Thursday, December 06, 2007

Sunday, November 04, 2007

School daze

Sometimes I get so mad that my head spins... I get to the point that I cannot even think straight. I want to break out of my own mind and scream... some type of release.... you know....
But I am grown. And I can't do that anymore.
I have to act my age and try to fit in with society. I can't get a mohawk to express my dissatisfaction with society anymore. I am like a hippie that stopped hipping and went to work for the man. That is me.
So I take my kids to school, and I hope that all goes well. I encourage them to have thier own opinions, and not to care what others think. It seems to me that my oldest has a good grasp on this. He really could not possibly care less, he is like me... or like I was...
But my youngest... He cares.
Now dont get me wrong here, I would never do what I did if I thought that school were anexceptionally educational, enlightening and provocative place for them, , then I would not let them miss a moment. But, since I do see school as a sort of hum drum experience, (not at the fault of the teachers, or the adminstration, it is at the fault of American priorities) I do not rely on school as a place for my kids to gather information, or a place for my childrens minds to flourish... I rely on my giving them unique experiences, and allowing them to think for themselves.
They are smart. And to me... the grades do not matter much at all.
So what I did was I took them to the vet with me and a new dog we had. One reason was that I was not sure tht the dog would be coming home. He seemed sick, and I thought that they would be telling us to have him put to sleep. I wanted them to understand why if it needed to happen.
So, I called school, told them my plan, and the office lady cheerfully said, "OK GREAT!" and hung up.
But when I dropped the kids off for school an hour late, they got "a talkin' to" by the office ladies, telling them that "That is NOT a good reason for calling in late!"
They could have told me that when I called, but I am grown... and for whatever reason, it is easier and comes more naturally for them to come down on little kids for something that they don't make decisions on in the first place.
So my kids told me about it the next day. I was mad. I called school immdeiately and the phone was answered by Janice, the lady who does lunch tickets.
"Apparently someone has been telling the boys why they can and can't be late...." I started, and Janice, who is the one that the boys told me got on them first, said, "I'll let you talk to Jean, she's the one that deals with this."
Jean was on the phone in a few moments. She thought I should talk to the principal about it. I told her that if they had a problem, or needed to get something off of their chest, they all have my phone numbers and can talk to me. Patrick gets stomach aches over being in "trouble" and it is MY fault not his...
My kids asked about if I talked to them about the whole ordeal or not and I told them, that I would be talking to principal Kollars soon...
That is when Nolan said it.
-- mind you... I do not allow my kids to be disrespectful to thier teachers, or principals... they KNOW they will catch hell for being disrespectful, and they also know that I do NOT stand behind them for thier wrongdoings... I am not "one of those" parents.-----

"Jean always says, 'Hurry up Nolan, I have other things to do!'" Nolan mocked a snotty, annoyed tone.

"Uh... what?" I shook my head to make room for this information, scooby doo style...
Nolan repeated himself
"Why does she tell you to hurry up?" I asked...
"when I'm bolusing."
uh huh. telling him to hurry up and take his insulin... hm... I dont like the sounds of this, but... lets give her one more way out before we assume fault here.
"Are you... taking a long time, or is it taking a while to add up the carbs... or are you farting around in the office, or... what is happening when she says this?" I ask, trying to use the most laid back tone ever...
"No," he is exaperated, "I dont know why! She says it right when I walk in the office!!!"
oh no she doesnt.
I felt my neck start to go, my head go off to the right... and all I could think is, "them is fighting words!!!"

Oh no. no she did not. Oh no. that is NOT going to happen. NOBODY is going to tell MY baby to hurry up and take his insulin ESPECIALLY someone who accidentally told him to bolus for what his blood sugar level was one time... 103.. after he'd eaten less than 30 carbs for lunch, then called me, saying that they did not have anything for him to eat to even that out...
Oh no she did not.
It was like Nolan could read my ready-to-fight-someone mind....
"she says that every time mom!"
I could feel my blood start to boil.

