Follow My New Blog

My dear blog readers,

I have decided to keep this Jack's Pack blog limited to information regarding our JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes activities.

But I'm not going away! I'm blogging elsewhere!

For privacy reasons, I do not want to disclose the new blog name and address here. However, I truly appreciate my blog followers and would LOVE to have you follow me on over to my new blog.

Please email me at heidi@jacks-pack.com, and I'll send you the link to my new blog.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading, commenting and supporting me!

With gratitude,
Heidi

A Boy and His Dog

Each morning, Jack wakes up at the crack of dawn, sometimes before the crack of dawn and always before the rest of the family.

Since he's the first one up, Jack has made it his job to take Alex, our new puppy, outside in the backyard each morning, so that Alex may "do his business." This job was not imposed on Jack. It was something he eagerly volunteered to do. To him, this is like winning a prize, because he gets Alex's undivided attention.

I think it also thrills him to have Alex so excited to see him in the morning. As soon as Jack walks into the room, Alex immediately jumps up in his crate, begins to pant, wiggles his body and wags his tail. He does the doggie happy dance.

When Jack releases him from his crate, Alex usually first jumps into Jack's lap and gives him a lick or two. He then springs into action, jumping up, hopping on his hind legs and running circles around Jack all the while whipping his tail back and forth in a frenzy. Seriously, that puppy's tail could not wag any faster.

I know all of this, because Alex's crate sits in our bedroom at night (so that we can hear him, if he needs to go outside in the middle of the night), and the past several mornings, I've woken up upon hearing Jack tip-toe into our bedroom or upon hearing him whisper with enthusiasm, "Good morning, Alex!"

I love watching their morning exchange. They are both so happy to see each other.

Jack then takes Alex outside, and from inside, I can hear him talking to the dog. His chatter goes something like this: "Go potty, Alex. Go potty. Come on, Alex. You can do it. Go potty. ... Good boy! You went potty! You are such a good boy! Here's your treat! Good job! I'm so proud of you, Alex! I love you, Alex! What a good boy you are!"

Jack will then clean up after Alex and come back inside to play.

A couple of mornings ago, I got out of bed, grabbed my camera and went outside with the boys. As much as Jack loves taking care of Alex and playing with Alex, I love watching the two of them together, and I wanted a few keepsake photos.

All three of our kids adore the dog, but Jack seems to be the one, who has taken the most ownership and responsibility. 

For Madeline, Alex is a baby to carry around the house and have snooze in her lap. For Max, he's a game of fetch. Madeline and Max do shower Alex with lots of attention, and they do help with his care. They fill his water bowl, take him outside and even clean his little puddles and piles. But they haven't displayed the same degree of responsibility.

I can't help but wonder the impact of Jack's diabetes on his relationship with the dog.

Jack's diabetes has forced him to grow up a little faster than he should have. While we try to shoulder as much responsibility for his disease as possible, we wouldn't be good parents if we were doing it all and weren't teaching him to take care of himself. We do the same with Madeline and Max, but instead of having them check their blood sugar levels, for example, we're prompting them to brush their teeth and do their homework.

Still, Jack has to be more mindful than his sister and brother. He has to check his sugar and count the carbs, before eating a bowl of grapes. His siblings can just pop them into their mouths with wild abandonment.

I can't help but wonder whether Jack's more mature approach to the dog is because he's not carefree, because he has to be thoughtful, vigilant and accountable, because he has routines he must follow, and because he knows all too well that all actions have consequences.

Would Jack be so good with Alex, if he didn't have diabetes? Is this just Jack? Just his personality? Just who he is? Or is this a result of his life's experiences?

Jack was diagnosed with diabetes at age four, so I can't say that he's always been like this. He was too young to be responsible and mature before diabetes struck.

I suppose we'll never know the answer, and I suppose it doesn't really matter. Still, I can't help but wonder...

 

Puppy Love

I'm not a dog person.

When I was little, my parents had a St. Bernard, who scared me. She died when I was five, and shortly thereafter, my parents got a basset hound, another big dog who terrified me. Fortunately for me, the basset hound had a number of issues, and my parents had to get rid of him. For the next several years, we had fish and a few hermit crabs, and that was it. Then, when I was 11, we got two cats, and it was, at that point, that I became I cat person. Ever since, I've always had a couple of cats. We currently have two fabulous felines, Chloe and Pearl.

Gregg, however, is a dog person, and for years, he has said he would like to get a dog. Pre-diabetes, I always said that if we were to get a dog, we would have to get a cat-sized dog, who didn't shed. Big dogs still scare me. Little or medium-sized dogs I can handle. But, really I didn't want a dog. I was perfectly content with our cats.

After Jack's diagnosis, I learned about diabetes dogs, and I changed my tune. I began to seriously consider getting a dog. I'd do anything for Jack, and if a diabetes dog would help him or keep him safe, then I'd be willing to get one of these service animals, despite the fact that they're usually big dogs, like labs or retrievers, who shed. Over time, I learned more and more, and I got to the point where I wanted one. Yes, I, the one who's never really liked dogs, actually wanted a dog. A diabetes dog, that is.

So last weekend, we were at the mall, shopping for kids' school uniforms. We needed to pick up some clothing I'd placed on hold at Gap Kids. Next to Gap Kids is a pet store. Madeline, Jack and Max all wanted to go into the pet store to look at the puppies and kittens with Gregg, while I went into Gap Kids.

Ever since they were really little, our kids have enjoyed visiting this pet store. We've gone there countless times, and it's never been a problem. The kids have never once asked to buy a puppy or kitten, and Gregg and I have never been tempted to take home a new pet. We've always been able to say good-bye to all the darling animals with ease...until last Sunday.

When I joined Gregg and the kids in the pet store, I found them playing with two dogs, one of which is the cutest dog I've ever seen. He is a malkie, which is 1/2 Maltese and 1/2 Yorkshire terrier. We spoke with a saleswoman about him for a while, and we learned that malkies don't shed and only grow to weigh between 8 and 10 pounds, like a small cat.

The saleswoman asked whether we'd like to take this adorable puppy into a private room to play some more. In the past, we've always turned down those offers. On Sunday, we jumped at the opportunity.

In the private play room, this puppy charmed us. He wagged his tiny tail with excitement, and with his big brown eyes, he gave us that look. You know the look I'm talking about, the one that made him irresistable. The kids picked him up and pet him, and he sat in their arms and licked them. They threw him a ball, and he brought it back for more rounds of fetch. The kids squealed with delight.

"Can we get him?" they asked repeatedly. "Please, please, please," they begged.

Gregg and I aren't exactly impulsive people, and getting a dog is not something you do on a whim. Getting a dog equals a major, long-term commitment. And, if we were going to get a dog, we were going to get a diabetes dog. Or we were going to rescue a dog from the pound or research breeds and get one from a breeder. Or we'd hear about a friend's friend who had a litter of puppies that needed a good home. We were not going to be asking, "How much is that doggie in the window?"

For some reason, however, neither of us could resist this dog. Gregg and I were just as smitten as the kids. Even I, the one who doesn't really like dogs, fell for this fetching five-pound fur ball. We told the kids that we needed to think about it. We also told them that getting a dog is expensive.

The saleswoman offered to place a courtesy hold on him. Without hesitation, we gave the gal our names and number and drove home.

