I almost said this was a terrible Christmas. I was going to hilight the high blood sugars and the lows, and point out how diabetes does not take a Christmas Hiatus.
But I got about halfway through this story and it hit me how the little things can make or break an entire holiday.
This year things were just too rushed. I wanted to spend time sitting on the sofa with James, sipping coffee, while we watched the kids open surprises that would make their young eyes light up with joy. I wanted to enjoy how sweetly the kids got along on Christmas day, just as I remember my brother and I doing as kids... Playing together, getting along, laughing... while my parents sat in thier pajamas for an extra long time and we layed on our backs with our heads under the Christmas tree, basking in the glory of the day being all about us getting what we wanted while we gazed up at the lights and talked to each other out of happiness.
But this year... It was just too busy.
James had foot surgery on the 23rd, (had to get it in by the end of the year, for insurance purposes) And that caused loads of paperwork to have to be done for the days preceeding, and of course, one of the nurses at my work quit, her last day being the 19th, so I had to be on call more often, and all the shopping was last minute, and I was wrapping presents on Christmas day still, all the while stopping to feed a hungry baby, stop kids from arguing, and make a futile attempt to pick up some of the slack with James being a foot shy of a helpful husband. (he is usually more than helpful... In fact, I need him... just dont tell him I said that out loud)
I found myself wishing I could stop the clock and just enjoy....
And to make things glorious, Nolan lost his kit twice at Grandma and Grandpa Deans house house.
I had just finished feeding the fussy baby and told him to check when he admitted to me that he could not find it, and walked into the kitchen to ask if anyone had seen it.
What did not surprise me was the immediate response of all the adults around, "OH he lost his blood sugar kit? I have not seen it.... and then they all ask around, and do some looking, not find it, and go back to what they were doing, assuming I had located the little bugger.
But I was still looking. Once in awhile, someone would ask if we found it... show some concern, and then go back to what they were doing.
And they probably don't see the importance of it. I used to become really upset when people did not understand... But now I dont feel bad about it. I am no longer on a quest to make the whole world see how crucially he needs his supplies. I have given up on that with no hard feelings. Sure, it would be nice, but that's not realistic, and they are just being who I was before I had a kid with Diabetes.

Nobody is being uncaring, but most of the time, they just dont know how to help, and perhaps the best way to help, is just to stay out of the crazed lunatics way as she tosses stuff around like a wild woman as she looks for a 3X4 inch black sqare case containing a key to her childs life support.


Normally I would be able to enlist James' help... But since he is not walking well currently, I couldn't. I had to get someone to hold the baby, get my coat, and go outside to join Nolan in his quest to find the kit, after the house had been unsuccessfully combed.

As I was opening the front door, and saw a black coat sitting on the bench right next to it, and squinted my eyes a little, and there it was... the outline of the kit.

Leave it to my kid to find the ONLY black thing in the room below eye level and put his kit right there, right on it. COMPLETELY camouflaged.

I grabbed it and opened the front door to see Nolan, walking briskly with his head down, looking through the snow, trying to recall his steps...
And I had to smile, when I saw him, because out there with him, in the cold snow was his Uncle Joe, patiently walking beside him and helping him to look for his kit.

I called out to him, and briefly thanked Joe for helping him....

But I mean to really tell him sometime... just how much that meant to me.

I think the best Christmas gift imaginable is to know that someone else who doesnt necessarily have to, offers some support and love to your kid.

That was the best thing I got for Christmas.

Gouda

Good lord.
People say that little girls whine. As a young child, I was always told to quit whining... especially by my dad and my brother, to which I would reply in the most high pitched voice I could muster, "I'm NOT Whiiiiiiiinnnniiingggggggg-uh!"
Whats funny is that almost any whined word is followed immediately by the syllable, "UH".
Try it. "Give it heeeeerrrreeeee-uh!" try again, "It's not Miiiiiiinnnneee-uh!"
"Leave me alooooooooooooooooone-Uh!"