I have had one entire weekend to let this get better, or fester... and I must say that it has done a bit of both. I feel more put together about it, but I feel more angry too. The level of frusteration I have is not natural. I only wish something could be done, but to force adults to be nice to a kid that they dont want to deal with is just not easy to do.
I could hover over them daily and make sure they dont say anything mean to my kid.
His life is hard enough with Diabetes to deal with...
Let alone adults acting like complete jerks.

who could be mean to this kid.

You will have to turn your volume way up... it was windy.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Your nurse

Your relationship with your nurse can make or break your treatment in so many ways.
I am so happy to say that I LOVE Cheryl at Dr. Guptas office. She is quite possibly the most supportive and wonderful person I have dealt with in Nolans whole diabetic career.

If your nurse seems unhappy with her job... that should tell you something. If your nurse seems wholistic in her cares for your child... that should also tell you something.

I once fired a doctor I was going to, (you heard me, I fired her... you see... without you, THere is no job.. nobody to doctor. YOU have the right to go to as many doctors as you want until you feel like you are at the right one.)

I fired her because I could hear her throwing a fit from the waiting room. I could hear her yelling obsceneties at her nurses.

I wont contribute a dime to a person like that.
So I left, and I told her nurses why.

I dont imagine whe ever got the message, but at least I stpopped supporting someone like that.

Saturday, October 06, 2007


The new webiste is
give it a looksee.

Sunday, August 05, 2007

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Living out of a box

I have heard the term before, people say it when they move... "we have been living out of boxes for weeks until the furniture arrives" and such.
But I realized yesterday that some of us actually DO live out of a box, in a different way.
The mail man had come and gone, the dog had his barking fit that lets us know that the mail will soon be here, and after the mailman leaves the neighborhood, he calms down.
But yesterday, as he does sometimes, that dog started in again later, and barked like a freak until I almost wrestled him to the ground.
Then I heard something ruffle by the front door, The kids looked out the window, "THE U.P.S GUY!!!"
We never got a delivery when I was a kid. My parents would never have paid shipping costs for anything.
Once, when I was maybe nine, my aunt and uncle sent me a birthday present in the mail. It was a miss piggy doll, and I was really, really confused about that. They had never sent me a birthday card or anything before, and never acknowledged my birthday ever since. It made me feel funny. I..... I really didnt like miss piggy.
But the with Ebay, and, and all of the other ways you can get goodies over the internet, my kids know the U.P.S. guy by name.
But, yesterday it was a 12in cubed package. That meant only one thing.
And it is always much more fun to open than miss piggy.
Diabetic supplies.
I am always excited to see if the insulin is actually cool, or if it burns my hand... I always inspect and count the infusion sets, and the lancet devices, and the test strip vials, check to see if they all have the same code, so I know if we are going to be able to go a month without recalibrating, (when it works out that way, I always whisper a loud, "YESSSS!" and even my youngest son will hear me and say, "oh are the test strips all the same number again?")
Sometimes I get a surprise, like IV 3000, or more alchol swabs than you can shake a stick at. (like we really use that many ever) and infusion pump syringes... all sorts of goodies.
It is pretty fun. Getting all of the medical supplies, as, I think that people who deal with medical conditions become sort of conissuers of supplies.
But as I fold the box tops back together and set it aside, because we have to get going soon... I think about it.
In this box is everything my son needs to stay alive for one more month.
What if they stopped sending it? What if his insulin was not available? What if the FDA did a recall on insulin, or pumps, or both?
These things.... This box of supplies that I am so happy to open every month is only life support.
And somewhere out there in this world, there is a kid who can't get the supplies he needs, or his insulin is rationed. There is no package, there is no pump, no alcohol swabs to clean his skin so that when he uses an old, dull syringe to inject his insulin, he pushes infectious bacteria into his skin... perpetuating the disease.
Somewhere, there is s kid with no test strips... and no faith that he will have what he needs the next month, let alone the next day.
Puts things into perspective for me, as I carefully put the box aside, and put my arm around my son, and realize that he is one of the "lucky" ones.
And I say a little prayer to all that is good that he stays that way.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Guessing game