On the way, we talked nonstop about this precious pup. "What did we just do?" I asked Gregg. "Why did we give the saleswoman our names and number? Do you actually want that dog?"

All I could think was that, at this point, I need a dog like I need a hole in the head, except for a diabetes dog. That'd I'd consider. I have three kids, two cats, one disease and a very full life...and I'm not a dog person. Yet, I found myself saying to Gregg, "I think I want that dog. He's the cutest, sweetest thing I've ever seen, and he'll never be big and he'll never shed. And he was so good with the kids."

Shortly after arriving home, Gregg and I found Madeline, Jack and Max in the playroom with their piggy banks and change spread out all over the floor. They were counting coins. Madeline presented us with $10.43, Jack handed over $4.15, and Max ponied up $0.28. They gave us all their money and asked, "Is this enough to pay for the dog? If it's not, we could do chores or something to earn enough money to pay for him. Can we get him? Please say 'yes!' Please, please, please!"

We said "yes," and the following day, we returned to the store and purchased the puppy.

We named him Alex, and we are all head-over-heels in love.

Happy Camper

Every weekday afternoon, I end up with a pile of dried grass all over the kitchen or laundry room floor. It's such a pain to clean. Some days, I sweep it. Other days, I wipe it with a wet paper towel. Most days, I suck it up with my Dust Buster. No matter what I do, I always have a few pieces of grass that I miss and see later on. Really, it seems I'm always picking up a few blades here and a few blades there.

But that pain in the ass grass, I'm happy to have it, as it enters the house from Jack's back pack.

His camp back pack, that is.

Yep, Jack attends summer camp, and I'm so incredibly grateful that he has this experience.

He goes off in the mornings with Madeline and Max and spends his day with good friends doing all sorts of fun activities. Here's some of what a typical week includes: swimming, art, drama, music, games, sports, cooking and a field trip. The field trips are to cool places like the local water park and the Arizona Science Center and events like a Diamondbacks game and the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey circus.

Jack's favorite camp activity is swimming. All three of my kids love pool time at camp. They swim in the morning and in the afternoon. They often have water play, too. I need to send them with plenty of towels and bathing suits every day. That leads to a lot of laundry for me. I'm talking load after load. But, really, I don't mind. I'm happy to do it.

So far this summer, Jack has lost two swim towels (and Max has lost a number of socks). But I don't care...well, I do...I really wish he would keep better track of his belongings...but in the grand scheme of things, I really don't care. I've learned to send him with old towels that we can afford to lose, and I'm happy that he can attend this amazing program at which he loses towels.

This is Jack's third summer with diabetes and his third summer at camp. Each year, he has been blessed with amazing counselors, who take incredibly good care of him. In fact, I feel safer with him at camp than I do with him at school. There is always at least one counselor keeping an eye on him at all times, and as in summers past, there's always one counselor, who goes above and beyond, never leaving his side, carrying his diabetes kit all day long, asking questions, looking up information, really trying to understand the disease and its effects on Jack. It's as if he has a personal aide without being "the kid with the aide."

Jack's counselors call me all day long with his blood sugar numbers. If they can't reach me, they call Gregg. They enable us to decide how to treat highs and lows, how many carbs to feed Jack before swimming or sports, how much insulin the nurse should administer for lunch and snacks, etc.

Yes, there's a registered nurse, too. (Actually, there are two, who share the job.)

The camp director and assistant director have been so accomodating. They've allowed us to give all personnel, who will come into contact with Jack (counselors, CITs, unit heads, etc.) lanyard tags to wear with their ID badges. I like to think of those tags as "cheat sheets," because they contain vital information, such as symptoms and treatment of highs and lows, signs of DKA, glucagon directions and phone numbers for Gregg and me. They've set aside time for us to train personnel on diabetes. They posted flyers with Jack's photo and diabetes information on office walls. They've dedicated space in the refrigerator for juice boxes and in the freezer for sugar-free popsicles.

We are so blessed, and we know it. This camp is a special place, and Jack is fortunate to go there.

So many of Jack's school friends spend their summers attending a variety of specialized camps. They go to science camp for a week and/or to vacation bible school for a week and/or to soccer camp for another week, for example. Or they head off to sleep-away camp. Jack doesn't have that luxury. He needs to be under the care of someone trained in diabetes management at all times, and it's not realistic to expect every camp to have a nurse and/or assign a counselor to meet his needs. Besides it takes more than a week to really "get" diabetes and get to know Jack.  And it wouldn't be safe to send him off alone. Of course, Gregg or I could go with him, but with three children, that's probably not going to happen.

And it doesn't need to happen, because we are lucky to have this wonderful summer-long day camp program with the most caring, accomodating staff around.

So when I open Jack's back pack at the end of a camp day, and I find there's a towel missing, or I spill dried grass all over the floor, or I need to run yet another load of towels through the wash, I don't mind. I'm thankful. My boy is a happy camper, and that's all that matters.

(P.S. In case you're wondering, the grass comes from Jack tossing his wet swim towels on the ground. I often shake out the towels outside, before bringing them into the house, but even when I do that, I still end up with grass on the floor. Yes, there's that  much grass on his towels! Lucky for me, however, my other two kids don't like to get their towels dirty.)

Eatza Pizza

We have a love-hate relationship with pizza.

Perhaps the biggest reason we love pizza is that all three kids will actually eat it...willingly and happily.  Most nights, upon learning what's for dinner, no matter what will be served, at least one child complains, "Yuck, I don't like that. I'm not eating that...Do I have to eat that? Can I have yogurt or a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich instead?"

We never hear complaints when pizza's on the menu.

And who doesn't love pizza's convenience? At the end of a long, busy day, it's nice to order a pie or two and forget about cooking.

But, with its combination of carbs and fat, pizza wreaks havoc with Jack's blood sugar levels. The fat causes a delay in the absorption of carbs. So Jack goes low and then too high. Really, it's just the worst food for him.

We've experimented, testing his blood sugar level more frequently after eating this favorite food and trying to time his insulin delivery just so. We've also tried splitting his insulin dose, giving some after he eats and some an hour or two later. We've tried different pizza crusts, too.

Despite our efforts, nothing has worked. Pizza just doesn't mix well with Jack's diabetes. And that's okay. We've come to terms with it. It's no biggie. We just don't eat pizza very often. Who needs the fat, carbs and calories, any way?!

So tonight, my parents invited us to meet them for dinner at a restaurant known for its pizza and cheese steak sandwiches, and what did Jack want to order? Yep, you guessed it. Pizza!

But Jack knows how pizza affects him. He knows that when he eats this delicious dish, Gregg and I must stay awake until 1, 2 or even 3 a.m., testing and treating him. (Oh, who am I kidding? It's mostly Gregg! I usually can't stay awake that late.)

As we were walking into the restaurant tonight, Jack was chatting away about ordering pizza and then he suddenly paused. He broke his silence with, "Dad, if you're tired and don't want to stay up late tonight, I'll just order something else. I don't have to get pizza."

Right then and there, Gregg and I became as ooey gooey as the mozzarella on a pizza fresh out of the oven.

It's moments like that that remind us how much this disease has matured our six-almost-seven-year-old son and how sensitive and thoughtful he really is. Jack has such a big, kind heart.