I think its because we have to grunt to get the whine out. whines are so forced, so frustarated. A whined word is one that resents having to be uttered... never should have to have been spoken, which should have been known before it was incited... by the person eliciting the whine in the first place. Usually a parent of some sort.

Rarely does a teacher hear the whine.

The whine is annoying, and makes communication difficult.

But I will maintain that girls are not the whiners. There is a creature out there that is FAR whinier than the little girl who doesnt get the doll she wants at the store.

There is one creature who utters 99% of all whines that cause sound.

I have said this long before I ever had one, the whiniest creature of all is the eleven year old boy.

And now I have one.
Oh I saw it coming. Not because there was some sort of warning sign, but because I had the joy of working with all ages of kids at a shelter for homeless kids.
Now, if anyone has anything to whine about, its orphans. For sure.
But time and time again, I found myself bristling up the back due to one genre of orphan. the eleven year old boy orphan, and I have suspected that this affliction extends to eleven year old boys with families as well.
And it turns out my suspicions are correct.
Now they don't do it around their friends, but they will do it when any mixed group with adults and kids. And they will do it constantly. They are now the self elected announcers on what is and is not fair in the world.
And there going to tell you.
"No FAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIR-uh!!!!! He got more than me" to which you should always reply, "what are you Monk??? Its upsetting the natural order of the universe because your brother got one skittle more than you did?"
and the eleven year old boy will inevitably say, "GOOOOOOODDDDDDD-UH!"

My son's teacher emailed me a few weeks ago, asking if I could please set the date/time option for his meter for the correct time.
I hit the "reply" button and started typing away, as I often do before I even have time to think about what I just read... I typed, "which meter? the pink one touch, the green one touch, the one touch ultra smart, the one touch ultra that is round with a yellowish screen, or one of the accuchecks, and by the way have you seen the green one touch anywhere lately?"
But then I hit the delete key, and watched everything I just said go away. Sometimes I wish I could do that in real life...
We do have a lot of meters.... and for a kid like Nolan, who loses at least one kit a day, we need them, or we will be spending all day looking for that little black zipper bag... yelling at each other. I lose stuff too, as does my husband... Actually, I lock my keys in my car. James loses his wallet and checkbook, Nolan loses his kit and his homework and his backpack and anything else he needs. Things just dont stick to him, or his dad. They should be nudists.

Anyway, I erased my words, because I thought first, "why does she need the time to be set... he doesnt use a meter that communicates with his pump..."

I thought naively for a while on that... then I thought... OH. wait.
I get it.
She thinks he is "faking" when he is low.
She is checking up on him, despite what my care plan said.
Despite the fact that I told her that even if he has a normal number, he may still need to treat if he feels low.
That skanky bitch.
I told her... under NO uncertian terms, that he does NOT fake lows, and that even if you think he is faking, even if you KNOW he is, you let that kid treat, because you may be making a grave error.

So I wrote back,
"no. I am not going to waste any time doing that. He has a continous glucose monitor on, and I download that info, the only other reason for doing that is so I can download and find patterns.... He has so many meters, some reset themselves here and there, the battery cover comes off, and suddenly it is november first, 2002 again, so... I dont mess with them these days.
Does it bother you when clocks are set wrong? Is this a "monk" type of a thing, or are you having him show you his blood sugars. He doesnt need anyone to check on this, but If I see fit, I will let you know when and if that ever becomes necessary. "

Then I hit send.