I GUESS I started a little controversy with the advocating blog. I am getting a little annoyed by posts telling me NOT to be angry about my sons treatment at a program he attended... And is has become all about religion to this lady.
All I want to do is blog about Diabetes, because, I like to read from other D people, and get feedback, and advice. This is supposed to be a place where I feel like I am understood.
I guess there will always be some folks that take offense to something.
Many thanks to Denise and Angela, for their eloquent ways of pusing to point to places that I, for emotional reasons and not able to put it.
Love to all,
and to my D friends, Good luck, Good numbers.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Things not to do with a quickset inserter

Catchy title, I know, Though perhaps this blog may be more aptly titled, "How to lose your childs trust and cause great emotional disturbance in less than one second"
I know I pretty much gave the whole blog away with that. But, still, if you could spare a moment, read on, and see what a jerk of a mother I am.
My son Nolan has done all of his own shots since day two of having diabetes. All of them. I have had to sneak up on him as he sleeps do do lantus, and now, as he pumps, I dont even get that joy.
A seven year old boy with sandy colored hair and hazel-green eyes took his first syringe in hand, holding it carefully, wonderously, and dreadfully between little tan fingers with white nails bitten to the nub, he touched the surface of his flawless child-skin with the tip of the thin needle. He turned it, as I looked on, Biting my tongue. Seconds passed. Seconds turned into minutes, as he turned the needle around and around in both directions, and pinched the skin.
His fingers released the syringe, and gravity slowly sunk the hub of the needle into the epidermis, and slightly into the dermis where his nerve endings gave him reason to pause. Twisting once more, he began to bite his lower lip. His eyebrows cinched and he slowly forced the hair-fine needle into his subcutaneous layer. Very audibly he let his breath out, and climbed his fingers carefully up the syringe and pushed the plunger down.
And every injection, and every site change has been the same ever since. He never let anyone do his injections, he never let anyone change his sites.
My son is a control freak, and likes to do his sites alone, with nobody breathing down his neck..
He does them slowly, by hand, in a very painstaking manner.
It hurts to watch.
I just want him to do it fast. I just want the stress to stop and for him to just get over it and get on with it and then with life. But he is not like that.
And I cant accept it.
I got the big idea that he should start using an insertion device after seeing how many kids at camp have no pain with it.
I helped a girl use a Sil serter for the first time and she said, "OH MY GOSH! THAT IS SO MUCH BETTER!!!" Her parents never bought one for her, and since I had an extra one, that I gave to somone who had one already, just for a spare, I asked for it back and gave her that one.
She walked home so happy that she had found a new way to insert her sites.
I thought that I could get Nolan to try it and see if he liked it better, instead of spending so much time with his ritual, he could just push a button and...."POP" it would be over.
Now, I would not try to get him to do something that I had not done, I have tried a site inserter to put a site in my own arm, and the insertion did not hurt one bit. However, after a few minutes the site started feeling really.... crappy, (for lack of a better word) It was tender, and annoying. I took it out. I am a wuss. But I get it now.
So, I took it into my head to buy an inserter for the quick set, and had it shipped with the next batch of sites.
There it came in a little box... all blue, and harmless. Looking like a tiny alien spacecraft. I loved it. I was going to help Nolan see that insertions did not need to be such a prolonged trecherous thing.
They could be fast and easy and something you could do in a heartbeat.
So, I showed it to him, and offered a reward for trying it.
He said, "OK" but he wanted to go do it himself in the bathroom.
He has been afraid of inserters SO much that he has hidden under a chair in the educators office, in tears.
But this time would be different. I would show him how his diabetes could be a little easier.
But I thought, if I let him alone, he is going to do it by hand, and just say he did it.
I followed him into the bathroom, saying, "I want to watch" He said no, I ignored and pushed on, because, Hey, he is going to like it!!!!!
He held it to his stomach and whimpered, and tried a little, and I sat by, prompting him on, encouraging him, reminding him of how good squash cakes were once he tried them...
Soon, he was crying, and I took the inserter from him, and he sat with his head in his hands, crying... the pressure, I suppose.
So, was I sympathetic?
Of course not.
I looked, and thought, and stared at his shirtless torso. I cautiously moved my right hand toward his abdomen as his head remained in his hands. I tested to see if he could see, by making a few fast motions. He could not see. He had his eyes covered.
I looked at the inserter, and at his side skin, and in less than a second I pressed it on his skin and pushed and the site was in.
Now... what was supposed to happen is tha the would say, "NOOOO-- dont!!!! leave me alone!" and then I would point out that it was already in, and he would look at it, smile, and say. "OH!"
But that is not what happened.
He screamed immediately, a scream, not of pain, but shock, horror, and hurt. He screamed like I just sold him. He screamed, and he ran, as tears flew from his eyes, he ran to his bedroom, where he screamed and cried for another ten minutes.
So, maybe not the best Idea I had.
I had so wanted to make him see that this was better.
And really, is it?
I know now that I only wanted to teach him something cool about D,
But I realize now, as I hold him in my arms and apologize to him for breaking his trust... That is is always him that will teach me.
As it always has been, it is HIS diabetes. Not mine.
Also, I am up for mother of the year award, so... go ahead and cast your vote my way....