Allow me to gush for a moment. He's such a great kid! We are so proud of him! I know I say that often, but really, that boy is something special and I love him so.

In case you're wondering, he ordered pizza tonight.

Drink your soda!

"Jack, drink your soda!"

"Jack! Jack! Drink your soda!"

"Jackie, honey, please drink your soda now!"

As the words flew out of my mouth, I wondered what the other restaurant patrons thought. I mean most people would question: what mother in her right mind would command her son to drink his soda? Water? Maybe. Milk? Maybe. But soda? No, not soda.

Yet, there I was trying to get my son to guzzle some Coke. His blood sugar level was 59. His skin looked pale. His eyes looked distant. He wasn't altogether there, and he had begun to mumble something unintelligible to his brother. He'd also previously said he had to use the men's room and was getting up from the table in a shakey fashion to do so. I saw him crashing, feared he would pass out and desperately wanted to elevate his blood sugar level before that happened.

We were dining at a local deli as part of a fundraiser for the kids' school, and Jack wanted to treat his low with regular Coke. That's a rarity. We generally don't treat lows with soda, but it was an easy thing to do at the deli.

Jack eventually sipped some soda, and with more coaxing, sipped some more and some more. And then, he returned from "low land."

After Jack was "back," I couldn't help but laugh at myself. I'm sure no one else realized that Jack was fighting low blood sugar, and I must have looked like a loon, begging him to drink, of all things, this carbonated crap. Most moms instruct their kids to "eat your veggies!" But, not I!  Rather, I push Coke on my kid! And I do it loudly!

Oh, well, goes with the territory! And really, I don't care what other people think. I just want Jack around tomorrow.

Trash Talk

This afternoon, we experienced another aspect of diabetes.

We were at Jack's baseball practice, and Jack had just run from first base to second. Jack paused at second base and then ran toward the dugout, where I was sitting.

Then, all of a sudden, an argument began.

"Jack, you're a cheater!" his teammate yelled.

"I am NOT a cheater!" he yelled back, still running toward me.

"You are! You're not supposed to just run to third base like that! You're a cheater!"

"I'm NOT a cheater! I'm not running to third base! I know how to play the game! I feel low!"

By the time he reached me, Jack not only felt low, but frustrated and hurt, too.

Damn diabetes! I hate how it puts Jack in positions like this. I hate how it affects others' perceptions of him.

I tested his blood sugar, and he was indeed low at 53.

It was hard for me to sit back and simply treat his low. I wanted to march out onto the field and give that kid a piece of my mind. But I know that kid. He's a really good kid. He knows all about Jack's diabetes, but he obviously didn't put two and two together today. So I stayed put and kept quiet.

Jack guzzled a bottle of juice and then ran back out onto the field. He didn't want to take it easy. He wanted to keep playing. Even more, he wanted to clear his reputation.

He ran right over to the boy, who'd called him a cheater, and explained why he left the field.

He continued to play for roughly another fifteen minutes, before visiting me again for another blood sugar check. He was at 70 and needed more carbs.

No one yelled, criticized or called him a nasty name when he left the field the second time. That was a good thing, because at that point, I would have marched out there and given the team the ol' D talk...nicely, of course. But, a D mom's gotta do what a D mom's gotta do!

Playing with Pumps

Yesterday, we attended the American Diabetes Association EXPO.

We went with one goal: to check out insulin pumps and continuous glucose monitors. We wanted to talk to company reps, see the pumps and CGMs, ask questions and learn more. We left the kids at home with my parents, so that we could focus and chat without interruptions.

We got nowhere with the CGMs. We started with the Dexcom Seven Plus, but because Jack is six-almost-seven and the Dexcom is not FDA-approved for pediatric patients, the rep didn't want to talk. Ugh... We'll just try a different route in the future.

Then, we tried twice to visit the Medtronic Minimed booth to look at their pump. Both times, the booth overflowed with people, giving us no opportunity to talk to anyone. (Unfortunately, we ran out of time and couldn't try for a third visit.) We did, however, have good luck at both the Animas and Omnipod booths. We spent a good 45 minutes in each booth, getting in-depth explanations and answers to our questions.

Still, we left the EXPO with our heads spinning, feeling more educated, but also more confused than ever. Do we need a pump? Will a pump really enhance Jack's quality of life or give us better control over his condition? Which pump did we like better?

We'll eventually do saline trials to see whether we should make the switch from shots and, if so, which pump works best, but we're wondering whether a pump with tubing is even a realistic possibility for Jack. Yet, after hearing my fellow D moms talk about the importance of the IOB feature, we have serious concerns about the Omnipod.

The Omnipod rep gave us a bunch of sample pods. This morning, Jack saw them sitting on the kitchen counter and he couldn't contain his curiosity. "What's that? That doesn't look like a pump. How does it work? Where's the insulin? Can I try it?"

So we attached one to Jack's lower back. Immediately, I had a brief, silent, internal "oh my!" reaction. I didn't want to express anything that would influence Jack. I didn't want to kill any momentum, but the significance of the moment struck me. I realized we're at the beginning of the next phase in our lives with diabetes, and it was strange to see Jack attached to a little life-saving machine. I also felt a sense of awe. Technology is so amazing.

Jack ran off, but Gregg and I kept our eye on him, as he went about his morning. We watched him get dressed. We watched Jack wrestle with Max. We watched him jump on our bed and do somersaults off a big, padded club chair. We watched him touch the pod and pick at its adhesive. We said nothing. We just watched. The pod seemed to hold up, at least temporarily, to his rough-and-tumble nature.

After wearing it for an hour, Jack remarked, "I think a pump like this would work. Can I wear it to Sunday school?"

That's where Jack is now. I can't wait to pick him up and see whether he's still wearing the pod and what he says.

Regardless, I'm sure the memories of today will last a while. This pump play--it's a big deal.

Zach

Meet Zach.

He's very special to Max.

He's also good friends with Green Bear, Mr. Snake and Duckie.

At night, they keep Max safe. They scare away the monsters.

In general, they do a fine job, but there was one very big monster they couldn't scare away: the D monster.

According to Max, Zach was diagnosed with diabetes, "just like Jack."

"He now gets shots and pokes, and he goes to the diabetes doctor," Max explained to me one recent night.

"Will you poke him in the middle of the night to make sure he's not low or too high, like you do Jack?" Max asked. "I can't do it, because I'm sleeping, but I want to make sure he's okay."

"No worries, sweetie. I'll take care of Zach."

"Thanks, mom. Be sure you use his meter and his strips and his poker, not Jack's."

"Oh, I didn't know he had his own supplies."

"Of course, he has his own supplies. He has diabetes! He needs those things."

"Well then, I'll use his meter, his strips and his poker."

"Thanks. Good night, mommy."

"Good night, Max. Love you!"

"Love you, too!"

Sweet Relief

It started with Gregg.

He walked in the door around noon on Monday. He surprised me, as he hadn't called and he usually doesn't return home from work until after 6 p.m. at the earliest. He felt nauseated. And then the vomiting began. Poor guy. I did what I could to help and comfort him.

Later on in the afternoon,  I took the kids to their tennis lesson. Half-way through, Jack walked off the court. I guessed he was feeling low. Wrong! His stomach hurt and his head ached.

So we interrupted Madeline's lesson and pulled her off the court in order to go home. She was happy to leave, because...you guessed it!...she thought she was going to throw up.

