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.