Monday, June 04, 2007


Sometimes you get stuck in a diabetes rut. Your kid wakes up, checks the blood sugar, tells you an either unfortunate or frightening number, ex. "its 201" or "it's 47". You wake up, make breakfast, or tell them to get a waffle and skim milk, and they do it. The bolus or they forget to bolus. Mostly they forget to bolus and they tell you they did anyway.... You finish showering and drink a half cup of coffee, which for some reason has lost its flavor to you.... Then you check the bg an hour later and it is near 400.
"Did you bolus?" you ask,
"yeah" they say, and roughly translated from school aged kid to english this means, "no, but I dont want you yelling at me, so I am just going to say I did."
You correct, you send him out to play.
You call him in to check.
The other kids watch silently while their friend runs home to make himself bleed.
And you realize... it is his diabetes... not mine.

Friday, April 27, 2007

I knew my grandma well, for a grandkid, which means, of course, I knew that my grandmother loved me, made killer root beer floats, and made me special ballerina sandwitches any time I asked, ( wonder white bread, peanut butter, lettuce, and hidden valley ranch powdered seasoning, of course, that is what ballerinas eat!!!)
I did not know much about my grandma at all.
I knew she was a nurse, that she grew up on a farm in Ponca, that she wanted to be a red cross nurse when she was five years old.
I knew she had survived cancer, once, before I was ever born, and twenty one years after I was born, it tore her from her living family once more.
What I did not know about grandmother is a thousand times greater that the small pieces that I can say, though the tiny snippets I had were enough to make me love her completely.
I did not know that my grandmother was the Charge nurse on the medical floor at the same hospital I work at now. (I knew she worked there, but not that she was charge)
I did not know that my grandma used to work holidays and weekends, because young nurses she worked with had families to be with (this was when my grandmother was older, her kids had left home, her husband had passed... )
I did not know how much it meant when the whole nursing community of sioux city respected her. And they did.
When I did my first clinical rotation, my instructor, Judy Turner, was talking about her many years at that hospital. I took a chance, and told her, "My Gramdma worked here when it was St. Joes" Judy looked at me, doubtful, "what was her name?" I told her, "Marion Johnson" and Judy threw her head back, shook it back and forth, and said to me the only words I needed to ever hear about my Grandma, "What a lady..." she said, with a dramatic voice of reminisscence.
I almost cried.
That sums it up about my grandma. WHAT A LADY, and that she was. Professional, wonderful, so full of.... Grandma Johnson-ness.
One thing I did know though, from the time that I was young... seven, I guess, was that my grandmother was passionate about Diabetes.
She was the first "Diabetes Educator" in Sioux City. She had left Mercy to help her husband at Smith Villa grocery that he owned, back in the day when a corner grocer could make a buck, and she came back when he died. She was asked back, to start a diabetes education department.