HI

I get a lot of D mags and rags in the mail. I get a lot of meter ads, and supply ads, and part of that is my fault. I love the freebies. You can get freebies from almost any company, and that is the way it should be.
Accucheck sent us a free Aviva, with cool stickers so we could change the look of the meter, which is a novelty, at least, but is fun and cool. Years ago, I talked sidekick into sending us a free meter. They really didnt want to, and I figured our why as soon as we used it a few times. Novelty Item. Then Glucophone sent us their free phone. Another novelty item as well, because it limits the model of phone that you can use, and ours broke rather quickly, so... But a good concept... hopefully one that will be expanded on.
As fun as all of the freebies are, they are hard to toss out. I end up keeping a lot of magazines.
I decided today to go through them and toss what I did not need to keep.
I went through page after page of ads for foot lotion, sugar free Lorna Doones goodies, along with countless articles on Type-1 diabetic tri-athletes, and older Type 2's who are living life to the fullest by taking walks with thier spouse and the occasional famous old person adding thier face to the many faces of Diabetes, sometimes reinforcing the stereotype... OK almost all of the time...
And, of course, the myriad of ads for the Blood Glucose Meters. Less painful testing, Alternative site testing, Obviously meant to lure in the person who tests once daily or less, because when you need to test six or so times a day... what's pain?
And there are several brands of meters... some I have never even seen in real life... some I have a hundred of at home... like bar soap or a black comb... they are just an object in our house that are often unnoticed. The black vinyl zipper bag, with the zipper pull missing in many cases... They always show the meter on a white or bright surface.
But those ads would not even catch my attention if not for the one thing that makes them stand out, stark and noticable to me...
The number.
They all read 104, 107. 108, 102, and numbers like that.
I dont know if they are trying to imply that thier meter equals better control...
But much like the diaper commercial where they pour blue fluid onto the test diaper, the meters ads are only trying to make pretty what is most often not.
I think they ought to put realistic numbers in thier ads...
Like a sweaty and blurry from shaking hand holding a meter that says 36, or a Kate Moss from the 1990's holding a meter that says, 462, or better yet, "HI".
Cause thats what diabetes is really all about...
But then I'd also like to see a diaper full of mustard on commercials too.

Give 'em enough rope...

Sometimes you know someone who has a big need to fulfill. It is hard to understand why... I mean, we all have needs, desires, everyone wants to feel important. But there is always someone who has some innate desire to step on you to fill thier soul.

It always starts out in a mild mannered way. They ask your advice, and they listen intently... take notes... And you share, because, it is cool to help, it makes you feel good... Anytime someone gives you a good idea, you tell someone else what a good idea that person gave you. You credit them, because they were cool to tell you.
And then later you walk into a room and see that they are telling someone about "the great idea they came up with."

And you cock your head to one side, and say, "but---- I-----" then to the other side, and then you just shrug and let it go... because, hey, it was a good idea, and just because it was originally yours, doesnt mean that you need recognition for it... Heck, if that person needs it so much, let them have it, right? They know deep down who's idea it was, so they cant really feel that good, can they? No not really. To each his own..... Que Sera Sera...... What it Is Bro,

Then you notice they are doing it again. "Hm. Well, Ok. thats a little annoying, I mean, I can see once, but again... Is this person going to tell every good idea I ever had and say its hers?" You ask yourself.
"Probably," you answer, because, who else is going to answer when you talk to yourself? "Better not tell her anything else good..."
Because that is just uncomfortable.
And not that big of a deal, at the same time... so why does that person keep doing it?
"some people are just weird" you tell yourself, and since you grew up pretty adequately socialized, you can't assume everyone knows how to just be a decent gal.... so... You just let it go. Its a Huge Faux Pas, but those things happen. Maybe that person never had a chance to be like that in Jr. High, so you just have to let it happen.

Then you notice that person sort of.... trying to put you down... Hm.
Well, OK thats fine...
And you just let it go on, because, who's the one really looking bad, here...
You have faith in people, that they can eventually see peoples motives, and once they see it, they will lose respect.

You know you do when your co-worker constantly puts down someone that works alongside him.... and constantly puts himself up... You lose respect, and so you just silently let go...

But you are still, ever wondering, just what this person thinks she is doing...
And just how far she will go.

And you throw out more rope to her, because... Sometimes that is all you can do.

Camp.