We arrived home to find Gregg still puking. The next thing I knew, Madeline had joined him.

And then the chills hit Jack. I checked his temperature, and sure enough, he was running a fever.

Usually, the slightest illness wreaks havoc with Jack's numbers. Often, we'll see wonky numbers before an illness strikes, but in the days prior, we hadn't seen anything out of the norm. And, fortunately, his numbers were all good, despite his fever. I prayed he'd stay that way and that he didn't have the stomach bug, too, that it was just a coincidence that his stomach hurt.

The last time Jack got a stomach bug, he was nearly hospitalized from a horrendous combination of dangerously low numbers, an inability to keep any food or beverage down, high ketones and dehydration. But so far, Jack was only complaining about stomach pains. He wasn't vomiting or showing any other signs of a stomach bug.

The next several hours, however, brought pure chaos. I couldn't keep up. Everyone needed me. Gregg wanted ice chips. Madeline walked into my office with a bucket, missed the bucket and barfed all over the carpeting. Then the carpeting needed attention. Jack had the chills and asked for a sweatshirt. Max wanted me to take his temperature. Gregg wanted a can of Sprite. Jack still had the chills and wanted a blanket. He wanted a pillow, too. Madeline's bed suddenly needed clean sheets. She needed a clean bucket, too. Max wanted a snack. Jack felt low and wanted me to test him. Max wanted me to put on the Wii for him. Madeline was crying, because her stomach hurt so badly. Gregg wanted me to distract Max and entice him out of the bedroom, because Max wanted to chat and Gregg wanted to sleep. Jack was crying, because his head hurt and he couldn't warm up. Then Madeline was puking again. And then Gregg was puking again. And on and on it went.

I jumped from one love to another, doing the best I could.

In between, I washed my hands, I washed the kids' hands, I sanitized us with Purell, and I cleaned toilets, buckets, bathroom door knobs and faucet handles with Clorox wipes. I turned into a full-blown germaphobe. But I desperately wanted to prevent Max, Jack and me from getting whatever nasty virus had invaded Madeline and Gregg's bodies (if we didn't have it already).

And all the while, I kept waiting for Jack's numbers to add to the chaos. They never did. I stayed awake until 1 a.m., checking him and then got up in the middle of the night to test, too. All I saw were beautiful 100s. I was amazed. The numbers gods were smiling! The blood sugar fairies were sprinkling their magic number dust! Jack had won the daily numbers lottery! Mercury was in retrograde or something!

Whatever it was, I felt incredibly relieved and grateful. I felt lucky, too. Stomach bugs and type 1 diabetes do not play nicely together. I was so thankful for Jack's gorgeous numbers. They could have been so much worse, even with just whatever slight illness was causing his fever. We got off easy this time.

The next day brought calm. The vomiting had ended, and Jack's fever had disappeared. Everyone felt significantly better, and Jack complained not once of any stomach issues. Better yet, Jack's numbers remained superb.

Fevers, stomach bugs and other mild illnesses come and go. Diabetes is always there. It never goes away, and it carries constant threats and worries. It requires continuous work and monitoring. Illnesses just add a whole new dimension to diabetes.

So, the other day, all I could think, as I our glucometer gave us 116, 142 and 107 among other similar numbers, was sweet relief!

Now, I'm praying that icky bug is really gone for good. I'm crossing my fingers and toes with the hope that it isn't brewing in Jack and getting ready to revisit our family. If it does, I'll handle it and, once again, do the best I can. But maybe if it does revisit, it'll bring another round of good numbers to give me more sweet relief. Fat chance, huh?

Girls' Night Out

I belong to a movie club. It's nothing formal. It's just a small group of my friends, all moms, who enjoy a girls' night out about once a month. We see a chick flick and eat popcorn for dinner. 

Last night, we saw The Last Song, and when I returned home around 9:30 p.m., though bedtime was nearing, and though the show was a real tear-jerker, I felt refreshed.

For me, this club is about so much more than catching the latest blockbuster. It's about escaping. On movie nights, I have three to four D-free hours with no highs, no lows and no shots or anything else related to diabetes to worry about.

I'm the only D mom in the group, and the pre- and post-show conversation rarely turns to my son's condition.

Now, don't get me wrong. I treasure my D friends, I love spending time with them, and I gain so much from talking about diabetes with them. The connection we have is like no other. It's invaluable to me.

But on movie nights, I get a break. I don't have to talk about diabetes. I don't have to worry about diabetes. I don't have to think about diabetes at all. I can just immerse myself in the story and enjoy my popcorn...without counting the carbs.

And, while I'm out with the girls, Gregg is at home with the kids, and he counts the carbs. He checks Jack's sugars, manages the numbers, gives the shots and so on. (He also makes dinner, does the dishes, bathes the kids and puts them to bed. If I'm lucky, he does the laundry, too.)

Most nights, Gregg does those things any way. He's an involved, hands-on dad. Diabetes isn't my job. It's not his job. It's our job. We parent together. We wrangle the D monster together.

Gregg gets movie nights, too. He sees the bloody, violent, action-packed shows that don't interest me with a good friend, whose wife happens to be the organizer of my movie club. And on those nights, I do it all.

We have our movie date nights, too, but those nights aren't so carefree, as we get calls and text messages from the babysitter, which we actually prefer.

But getting back to my point...

Diabetes is all-encompassing. It's overwhelming. It's stressful. It's exhausting. It's a 24/7 job with no time off.

My movie nights give me some much-needed respite. They provide me with downtime from D.

I love girls' night out! I love my movie club!

What, me worry?

This afternoon started off like most afternoons here.

The kids were home from school and had downed their snacks. I was working in the kitchen, making turkey sandwiches, hard boiling some eggs and washing and trimming fresh strawberries to fill tomorrow's lunch boxes. Jack was reading, Madeline was doing homework, and Max was watching Power Rangers, while building with Legos and waiting for his brother and sister to play with him.

Jack's after-school blood sugar reading had come in at 124, and everything was seemingly fine.

And then Jack walked into the kitchen and said, "Mom, my foot is tingling."

I fired off a round of questions in response. "Were you sitting on it? Or was your leg bent for a long time? Could it just be asleep? How does it feel now that you're walking around?"

"No, mom, I wasn't sitting on it. My leg wasn't bent. It doesn't feel like it's asleep. It's still tingling. It's weird. I've never felt this before. It's really bothering me."

A few minutes later, the tingling disappeared, and Jack was seemingly fine again. But the incident left me with fears of diabetic peripheral neuropathy and a whole slew of questions. Is this the beginning of something? Jack's only had diabetes for two-and-a-half years. Isn't it too early to be seeing signs of neuropathy? Was his foot really asleep, and he just didn't realize it? Should I be worried?

Time will tell.

Maybe it was nothing to worry about. I'm hoping it was nothing to worry about. So I'm not going to race over to the endo's office. I'm not even going to call the endo. I'm going to wait and see if he complains of tingling again. And I'm going to try not to worry. Of course, that's easier said than done. This is the kind of stuff that weighs on my shoulders and lurks in the back of my mind.

Sometimes, I feel as though diabetes has turned me into a worry wart. But it's hard not to worry at times, when your child has a condition as serious as type 1 diabetes.