I remember her talking to my mother, excitedly, about how they used oranges to teach people to give shots. She was sitting with my mother teaching her, and my mother, several times, drew water into an insulin syringe, and injected it into an orange. I was not too interested, I turned to watch Hee Haw. But, my Grandma, for one reason or another wanted my mom to know how to do this, she was smiling though, excited.
There was no diabetes in our family. Type one or Two... But my Grandma was teaching.
She took me to her office once. I remember walking through a parking lot. My grandma in her white dress, her white stockings, her white hat, and me.... We passed a sign that only recenty put up. It said, "Marian Health Center" They had been St Joes only weeks before.. I looked at my grandmother, her name being Marion, I gasped, "Grandma!!!! They spelled your name wrong!!!"
"Dont tell anyone, they'd feel bad" she said. She held my hand and walked me into her work where there were tall filing cabinets, desks, and lots of doctors office type of things.
When Nolan was first diagnosed, the very first image that came to my mind was that of my grandmother showing my mother how to inject into an orange.
I had a life changing diagnosis on my hands...
and still I felt strangely protected.

Friday, March 30, 2007

Dirty Job

I know what the dirtiest job in the world is.
Maybe you have seen the show "Dirty Jobs" in which a the host of the show goes to someones actual job and tries to make a go of it for the day. He goes to fertilizer plants, waste management, steel manufacturers, and performs the job as best he can. These jobs are usually tough, and you get really dirty... on the outside. But they are an honsest days living.
The type of job I am thinking about today does not cause one to get dirty on the outside. These people stay neat clean and nice looking all day long. They might even still smell good at the end of the day. But they are far from clean. They are dirty on the inside... the kind of dirty that does not wash off with soap and water. The kind of dirty that does not come off in the shower, and you cant get out of you with any type of transfusion or fasting or purification diet, or anything.
I am talking about doctors that work for insurance companies. Doctors that are paid by insurance companies to say NO to medical treatments that would make somebody better, prevent further illness or complications. The nurses too. They are paid to agree that whatever drug or treatment you actually need is not necessary, or still investigative. That is what they do for a living, crush peoples hope for a future.
These people went into the medical field, presumably, because they wanted to see people get better, but now... they are denying that basic human need.
How could they sell thier soul?
But they do, all the time, for the dollar bills to fill the void where the soul once was.
And that is what makes it the dirtiest job on earth.
and like I said, you cant wash off that kind of dirty. You just have to wait until you rot, right along with your sense of moral obligation.

