upon hearing of Jenna’s diagnosis, friends I haven’t seen since high-school graduation who have families of their own now and, like me have moved away to various parts of North America have let me know I’m not alone! Whether it’s been a few kind words of encouragement on Facebook, donations to our annual walk to cure diabetes or offering their creative expertise to make things to sell to raise money for our cause, I have been reminded of the generosity and sense of community that is so much a part of the small town in southern Ontario from which I originally hailed.

But some of the best support I have gotten as the mother of a child with type 1 diabetes has been from you. That’s right, YOU! The Diabetes Online Community. And I’m so proud to be a member of this strong, supportive community and to be able to give support back. No one knows quite as well as we do what we go through as people living with type 1 diabetes or as parents of diabetic children. You truly have to live this experience to understand it.

I have wondered many times in the past two years since Jenna’s diagnosis how parents got through it all twenty or thirty years ago or longer. Odds are they didn’t have any other families in their social circles who could relate and there was no internet, no “online community” to draw support from; not to mention the less advanced methods of blood sugar monitoring and insulin delivery--the less predictable insulins they had to work with as well as the far more strict dietary regimens their children had to follow that they somehow had to enforce. I salute those parents. They have my utmost respect.

That’s why after only three days into this Diabetes Blog Week I am determined to see this project through to the finish line.

When I signed up for this I questioned my own sanity. Committing to blogging every day for seven days straight? Ya, right. I can’t even get a solid five hours of sleep on any given night. How am I going to write seven consecutive blog posts? But this has been a pretty amazing experience so far - to read other blogs and realize that what we go through every day isn’t that different from what most of you go through every day. You share my fears and frustrations; you know the 24/7 of it all.

The wind is at my back as I blog with all of you.

...but we still have a ways to go to get to the finish line of this blog-a-thon. Three posts down - four to go! Quick! Someone hand me some sort of sport drink to throw back!

I’m in it to win it, people!