Diabetes camp.
Every year, we pack up our bags with a flashlight, a few pairs of shoes, ten pairs of brand new socks, (because for some reason I cant have people seeing my kids in dingy whites socks--- what must they think?) Ten pairs of underwear, in case he gets a hole in one... about four pairs of swim trunks, because I know damned well that Nolan will consider swimming to be a shower, and I know that he will wear the same swimsuit all week, but just in case he has a hankering to change his look... I send more than one. Hats, jeans, boots, raincoat, a sheet, and a blanket, a pillow, bug spray, (which I dont believe in using, but buy because the list says so) sunscreen (That my son will not put on)
and a box of quicksets, for the numberous site changes he will do at camp, and we shove it all into the car and take off for Camp Hertko Hollow.

Camp Hertko Hollow is the most beautiful haven on earth. It is located at the Des Moines Y camp site, and is quite possibly my favorite place ever. I have been all over, just so you know...

Of course is is heaven to me, because it is the one place on earth where my son gets NO looks of sympathy for having diabetes. He gets no, "awwww. that must be terrible"
Good god. How on earth must it feel, at ten years old to all the time be told that your life must be sheer misery? I consider it an insult, actually, to my person, my resiliance, will to live, and positivity.
To say that is just is just rude, the more i think on it. People are trying, of course, to be nice...
But what does that say about our quality of life?
No. Its not that bad, and I am not weak, and neither is my son, and we live a happy, normal life. He has lots of talent, he plays the drums, is very smart, and funny. Ask him about His drumming!!!!
At camp, he is just one of the hundreds.
HUNDREDS... Yes, its true.
His counselors are not afraid to yell at him for being a turd just because he is diabetic.
Other kids dont point to his pump and say, "whats that?"
Nobody looks at him funny for sitting down in the middle of a game of kickball to eat a snack... They all do it together.
And it is FUN for him.

I love camp.

I volunteer there as a camp nurse.

I love to listen to the stream as I walk back to my cabin at 2am, after doing night checks. I love to watch spiders crawl up thier webs that glimmer in the moonlight.
I love to talk to my cabin counselor about what she wished her parents would have done differently with her diabetes... and I love to learn.
I love to laugh.
I love to live.
And that is why I love Camp Hertko Hollow.
The kids there, as well as the staff work SO hard to have a great time. I think it is the one time of year that they can do this.
They sing at meal time, they get up from the table, and they dance to songs like sugar pie honey bunch that is blasting on the Y camp radio.
They play tricks on each other.
They sing when they walk.
They laugh... Belly laughs, the heartiest kind.
They compete for the cleanest cabin, and who can win the golden plunger.
Then they try to sabotage others attempts at winning.
The Y camp is beautiful, free, joyous, fun.

And now.... it is under water.

The floods have taken the dining room, and the pool.
Y camp staff, volunteers and all sorts of people are working to get camp ready for June 19th, when camp will start.
I take a deep breath and hope that it can be done, that the damage is not too extensive, that the 41st year of Camp Hertko Hollow can happen.
Lots of work is to be done. I am sadly too pregnant to do much physically to help. But I will be sending drinks, and supplies this week.
I would encourage anyone who is interested to check this website out
www.camphertkohollow.com and check out the Y camp link.
And, if you find it in your dear hearts to do this, call the Y camp, and see how you can help.

I say all the time that this we live in the best time yet to have diabetes. But all the technology, all the new treatments, and all the upcoming new "cures". I would not trade it for Camp Hertko Hollow... not in a million years. Camp has done more for Nolan, (and for my soul) than anything else has. Ever.

Once more, www.camphertkohollow.com

Thank you.