Thursday, March 29, 2007


I used to try to fake sick when I was a kid and I did not want to go to school. My mom would come in and put an old glass thermometer in my mouth and then, since it is virutally impossible for any mother to wait out the three whole minutes that the glass thermometers took, she would leave the room.
Then I would put the thermometer up to a lightbulb for a little while and stick it back in my mouth before she came in a whimper. Sometimes it worked, other times she would say, 105, huh? Get dressed!
One of my friends told me she used to chew up doritos and spit them in the toilet and then tell her mother she threw up. We never bought doritos, so I could not use that one. I had another friend who would take a glass of water into the bathroom and shut the door, wait til her mom knocked on the door, and then dump the glass in while making barf noises... Then flush the toilet and put the glass in the cabinet. Her mom fell for it every time. I had still another friend who would put on elaborate make up and powder to make herself look sick. It worked until her mom would see that it was make up and send her off to school.
The point is, we all tried to fake sick once or twice.
But for a child with Diabetes, there is always that self doubt in the mothers mind... "is he really sick.. he seems fine?" and the everlasting guage of illness--the blood glucose level.
Kids with Diabetes Rarely get the chance to put the thermometer up to the lightbulb... The true test is the BG, (oh! you are 104, you should be fine, or OH NO< you are 402!!!! you are sick!!!)and there is no arguing that... or... is there?
For a kid with an insulin pump and a desire to stay home and play his webkins, there sure is. A couple of days ago, Nolan was low in the middle of the night due to a miscalculated dinner out. So, we treated the low, tested, treated again, and went back to bed.
The next morning, he woke up high. I had called school to tell them we would be late due to the late night and midnight lows, and so both boys slept in. (yes, Patrick woke up too because Nolan was a little loud with his low, actually combative, and it is lucky that I tested him as early as I did because usually I wait an hour more)
The boys ate breakfast, and I told Nolan to bolus for 40.
Then a while later, he was low again.
I called school to tell them we'd beb even more late.
I fed him milk. Still low. dropping. 65 now. more skim milk, the obligatory 15 minutes, re-test, and it was 59.
"How much did you bolus for breakfast?"
"um..... 40?" he looked guilty.
I held out my hand and he reluctantly placed his pump in it.
I pudhed act, bolus, act, down. down, down, bolus history, act.
last bolus: 4.9 units. 100 carbs.
I looked at his figety eyes and waited until he met my stare.
"why did you do this?" I asked him.
" I wanted to stay home with you" He said sweetly.
"do you understand the repurcussions of this?" I asked.
"yes" he said, and then recited verbatim the consequences he has learned of taking too much insulin, coma, seisure, brain damage, death.
We went to the kitchen and I scavenged for sugar.
The fact is that we don't keep a whole lot of sugary stuff around, and we'd burned through the glucose tabs during the actual low last night.
I had to hurry, sugar, sugar... Damn! Peanut butter, but if you want to get BG up with that, you may as well call the ambulance and have them pick him up now, cause it takes forever. We did not even have any chocolate, not that that would have been good either! No hard candy! FOUND SOMETHING! Hot cocoa mix with 23 carbs! I poured some in hot water and made him guzzle it.
We waited the longest 15 minutes in the world. 78. whew!
He was 108 when I took him to school.
I lectured him, told him that he could not use the pump if he ever tried that again, it would be back to shots... and that he was going to be losing his webkins for one week. He has to show me his boluses from now on, no more trusting.... losing independence. The point was taken. We talked about it for a long long time.

The thing is, if I would have had an insulin pump at his age... I would have tried the same thing.
But for easter, I am buying him a thermometer and a light bulb.
Its so much safer.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007


Sometimes Diabetes falls back to the back of our little world and is so unnoticable that I almost... just almost forget it is there. It is second nature, just like a breastfeeding mother yanks her shirt up without thinking to feed her baby and then realizes, "Oh, yeah, I am at the grocery store" Diabetes is such a part of our lives... we do tend to yank out the syringe no matter who is looking. We dont try to be private about it. We just live with it.
When I think of Nolan, I never really forget that he has diabetes. I think of it when I think of him now. If he comes up in conversations, I always picture him, standing in his blue jeans and t-shirt, insulin pump attached to the belt loop, his shoe laces making me crazy by hanging all over the floor.
But sometimes as he is playing, or getting into trouble... It is not there immediately. First and foremost he is my quirky little boy, who loves to learn about Ireland, and the Titanic, and Ancient Egypt, build with legos, play the drums, ride his bike, play outside and help me make dinner by cutting onions until he cries, and then going and trying ot fool his little brother into thinking he is crying because he got hurt. But it comes to mind eventually.
I watch him, concentrating on drawing something and instead of wondering what type of wonderful little thoughts are going through his artistic mind, I wonder, " what is his Blood sugar right now?" or worse... "will he take care of himself when it is out of my hands?" or worse still...
Then there are times when I say, OH crap... we should have done a site change. How could I forget?
SO its not just about the sugar....

