Category: Uncategorized

We’ve been using a Continuous Glucose Monitoring System (CGMS) since August. It has been an absolute diabetes life changer. The definition of a CGMS is:

A continuous glucose monitoring system (CGMS) is an FDA-approved device that records blood sugar levels throughout the day and night. There are several approved devices — Medtronic’s MiniMed device, DexCom, and the Navigator, for example — that can provide up to 288 blood sugar measurements every 24 hours. The system is used to measure an average blood sugar for three to seven days (depending on the model you have), while the person with diabetes continues daily activities at home.

It has changed our diabetes life because it gives us a heads up of highs, lows and trends. We still test 10 times a day but when we see a 94 and an —-> I know we are even steven. If I see a 94 with a diagonal arrow down I know that my son’s sugar is trending down and we need to watch it. Before the CGMS I would have to retest in a few minutes to see which direction the number was heading. But, believe it or not, this post is not about the CGMS and how much I absolutely love it. It is about NOT having a CGMS and how much I hate it.

The other night my son did not have a CGMS sensor on. He went to bed without it on, which in turn means he woke up without a sensor on. And without that sensor on THAT OLD FEELING CAME RIGHT BACK.

I thought it was gone.

I thought I wasn’t going to feel that way again.

I hadn’t thought about those feelings since August.

But like a bad penny, it was right there when I woke up this morning.

Would my son be alive when I go to wake him up this morning? WOULD MY SON, MY HEART AND SOUL, BE ALIVE…ALIVE…ALIVE…

I know that dead in the bed is rare. Rare is good enough for me. It exists. I believe it in. I don’t live my life in fear of it, but I sure as hell know it’s exists.

I don’t, however, breathe a solid breath until I know that my son is safe from the night.

Looking at that CGMS has put that feeling to the wayside for me. I know that I have that little light-of-life next to my bedside, that at the quickest glance I can see about where my son’s blood sugar is. Without it, all I have is a feeling.

I hate that feeling. Not knowing whether my son is alive or not.

I know what I’d hate more, but I still hate that feeling.

That is how I feel today about our 6 year anniversary with diabetes.

Whatever.

Remembering this anniversary is like remembering the anniversary of your first marriage, or your first car accident, or the first time you got fired, or any other first unpleasant memory. You remember it. You don’t care about it. You’d forget about it if you could, but for some reason you just can’t.

You can’t forget your first marriage if you have kids together. You can’t forget your first marriage if you are still living in the house you bought together. You can’t forget your first marriage if you are still using his last name.

You can’t forget diabetes because it is the reason sleep occurs in 3 hour chunks.

You can’t forget diabetes because it is around 24 hours a day, it doesn’t take a vacation, a break, a siesta, a whatever, it never goes away.

You can’t forget diabetes because it is the reason my 10 year old son needs to wear an insulin pump to stay alive. Stay alive as in not die.

You can’t forget diabetes because it is the reason my son feels shaky, vomits from ketones, and gets disorientated from highs.

You can’t forget diabetes because it is the reason my son requires a 504 Plan in school. It is the reason he has to test his sugar before big tests to make sure his thinking is going to be clear. Highs and lows make him not able to perform at his best.

You can’t forget diabetes because it is the reason my 10 year old son has to carry a back pack of survival supplies with him every where he goes. Survival supplies for God’s sake, he’s a boy, not Bear Grylls.

You can’t forget diabetes because it is because of diabetes that we know the carb count of every food item IN THE WORLD.

You can’t forget diabetes because it is the reason I have to pack for a lifetime when we are just sleeping out over night.

So, yeah, I’d love to forget diabetes. I’d love to forget the day it entered our lives. I’d love to forget the anniversary.

I can’t.

What I can do, however, is treat this day like any other day with diabetes. Whatever. It is what it is. Check, treat, and MOVE ON! I will not give it anymore attention than it requires.

It will not ruin our day. Our lives. My son’s life.

So with our anniversary I say, whatever, to you diabetes. With all you do and all you bring into my son’s life, you still ain’t got nothin’ on him.

Nothin’.

 

 

…are going to be the death of me. Really.

There is something about watching my son with Type 1 diabetes strap himself into a amusement park ride that incites such fear in me that it is almost inexplicable.

I live with many thoughts about my son’s safety. Will he be safe in school all day. Will he be able to handle a sleep over all by himself. Will he be able to count carbs at a birthday party. Will he know to compensate for actively swimming all day and night in the summer. Will he be alive when I wake up in the morning. Yes, really, that is one of thoughts I have had every single day for the past 6 years.

But it is the fear of amusement park rides that make me break out into a cold sweat. They make my heart beat fast and my breathing get shallow. I am afraid of them. He, of course, is not. In fact he may have some of the same feelings as me like heart beating faster but it is only because he CANNOT wait to strap himself in and as they say, enjoy the ride.

While I love that he is enjoying himself like all the other 10 year olds out there, I mean that has been a big one on my list since the day he was diagnosed…kid first…the fear still remains. When the ride empties out and he is the last one to come off the ride I envision him slumped over still strapped in his seat too low to get himself out of the seat. Yes this is a completely irrational thought for me, especially because time and time again amusement parks rides make him go high, but whether it is an irrational fear or not does not matter to me, the fear remains.

I smile. I take pictures. I hold my belly from the twists and turns it takes just by me watching him on the ride. I do feel better when I am on the ride with him, but with an 8 year old daughter who is not a fan of the rides, I am usually left standing in the viewing section with her.

Gravitron. Ugh.

Casino. Yikes.

Round up. C’mon!

Sizzler. Shoot.

Dizzy Dragons. Blech.

Wacky House. Darn.

Zipper. Oh no!

I hate them all. He LOVES them all.

And with that I ask…

where can I buy more tickets?