Today has started off on all the wrong feet. Well... actually, it started off alright. We got my husband off to work with a minute or two to spare. That was nice. No stress there. Then I came home and made Nolans lunch menu out. First I checked my email to see if the guy from the community schools had emailed me carbs on the new items coming up this week. He had not, So I had to wing it anyway.
But Nolan, in his 4th grade, one track mind... was just not going to get anything done today.
First it was blood sugar. "what was your sugar, did you check it, will you check it, will you check it now, will you please put down the balloon and check your blood sugar. Nolan, check your sugar, check it now." After five minutes, I ask once again, "What is your blood sugar?" as I enter the room and see him bouncing a balloon off of the dogs head, his kit sitting on his lap, zipped up, and he whines loudly with his back to me, "I"M CHECKING!!!!!!!"
"NO YOU"RE NOT!!!!!" I yell, because I have had it. I have told him a billion times, I have nagged, I have begged, I have done all I can to light a fire under the kids ass. But he just wont.
I give him pants. I tell him six times to put them on, and to put them on now, while I am trying to look up his carbs online. Every time I let a minute go inbetween. Plenty of time to put pants on. He emerges from the bathroom, (his dressing room) with bare legs, no pants.
The same goes with shoes.
Then the backpack.
I happen to see that his site looks like it is about to come out. I think about letting it stay one more day, but then I think about getting a call at my new job to come change a site. No, we have 15 minutes, we can do a site change in 15 minutes.
So, here we go again.
"nolan, get me a site please"
down to seven minutes, I am still searching for carbs online while intermittently helping Patrick with his sticking up hair, and knots in shoes, etc.
"Nolan Come ON!"
he yells back, "I AMMMMMM!!!"
but he's not. I find the evidence later that he is playing around with kitchen utensils that look like eggs with eyes on them.
Eventually all gets done. But not until I am at my wits end, and we are one minute late for school. Again.
So, in a last ditch effort to pound something into his head, I scream at him. I scream and I swear, and I hollar and I let him have it, all the way to school, the whole 4 block ride, the car is filled with the loud verbalization of my vile feelings of frustration and anger, disbelief, and... well, anger. I ask Patrick if he likes being late when his brother is farting around. Only I didnt say farting.
I pitted my kids against each other. Mother of the year material right here. I told him I loved him, but that he was driving me to the brink of insanity.
The whole time, torn with guilt at my own frustration, and my inability to give my kid soem sense of being loved when I drop him off for school.
Nolan gets out of the car, and pushes the door shut on his brother, who is trying to get out. The door bounces off of Patricks foot, and I flared.
'GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!" I screamed.
Then I gave Nolan yet another verbal lashing about his attitude. And when I saw it in his eyes, the defeat, the dejected look... I started to cry. He then looked shocked and more hurt... guilty too. He turned around and walked into school, shoulders slumped, totally cooked.
Oh god.
what have I done?
And I cried all the way home.
The guilt of hurting your own childs feelings is immeasurable.
I cant stand myself today.

Referrals.

Blah. The remainder of this pregnancy will now be referred to as, "my 40 week immunosupressant" I said it today to my sons endocrinologist's Nurse, Cheryl. I was in rare form. It just came out of my mouth that way, because... thats what it feels like... That is my reality, and making fun of it makes it SO much easier to deal with. Cheryl really liked that one. I also had to get on the phone trying to get a fax number for Aetna. I ended up getting to the wrong department, and the guy would not give me the fax number... He said he didnt have it. "come on buddy, stand up from your desk and ask the guy next to you what it is then, would ya?" I wanted to say that. The guy was saying that he couldnt give it to me, and would have to transfer me to a department that was soley formed for the sake only of giving out the fax number to people like me. Cheryl and the gal following her that day for training walked in at that point. I was showing off a little, because I know Cheryl spends all day on the horn with jerks like this guy... I cant act jerky at work either, so I do it when I can. Poor Cheryl is holding on Queues like I was all the time for patients like us, just to get things covered.
So, like I said... I was showing off. "So, you cant give me the fax number, but you can transfer me to someone who can??? How come you dont get a company directory like that person does? Do you have to earn Tenure first?"
The guy was mad. "I just dont have it go give to you!" He said shortly.
"They should empower you." I said. "youre a human being, you know? You seem pretty smart to me... I think they are selling you short. Yes I will hold"
Cheryl laughed, and so did her trainee. I looked at her. "he cant give me the fax number" I shrugged.
Well, he deserved it. He chose to work in the corrupt innards of an insurance company. I dont feel sorry for him. He has to break hearts all day long.