Monday, January 08, 2007

Infusion set update

I am just posting a quick update to the infusion set excitement. I think they are good. I think they stay in better with the two stickies, and the stainless steel catheter seems to do a good job, leaves a smaller "mark" and may heal faster.
I am bringing two of them to a nurse I work with who is may be developing a latex allergy. I am concerned for him. I am always glad he talks to me and shows me stuff so it is not so much of a surprise when my son calls me at age 25 and says, "I have a hard spot in my stomach". I can refer back to this nurse from work who is a type 1 and pumps... and then hopefully I will be updated when he has an answer.
The drawback to this infusion set is that you have to pull it straight out, or it will REALLY hurt. (Even though you really should try to pull that flexible catheter out straight, it does bend) IT will cut you if you pull only one side of the tape. So, removal is not so quick, but maybe it shouldnt be.
So far so Good.
There is a job for a CDE in my town... I am very very interested, but as a relatively new nurse, slightly unqualified. I am really hoping my charm and charisma and passion for all things diabetes will help me win them over. It is, after all, my ultimate goal.
I just watched "The Pursuit of Happyness" this weekend with my boys. So, I am in the mood of the optimist. Tomorrow I'll be after stalking the Head of Diabetes Ed down at the hospital that I dont work at. I am also going to call the Diabetes Ed department where I work and see if they will consider taking on a trainee.
The hours are better too.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

NEW infusion sets

As I sit here blogging, my children are arguing over who is or is not the cheater in the next room. "MOM!!!!!! Nolan's cheating!!!"
"No, I'm not, you're the cheater here."
A real big part of me wants to waltze in and tell them in a matter of fact tone... "you're nine and six. your BOTH cheaters by nature, so get used to it!"
But I let them work it out. I play dead until the whining subsides.
We got new infusion sets today. I cant wait, I almost want to do a site change right now.
Funny how when your child is first diagnosed with D, you say out loud, "we cant wait for a cure" and you research all the options, transplants... islet cell research... all kinds of stuff.
And you say things like, "we will never use a pump, it is too cumbersome" or whatever it is that you forsee or rule out right away. Eventually you coem around...
But you also went out and bought more sugar free food than could fill a shopping cart, and then... after all the malitol induced diarrhea, shoved it all back to the back of the pantry and went shopping for normal people food.
For us, when Nolan started the pump... I saw all the infusion sets, and immediately balked at one in particular.
It was cool in that it had two stickies, so that if you pull one... you should be ok, you have to pull that one completely off to even start yanking on the second one... kinda cool.
But the thing I did NOT like was that the needle stayed in! EW!!!! a plastic catheter is better, it will bend and flex, and not puncture a vital organ... I mean, who needs to have a perforated bowel at age nine? OK that is going a bit far, I know, but still! Its the idea of the metal in him.. now, a if he chose to get piercings Id understand, and make him wait til he was 18, but that is his own choice. This set seems more intrusive... I guess..
But after using the catheters for a few months, seeing how long it takes him to heal from a site...
and how they fill with tissue and skin junk... making the site go bad relatively quickly... I started to look at that little surgical steel needle one.
It is thinner, and wont kink under the skin and get full of interstial goo too quickly.
When UPS came my 6 year old ran out to greet him happily. He came in and handed me the box with a big smile on his face.
He thought it was another Xmas gift that my husband had ordered for me on the slowest shipping method possible.
But it wasnt.
It was more exciting..
It was the new infusion sets.
I was the only one thrilled, and my kids quickly made their way to the other room to start accusing each other of cheating on whatever game they were playing, while I marvelled at the new sets...
that's right.... I am a pump nerd.