If Madeline or Max had complained of a tingling foot, I would have assumed a momentary circulation issue. I wouldn't have given it a second thought.

With Jack, well, diabetes changes everything.

Life is Good

Blog posts have been swirling in my head, but we've been busy, busy, busy! I've had five minutes here and there to read others' blogs and check Facebook status updates, but no time to write.

Our days have been full. In addition to the usual stuff, we celebrated Passover with grandparents and cousins. We toured a local television station with Jack's Cub Scout den. We enjoyed a fun-filled day at a park with some dear D friends. We spent another day at the zoo. We saw a couple of movies. We watched the kids play in baseball, softball and tee ball games. We've enjoyed gorgeous spring weather with bike rides, tennis lessons and trips to the park.

All the while, diabetes has been rather cooperative. We had one ugly low at a tennis lesson, but Jack recovered quickly and continued with his lesson, as if the low never happened. A little Easter candy and cake caused a stubborn high, but we worked our way past that, too. For the most part, Jack's numbers have been in range, thank goodness.

I have no big news to report, but no news is good news. What more can I say? Life is good!

Say It Ain't So!

I just read an article in our local newspaper, discussing the dire need for my kids' school district to save money.

With budget cuts coming from the state, the district is facing a potential deficit of $10 million in its 2010-2011 school year budget. Furthermore, if voters turn down a 1-percent sales tax increase in an upcoming election, then the shortfall will increase by $11 million more.

Thus, according to the district's assistant superintendent for business services, who was quoted in the paper, the following proposals, among others, have been suggested:

• Laying off "at least 112 teachers, which would increase class sizes by three students in every grade level."
• "Eliminating all elementary-school music, art, physical education, band and strings and laying off those teachers."
• "Replacing school nurses with health aides."

Further cuts have been proposed, but the three above are the ones that bother me the most. I don't really care, for example, if they're considering "shutting down the elementary- and middle-school buildings from June 15 to July 15." Big whoop!

But, more students in each class, really? Already, there are 26 kids per class, and there are no teacher aides at my kids' school. Isn't 26 six- and seven-year-old kids enough for one teacher?

No music, art, phys. ed, band or strings? Would Mr. Superintendant want his kid's education to lack those classes?

I feel for the teachers, too. They must be worried. Last year, so many local school districts, including ours, suffered reductions in force. So even now, before the potential lay-offs, this state has more than its fair share of out-of-work teachers.

And no school nurse? A health aide? Seriously? The thought of losing our nurse makes me sick to my stomach. Our nurse is amazing. She takes such good care of Jack. I rely on her. She brings me peace of mind. I realize there are good health aides out there, too. I also realize that many schools have neither a nurse nor an aide. But, that's just wrong. I believe ALL schools should have nurses on staff, and I don't want ours to be taken away.

Plus, if I understand state laws correctly, ONLY registered nurses can administer routine insulin injections. We ran into problems last year at summer camp, when there was no RN on staff. No camp staff--even if we trained and trusted them--could give Jack his insulin shots, because the camp would have risked losing its license.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that law pertains only to private institutions. Maybe because it's a public school they would have to administer routine insulin injections? Maybe somehow section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973 would come into play? I need to investigate this.

But what if I'm right and what if there's no RN? Who's going administer or oversee Jack's insulin injections? Granted, he may be on a pump by then, but still, should he be solely responsible for the pump? What about any T1 kindergarteners? Should five-year-olds be held responsible for their shots and pumps? Am I expected to be at school every day at lunch time? And what about the days on which he's running high? And the days when kids celebrate birthdays and he needs an extra shot to cover a cupcake or a doughnut? Is he supposed to be excluded? Or am I supposed to make two trips to the school?

Okay, yes, he's my son and I would do anything for him, but is that really fair? I'm lucky to be a stay-at-home mom. What about those parents who work full-time and can't break away from their jobs to cover their child's insulin needs? What if I need or want to return to the workplace?

I don't think it's fair for young kids to be forced to take on that daily responsibility. They should be allowed to be kids. They shouldn't have to worry whether they've measured and administered their insulin correctly or properly programmed their pumps. We parents shouldn't have to worry.

I realize that money is either there or it isn't, and if it isn't, something's gotta give. I realize there are no easy answers. The budget will need to be cut somehow...but ugh! I don't want my kids' education to suffer! I don't want Jack's health and well-being to suffer!

Our state already ranks 49th in the nation in per-pupil spending. I thought it couldn't get much worse than that. Apparently, it can.

I'm trying not to get too worked up over here. These proposed budget cuts may never materialize. I'm hoping the state legislators come to their senses and don't under-fund education. I'm hoping the voters approve the 1-percent hike in our sales tax.  And, I'm hoping the school board finds other ways to reduce spending. I'm also going to write the governor, my legislators and the school board, voice my opinions and encourage friends to do the same.

Sigh...

No nurse, no art, no phys. ed., no music, no band, no strings and at least 29 kids in each elementary school class--please, oh please, oh please, say it ain't so, Mr. Superintendent!

In the Middle of the Night

I woke up. The house was still dark and quiet. I rolled over and looked at the clock.

I saw the bright-red, digital glow of 3:44.

In my half-awake, half-asleep, disoriented state, the numbers struck me. 344!

I sat straight up.

344! I'm 344! I need a correction dose!

Oh, wait, I don't have diabetes. That's not a meter. That's a clock! Doh!

I laughed at myself.

I nestled under the covers and went back to sleep.

Historic Health Care Reform?

Now that the new health care bill has passed, I can't help but wonder what the future holds for us. Does the new bill really offer reform? Will our lives be any different? Will we personally see any changes?

When Jack was diagnosed with diabetes, Gregg was on the verge of making a major career change.  After working for many years as a captive agent for a large insurance company, he was ready to go out on his own and open an independent agency along with a few partners.

From a career standpoint, this move was the best thing he could have ever done. From a health insurance standpoint, it was the worst, because with Jack's diagnosis came two of the most hated words in America: pre-existing condition.

Back when he was a captive agent, Gregg was able to secure excellent, affordable health insurance for our family under the company's group plan. After he left the company, we continued our coverage under COBRA.

Knowing that COBRA would run out in 18 months and paying what then seemed like an exorbitant rate, we began searching for new health insurance immediately after opening the doors to the new agency. (Because the agency was a small business in its infancy, each of the partners insured his family with his own individual policy.)

One of Gregg's partners specializes in health insurance. One would think that with a partner like that, we'd be able to find decent coverage at a decent price. Not so! Not with a child with type 1 diabetes, any way! That blasted pre-existing condition!

We applied for coverage at every single health insurance company licensed to conduct business in our state. And every single company denied us coverage, because of Jack's diabetes. Some companies offered us a  guaranteed-issue policy at a premium increased by roughly 300%. With a fledgling business, however, we could not afford 300%, nor could we afford to not have insurance.

We finally stumbled upon an association for small business owners that offered a lousy group plan with no medical underwriting and rates a little bit less expensive. With no medical underwriting, we were in like Flynn. This plan was the answer to our prayers. It was a high-deductible plan designed to cover catastrophic illnesses. It wasn't exactly what we'd hoped to find, but it was better than nothing and better than a guaranteed-issue policy.