The fact is simple. Insurance comanies make more money by NOT paying for you and your selfish illness all the time. How dare you get sick and have insurance, what an outrage... What about the poor CEO's at these insurance companies who have daughters turning thier sweet 16 and want thier party on MTV, and therefore HAVE to fork over half a million for the entertainment alone? How can you look those poor girls in the eyes, as they tell thier chauffer to take them to the party planners to put down a deposit, and explian to them that they cant have 500 grand for entertainment, but have only 500 grand for the whole party? Do you want to be the one to do that???
WHO just said, "with all my might.." ???? OH that was me.
So, how about you people sucking it up some, and living with a little less for a minute here, and lay off on the insurance company. How in the heck are they supposed to run a successful profiteering business while people like you are filing new claims for "new and better" diabetes options. Settle down, people!!! It is JUST diabetes, Take your shot and suck it up, how 'bout???

So today, I felt like giving insurance companies a little hell. So I did. All in the name of good fun. I guess if I call and waste a little of thier employees time with things they are not able to do... and sass mouth, then it will cost them a little cash somehow down the line...
and i am gonna get that from them one way or another.

I have come up with ways to cost them cold hard cash.

1. go to the ER for slivers and such.
2. Go to teh E.R. for low blood sugars. (after you treat of course) Do it every time. Youjust want to make sure there was no brain damage.
3. Have your doctor order more blood glucose strips. They cost a buck each. Ten a day for 30 days is... well, I dont have a calculator, but I bet thats more than like say... fifteen dollars or something. My doc ordered us 12 a day and thats what we get. I might up it soon. Two can play at thier game.
4. call the number and tie up the lines all the time with stupid questions, call to see if they got a bill yet. Call and ask what time it is. Find someone you like there and call.
5. Find out what your insurance company will cover for tests and labs, how often, and then ask your doctor to write a letter of medical necessity for twice that amount. At the very least, make sure that you get those tests as OFTEN as they will cover it.
6. Date an employee for inside company info.. if you are single, or you are sure your spouse wont mind.
7. file appeals for anything that is denied. They will pay a doctor a load of money to find a reason to deny you coverage. Then find out how much money they paid that doctor, (and I dont know any doctor that does anything for less than a grand) and then call them and ask them for a price comparison: which is more, paying for my 1000 dollar piece of medical equiptment... or paying six doctors a few grand each to fins reasons to deny coverage? and then say, "because we can keep doing this..."


Those are all I can think of. Fight your dirty insurance company, and bad bad insurance doctors and nurses. They have no soul left... if they ever had one.

And have a laugh about it.

What sucks.

I was feeling better. A lot better, Thanks to Mr. Zofran, Mr. Zantac and a lot of rest. I got back to near normal functioning level. I worked all week, and the only time I got a little sick was after dinner on the night shift, wednesday. I went home and barfed my guts out a few hours later. Blamed it on hyperemesis gravidarum. They say its rare, but I dont feel like the chosen one... That is for certian. After this baby, I am having my tubes tied, cauterized, torn out and beaten in front of other peoples tubes to make and example of them. Yes I really am thinking about that.
One thing I have been doing that makes this blog pertainent is checking my sugars here and there, all willy nilly like. I dont do my glucose tolerance test for another 4 weeks, so I have been checking. My post prandials are good, usually between 80 and 110. Pretty nice, except for the fact that I only eat very small portions at a time these days, and only a couple times a day-- lecture someone else-baby's doing fine.
But one thing consistent with the pregnancy and possibly me in general is that I have elevated fasting bgs. Usually around 118, 116, nothing TOO worrisome, (yes my doctor knows)but I have been noticing lately that number is creeping up.
Today was 135. And my post prandials are getting to be up to 120 or so too... not so great.. I am not too worried, I cant be too much of a wuss about some gestational diabetes... Really, I cant complain. The glucose tolerance test will be of interest to me, to see where I come up in numbers.

