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.
Monday, June 04, 2007
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.
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.
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
SICK DAY
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.
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
SITE CHANGE?
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....
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.
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.
so...
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.
"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.
so...
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)