We still have this plan today. We pay an outrageously expensive monthly premium that forces us to pinch pennies and forgo even life's little luxuries. On top of that, we have a $5,000 deductible. That means we pay for all medical expenses, including doctors' visits, hospitalizations, medications, diabetes supplies, diagnostic tests and lab fees, at 100% out of pocket until we hit $5,000. After that, we still have an 80/20 split.

This past year, our premium increased by a whopping 35%. It's expected to increase again next year.

We'll keep paying those rates, because really, that's our only option...unless this new health care bill changes things and gives us a better alternative.

I don't know the details of the bill yet, but I'm hoping and praying it helps families like ours, families that work hard yet struggle financially, families that have a member with a chronic health condition, families that fall into the middle class, families that aren't wealthy enough to have no worries, and families that aren't poor enough to get assistance.

Health care reform for our family is neither a Democrat issue nor a Republican issue. To us, it's just an issue...a major issue that needs to be solved.

Dinner with Diabetes

We went out to dinner tonight.

Gregg happened to be wearing his Jack's Pack JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes t-shirt, and our waiter noticed the shirt. He told us that he has a six-year-old son with type 1.

The next thing we knew, while discussing our drink order, we were talking about life with T1D. Every time he visited our table, we chatted a little more. It's wild the strong connection you feel when you meet another parent of a child with diabetes. A complete stranger becomes an instant friend.

We ended up exchanging names, phone numbers and email addresses, and Gregg and I hope this new-found friendship does not fizzle. We hope to see our waiter again, outside of the restaurant, and meet his family. Not only did our waiter seem like a really nice guy, but it would be wonderful for Jack to know yet another boy his age with diabetes, especially one who happens to live just 15 minutes away from us. And we would be delighted to introduce these new friends to our other local D friends.

Maybe we should wear our Jack's Pack shirts more often! Who knows who else we might meet!

Glucose with a G

Certain things my kids say make me chuckle every time I hear them.

"Blucose tabs" 

"It's glucose with a G," I say.

"Ohhh, glucose, not blucose!" I hear, thinking the light bulb finally went on.

And then, the next time Jack needs some fast-acting carbs and I reach for the bottle, Max or Madeline will ask, "Can we have a blucose tab, too?" It never fails.

"Hostable"

Jack is six. He can spell hospital, but he can't say it. Rather, he will say, "If my blood sugar went too high and I ended up in a coma, would I have to go to the hostable?"

"Marote"

I know I should correct him, but every time he says "marote," he sounds so cute. It's like the last little itsy bitsy bit of baby in my otherwise big boy. So I say nothing when Jack's looking to turn on the television or Wii and asks, "Where's the marote?"

Some habits are hard to break...and that's okay by me.  :-)

The Laser

He asks me if we can buy "the laser."

"What laser?" I ask him.

I'm thinking there's a new Star Wars toy he wants.

"The laser that will send a beam of light through one of my fingers and tell me what my blood sugar level is without poking me and making me bleed."

"Oh, honey, that's not available yet."

"It's not?"

He looks crushed.

"Sorry, sweetie. We have to wait for the laser."

"Okay," he sighs.

He clicks the blue button and lances his finger.

Boys Will Be Boys

Madeline and Jack take tennis lessons. Jack also plays on a baseball team. As luck would have it, both the kids' tennis lesson and Jack's baseball practice fall on Monday afternoons one hour apart at locations that are roughly 10 minutes apart.

So, we go to tennis, and then after the lesson is over, we race to get to baseball practice. And we generally arrive at baseball practice late, which bothers me, because I don't think it's fair to the coaches and other players, but that's the way it is. For now, I can't do anything about the scheduling conflict.

This afternoon, after tennis, all three kids needed to use the restroom. The boys asked if they could use the men's room. I'm not comfortable with my four- and six-year-old sons spending time alone in public men's rooms, but because we were in a rush, because they were going together, and because of where we were, I caved.

The boys ran happily into the men's room, while Madeline and I went into the women's room.

A few minutes later, Madeline and I exited the women's room. I looked around and didn't see Max or Jack.

Madeline and I waited. A few minutes passed, and there was still no sign of the boys. A few more minutes went by, and I began to wonder.

All sorts of thought crossed my mind. "Did they go outside? I looked. No, they weren't waiting for us outside. Could an adult have taken advantage of them? Could they be in danger? Possibly, but not likely. Does Jack realize what time it is? He needs to get to baseball. He's probably clueless. Did one of them have to poop? Just in case, give them more time. Could it be Jack's diabetes? What if he went low? Would Max recognize a low? Would Max know to run out and get me? It's probably not his diabetes. Be patient."

A few more minutes passed.

"The boys are taking forever," Madeline complained.

I couldn't blame her. She was right. They really were taking forever, and I was growing anxious. 

I dismissed all other thoughts and began to worry solely about diabetes. Whenever something doesn't go according to plans or expectations with Jack, I can't help but think of his condition. Today was no exception.

I looked at my watch again. Time was ticking away, and the boys were still nowhere in sight.

I couldn't take it any more. Enough was enough. If Jack needed help, then I needed to get to him. I was convinced the boys' delay was related to diabetes.

I was on the verge of asking the Pro Shop cashier, a teenage guy, to check on the boys, when Jack and Max finally walked out of the men's room.

"What happened? What took so long?" I asked, feeling both relieved and exasperated.

"When he was washing his hands, Max made a volcano out of soap bubbles," Jack explained. "You should have seen it! It was huge!"

"It was awesome!" Max added with pride.

"Then I decided we'd better stop playing and do the right thing and clean it up," Jack continued. "You always tell us to do the right thing. That's what took us so long."

A soap-bubble volcano! And a sweet boy with a conscience! Of course, I should have known better! Silly me!

I had to laugh.

I also had to remind myself that that not everything revolves around diabetes.

School vs. Home

Back in December, when the kids were home from school on winter break, I noticed how much lower and stable Jack's numbers were and questioned the effects of school on his blood sugar levels. I wrote about it here.

This week, the kids have been home on spring break, and once again, Jack's numbers have been drastically different--much lower--than they are during school days.

We've actually been chasing lows the past several days.

Before going to bed tonight, he was 69. He drank juice with 26g of carbs only to land at 61 a half hour later. It's been that kind of a week.

I don't believe this is a coincidence. I'm seeing a pattern here. When Jack's in school, his numbers fluctuate more and trend higher. I'm convinced that school has an adverse effect on his system. I'm just not sure what to do about it, if anything. I'm not sure anything can be done.

So, my dear D moms and dads, have you noticed a similar contrast in numbers in your kids? Does school seem to affect your kids' numbers in any way? If so, have you done anything about it? Any thoughts? Any advice?

Thanks in advance!!!

Diabetes Sucks

Jack was being silly.

“Mom, why are you under there?” he asked.

“Huh? What do you mean? Why am I under where?” I replied in confusion. I’m so gullible.

“You said underwear!” Jack burst out laughing. “Mom said underwear! Mom said underwear!”

Hysterics ensued, as all three kids cracked up.

Then Jack’s merriment ended abruptly.

“I feel low,” he said.

I wished that were just the beginning of the next joke, but I knew better. He never jokes about his diabetes.

Together, we tested his blood sugar level. Sure enough, he was low…again…his third low of the day.

“Why do I have to have diabetes?” he asked, while stuffing Skittles into his mouth, treating the low. “Diabetes sucks.”