All that said, There was a chill in the air today, after three really nice days. 9It got up to 58 one day, and that was glorious) But Nolan started getting stuffed up a little.
This afternoon I kept reminding the boys to shut the door, because I could feel the chill in my sinus... And that put me in a bad mood, because I know just what that feeling means.
The tingling at the back of the nares, like you swallowed a freshly opened gulp of soda right out of a glass bottle... Fizzy like.
Damnit. I am getting sick again. WTH is wrong with me????
How can I just get sick again, I just got OVER beign sick, I should have some type of grace period!!!!
This is not fair. Not again. Its like my immune system just packed up and left the moment the egg was fertilized... "well... I can see where I'm not needed!" huffed my immunities, and walked out the door.
Then tonight, I decided to check the sugars. Four hour post prandial- 136. Now, I know, we all have elevated bg's with infection. But now I am thinking that the sugars are running high, and that is why I am catching everything that comes within a city block of me.
And I work at the hospital. Great.
I am currently pursuing other employment, some less intense nursing... Mental health field... see, that stuff is not contagious. I am so tired of working with infection. I never used to catch anything, but now... I may as well lay in bed and cuddle with all my patients, because no matter what precautions I take... all of this stuff is going around... Most of it is droplet- contracted-- much more easy to catch, esp if you have an ill fitting mask, or a patient coughs, gets a miniscule drop on your skin, you absorb it, and viola-- you have a contagious illness that is going to put you out for a week.
*sigh* Only 20 more weeks. I am halfway there...
On the bright side,
If I am diagnosed with GD-- I am going to ask the doc to put me on the animas pump-- Then I will give it to Nolan when I am done with it.
I am still the lucky one-- Gestational diabetes goes away after the baby is born...
This kid had better be something special... I will tell you that much. SOmething tells me it will be.

Its been awhile. To everyone who likes to read these blogs, I apologize. I have been worked over and run ragged as of late.
But today I feel like I have a new lease on life, or... even own one, imagine that.
I caught influenza B at work, and.... being all kinds of pregnant, became very very ill due to it, got dehydrated, and my electrolytes went all to hell in the crafty little handbasket we hear so much about when we talk of that trip.
I was knocked clean cold for two weeks straight. I could not move. and in the midst of the fevers, the hacking and vomitting, I started to become dehyrated.
It ran me over, killed me, took me to the cleaners, bedraggled me, zeroed me, played me out, and all the euphamisms you can think of, and then... it enlightened me.
When I was at the hospital getting some fluids, just plain old Nornmal Saline for me thanks, no twist of lemon, No I dont want to look at the dessert menu, just saline for me please.
Enlightenment. I know you want me to get back to the inspiration for this blog, and you know what? I will. right here. I was ever so slightly acidodic. Meaning, my body was spilling ketones, and eating itself. for a few days that went on.
Now.... When I learned what my levels were, I first said, (the nurse in me did anyway) "well no wonder i feel like such a load of S***." My doctor laughed. Then I blurted out, "Jeez. My son probably feels like this half the time."
My doctor silently nodded. Then he sent me for tests. I drove myself to the hospital, (probably shouldnt have) and the moment my head was clear, it jumped back into my mind.
The things I expect of him when he feels like hell.
Pick up your coat off the floor.
when he feels like he is the floor.
Get dressed and do a correction bolus, and for the love of all thats holy would you stop drumming on everything?
Do your homework.
Carry your laundry upstairs and put it away.
He never says a word.
He must feel like he took five benadryl half the time and entered a lard eating contest, (urpy that is to say) and then tried to run six miles.
The kid is amazing.
I need to cut him some serious slack.
I whimp out after a couple of weeks of it, and here he is taking it all in stride, and growing into a responsible young man while he's at it.

What the Hell is wrong with me?