His frustration seemed momentary. It was if he just needed a quick vent, because before I had a chance to agree, Jack was onto the next joke, calling for his next victim.

“Hey, Max,” he began. “Do you know you have drums in your ears?”

Max wasn’t falling for it.

“Oh, yeah,” Max answered. “Well, you have guitars in yours.”

“No, seriously, you have drums in your ears,” Jack teased.

“I do not!”

“Do to!”

“Do not! Mom, Jack says I have drums in my ears!”

“Oh, Max,” Jack giggled. “I’m only kidding…well, sort of kidding. You really do have drums in your ears. We all do. We have ear drums. They help us hear.”

Jack had returned to goofing around, but I was still stuck on his “diabetes sucks” remark. It pains me to think he has something in his life that he claims “sucks,” and it really does.

As the day progressed and he battled yet another low, I couldn’t help but wonder if Jack was still thinking diabetes sucks. I certainly was. He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t bring it up. I didn’t want to remind him, if he wasn’t.

Right before he went to bed, his blood sugar was 33.

“Thirty-three?” he questioned his glucometer. “Let’s test again.”

Test number two gave us a 35. “Oh, man, I’m thirty-five!” Jack exclaimed with a twinge of nervousness resonating in his voice.

Gregg got him a can of soda. We rarely treat lows with soda, but figured it might be fun for a change, and maybe a little fun would distract Jack. It did, but not for long.

“Yum, orange soda! I like orange soda. This the lowest I’ve been in a long time. I don’t feel like I’m only thirty-three or thirty-five. I feel low, but not that low. What if you needed to give me Glucagon? Where’s the Glucagon? Are you sure I don’t need Glucagon now? Are you sure soda is enough? How many carbs is it? Maybe I should eat a gummy worm,” he rambled, sounding as if he were freaked out.

It was then that I knew he was definitely still thinking diabetes sucks.

A few minutes later, after he’d guzzled his orange soda, I tucked him into bed. I bent down for a hug and a kiss, and he planted a raspberry on my cheek.

“Got you!” he laughed.

He never ceases to amaze me. I dwell on his diabetes. He moves on.

What if?

At dinner with my parents tonight, we talked about how the only predictable thing about diabetes is its unpredictability.

We were at a local pizzeria, and when it came time to administer Jack's insulin, Gregg and I talked about how much to give him.

Recently, pizza has become a problem for Jack. As is the case for many with T1D, the high fat content causes a delayed spike in his blood sugar. We've found that if we give him all of his insulin upfront, he goes low, because the insulin peaks before his blood sugar level does. After we treat the low, with the extra carbs in his system, and with the insulin past its peak when the pizza carbs kick in, his blood sugar sky rockets.

So tonight, we decided to divide his dose. Based on what he ate and what his dinnertime carb-to-insulin ratio is, we figured he needed four units of insulin. We only gave him two.

(Well, actually, we measured two and Jack injected himself. He's now doing almost all of his shots! I'm so proud!)

After dinner, we went to my parents' house for a bit. While we were there, Jack said he felt low. I checked him immediately.

He was at 51.

51!!!

What if we had given him the full four units?

Thank goodness we didn't.

But what if?

What if????


Post edit:
It's now over three hours later. He's at 325. It's going to be a long night!

Bad Karma

What goes around, comes around.

If that's true, then there's a mom of a student at Jack's school, who's really got it coming her way.

This woman shocked me today. She rattled me to my core and reduced me to tears.

Today was field day at our kids' school. For three hours, rather than sitting in their classrooms reading, taking spelling tests, learning new math concepts and whatnot, the kids participated in a variety of fun activities. In groups of twelve, lead by eighth-grade chaperones, they rotated around sixteen stations operated by parent volunteers. Among other things, they danced the chicken dance. They tossed bean bags through hula hoops. They climbed a rock wall. They ran around and chased after each other during a flag football-like game. They played with a parachute.

It was at the parachute station that I encountered this woman.

"Would you mind helping out?" she asked me. She needed a parent to assist with the station's activities.

"I'm really sorry, but I can't. I need to watch my son," I said.

"Unbelievable!" she hissed and then began to walk away. It was obvious she thought I was unwilling to lend a hand for no good reason.

I generally dislike confrontation, but I felt badly. I knew she was ticked off, and I wanted to clear the air. I didn't want her to think I'd just given her a lame excuse or that I wanted to take photos of Jack rather than assist her. I'm happy to help, when I can. This morning, however, I just couldn't, and I wanted her to know why.

With all of the morning's activities, Jack fought low after low after low, despite juice, despite glucose tabs, despite fruit snacks. His blood sugar would rise only to plummet again.

Jack didn't want his diabetes to stop him. He didn't want to miss out. He didn't want to sit on the sidelines. He wanted to run the relay race. He wanted to push the big, blue ball around the cones (pictured above). He wanted to bounce the rubber chicken on the parachute. He wanted to be like all of the other kids.

So I stood by his side, holding his D kit, watching him like a hawk, monitoring his behavior and coloring, testing his blood sugar and treating his lows when necessary.

At the obstacle course, the station immediately before the parachute, Jack's blood sugar dropped to 62. He ate a package of fruit snacks, but when we arrived at the parachute station, he was still a little pale and lethargic. I was not about to take my eyes off of him.

I would have loved to have helped. I wish more than anything that Jack didn't have diabetes. I wish he didn't spend the morning fighting lows. I wish he could have just enjoyed the fun and festivities without diabetes getting in the way. I wish he was like all of the other kids. I wish an eighth-grade chaperone was enough for him. I wish he didn't need me hanging around, but he did, and I wanted to convey that to that other woman.

So with my heart racing, I confronted her.

"Excuse me," I said while walking over to where she stood fuming at me. "Please let me explain. My son has type one diabetes, and I..."

She refused to listen. She glared at me and cut me off, yelling in the most angry tone, "My husband's a doctor!"

She stormed off, escaping to another station across the field, making the need for help at the parachute station even greater.

Aghast, I stood there stunned. My mouth fell open.

"Oh, Heidi, I can't believe she just did that!" my friend J exclaimed.

My eyes welled up with tears.

J rubbed my shoulder and went off, "Who is she? I want to report her to [the principal]! She was way out of line! She didn't even let you speak. Who treats another parent like that?!"

"I"m so sorry Heidi," chimed in another mom, giving me a hug. "That was just wrong. Don't let her get to you."

I tried to put the ugly exchange out of my mind. I tried to put on my happy face and move on. But that obnoxious woman had left an indelible mark on me.

She reminded me that no matter how hard I try, I won't always be able to shield Jack from judgment and misunderstanding.

That woman thought she'd understood. After all, her husband's a doctor!

In reality, her husband's an orthodontist, someone told me.

But what does being a doctor have to do with anything anway? Do all doctors specialize in diabetes? And does her husband's medical/dental degree make her a specialist in type 1?

Her husband is neither my son's endocrinologist nor his pediatrician. He's not even his orthodontist. And their kids don't have type 1 diabetes. That, I know for sure.

That woman's worries aren't the same as mine. Her days do not mimic mine. She had no idea what had already happened this morning, and she didn't care. She only knew I wasn't going to help her and she quickly passed judgment.

So, if what goes around, comes around, then karma's gonna kick her in the a**!

"I shot myself!"

"Mom!"

Jack was calling me, while running from the kitchen toward my bedroom, where he knew I was braiding his sister's hair.

"Mom! Mom!"

I could hear the excitement in his voice.

He bounded into the bedroom.

"Mom, guess what I just did?" he asked, hardly able to contain himself and wait for me to ask the obvious.

"What did you do?" I followed.

"I shot myself! I gave myself insulin!"

I wish I had my camera on hand to capture the look on his face. He beamed with pride. Happiness and satisfaction flooded his face.

"Wow! Jack, that's awesome!" I congratulated him. "Where did you give yourself a shot? And just out of curiousity, why?"

"I wanted to! Dad put the insulin in the tube and I then shot myself in the leg. Right here," he said pointing to the inner side of his thigh. (Yes, he called the syringe "the tube," which humored me because he's usually so exacting, using correct terminology.)

I was taken back...happy...but a little surprised. It was another hectic morning. We were running late and rushing to get the kids out the door and to school on time. It wasn't exactly time for a little D training.

Gregg walked into the room and filled me in.

"He asked if he could give himself the shot. I figured why not? I drew up the insulin, handed him an alcohol swab and the syringe, and he injected himself just like that," Gregg explained.

"Can I do it again?" Jack interjected. "Can I give myself a shot at school after lunch?"

"You can absolutely do it again, but not at school today. How about after school or after dinner?" I said, trying to compromise and encourage.

Last summer, we had taught Jack how to inject himself. He practiced and practiced, shooting saline into oranges and even grapes. He gave himself a couple of injections and then lost interest.

This morning, he was full of enthusiasm. I'm eager to see whether it lasts. This could be Jack's next step on the road to independence! 


Post edit: The enthusiasm continues. Jack injected himself again this afternoon. :-)

A Second Chance?

Nine years ago, when we were expecting Madeline, Gregg and I learned about banking cord blood. The idea was just on the verge of gaining popularity. We knew no other pregnant couples who intended to save their baby's cord blood or parents who already had.

Nonetheless, the idea intrigued me and so I did a little research. It seemed like a great insurance plan, but expensive.

Because of the cost, we consulted with my OB, our soon-to-be pediatrician and other doctors who were friends and relatives. None of them recommended it. They suggested we save our money instead of Madeline's cord blood. We heeded their advice and didn't bank any of our kids' cord blood.

Oh, how I regret that now!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know hindsight is 20-20 vision, but still, it kills me that we didn't save the kids' cord blood. With Jack's diagnosis and all of the possibilities of stem cell research, I can't help but have regrets.

Recently, I learned about two companies that harvest stem cells from teeth: BioEden and StemSave.

There may be other similar companies out there, but I'm not aware of them. I haven't done my research yet.

Apparently, teeth, especially baby teeth, are a rich source of stem cells, and I can't help but wonder if using a company like BioEden or StemSave is our second chance.

Of course, like cord blood banks, these companies charge a pretty penny with a one-time enrollment fee and an annual service fee to cover ongoing cryogenic storage of tooth cells.

But what if stem cells hold the cure to diabetes? I'd pay anything for a cure! So would Gregg!

I'm thinking this is a no-brainer. I don't want to regret this too some day. I'm ready to register my kids and start sending in their teeth as they lose them.

Gregg, however, is dubious. While he wants a cure for diabetes more than anything, he's also a bit more cautious than I, when it comes to things like this.

With Wendy and Shamae's recent posts about their girls losing teeth, and knowing other D mom bloggers' kids are at the same stage, I thought I'd share this information for whatever it's worth.

I also thought I'd ask: has anyone else heard of BioEDEN or StemSave? Has anyone had any experiences with either of these companies or similar businesses? Do you think it's worth the cost to harvest and store stem cells from my kids' teeth? Am I off my rocker here, or is this something to seriously consider?

I'd love to know your thoughts. Thanks!

The Planetarium Predicaments

This afternoon, we were at the local science museum, waiting for a show to begin in the planetarium, and we'd heard the announcement loud and clear.

"Ladies and gentlemen, once the show has started, you may exit the planetarium, but you may not re-enter. For security puposes, the doors will be locked to those in the Science Center outside of the planetarium."

Two minutes later, just as the show began to play, Madeline tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I have to go potty."

Just before we'd entered the planetarium, we'd suggested all three kids use the restroom. "I don't have to go," Madeline had insisted.

"Can you hold it? Or do you have to go badly?" I asked.

"I really, really, really have to go," she whimpered.

"Besides, this is boring," she muttered under her breath.

I knew it! Her bladder wasn't calling. She just wanted out. Funny girl, my Madeline is!

We didn't leave.

About twenty minutes later, Jack whispered, "I feel low."

At that very moment, the planetarium was dark, not like movie-theater dark and not like middle-of-the-night dark. It was pitch black. As dark as dark can be! There was not one star shining above us. We could not see a thing. Not a thing!

"What should we do?" Gregg asked me in a hushed tone, knowing that if we went outside to test Jack, we wouldn't be able to get back in.

We'd tested Jack before the show started, and he was at 138, but that didn't mean he couldn't have dropped.

Jack's D kit sat on Gregg's lap, but even as the stars began to shine again, there was still no way Gregg could see well enough to test Jack.

About 90% of the time Jack says he feels low, he actually is low, and he'd fought a 58 and a 63 already today.

Considering the day's trend, we decided to assume another low and figured we could correct a high after the show, if need be. Gregg unzipped the D kit, felt around for a package of fruit snacks, found one and then gave it to Jack, who gobbled its contents.

We watched the remainder show. Madeline fidgeted and chatted throughout, but I couldn't blame her. The show really was boring. It put Jack and Max to sleep, and I almost dozed off myself.

After the show had ended and we'd woken the boys and left the planetarium, Madeline still didn't need to use the restroom, and Jack was just fine. We tested him immediately and 170 popped up on glucometer.

We'd made it!

The Silver Lining

Every dark cloud has a silver lining. Today was a reminder of that.

We attended the 2009 JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes awards ceremony. There, we were presented with a few awards, like the above Gold Fundraising Award, which we received for raising over $18,000 for JDRF. 

While the recognition for our efforts was nice (as we poured our hearts and souls into our Walk campaign!), the ceremony wasn't really about receiving accolades. To us, it was about friends, family and support. Our awards are merely symbols of the donations that came from people who care about a cure, who care about us, and who were willing to help us help Jack.

To all who donated, walked with us, and raised funds for JDRF on behalf of Jack's Pack, thank you from the bottoms of our hearts! Your support means the world to us!

We sat through today's event surrounded by friends, truly wonderful people whom we never would have met, if it hadn't been for diabetes.

If there is anything positive about Jack's disease, it is that we've made these special friends.

To all we saw today--the Roses, the Birminghams, the McGraws, the Coveys, the Gabbays and the Baxleys--and to all of our other D friends (including those of you we've never met in person), we treasure your friendship!

Diabetes may be our darkest cloud, but it does have its silver lining!

P.S. Please excuse this post's horrendous photography! I had to use my cell phone camera, as the card reader I use to download pics from my camera to my computer are victims of last week's water heater catastrophe. My office was hit hard with water damage, and I currently can't access my desk drawer, where I keep my card reader. I can't wait to have my house back!