T.C. Slonaker's Blog, page 3

Don't Peg Me

OK, that might sound like something my son tells my daughter when her arm is cocked with some kind of ball in hand. But I mean it in a different sense. I don't think any of us need to cling to a label. Once we do, our minds can go through changes it doesn't need.

For example:

Morning Person/Night Owl
The first thing I do once all my kids have been put on the bus is to run around the house in a cleaning frenzy. Seriously, I am most motivated to attack clutter and even the big messes before I sit down in front of the computer and get lost in cyberspace. 

But ask me to exercise in the morning? You might think I never work out from the excuses I give you. I do not do morning workouts. As a matter of fact, the later the better. I could go out for a run at 11:30 at night with no qualms at all. And I'm not even in college anymore!

So, you could call me a morning person, but you can't. You could call me a night person, but you can't. (If I'm not out running at 11:30 - and I'm usually not - I'm in bed.) So what am I?


Right Brain/Left Brain
Here's a funny story. I am a professional writer. (I won't say I write for a living, because I don't really make a living from it.) Anyway, I write every day. Doing it every day is supposed to make you better, right? 

Writing - organizing thoughts - is a "left-brained" activity. In other words, it's something that the left side of your brain controls. In general, all logic-based thinking, such as math and grammar are run by the left side of your brain. If you are better at those types of activities, then you are said to be "left-brained." 

The right side of your brain is the creative side. It's also known to be less organized. Artistic people are usually the strong "right-brainers."

Back to my story. For my job at church I had to write a letter. That should be a breeze for a left-brained writer, don't you think? I wrote it and gave it to the pastor to go over. He scratched his head and handed it to the secretary. Both were confused at how unclear it was. The secretary asked where my outline was.

Outline? Who writes with an outline? I just write. Because as hard as I work to be left-brained, I'm really right-brained. But I still LOVE to have things organized, and clutter drives me insane. Could it be possible, that I am NOT one or the other?

YES! You don't have to be a left-brained, ENTJ nerd whose learning style is visual and whose intelligence is linguistic. For goodness sake, you can just be Bob. Or Joe, or Sally, or Frieda. You can like sports and not be a jock. You can excel at math and not be a geek.

We're spending a little too much time trying to see what group we belong to, when really, we can hang out with anyone we like.

High school
Who were you in high school? Were you a jock? A rebel? A geek? One of the popular kids? 

I'm willing to bet you answered that you didn't belong to any one specific group. But chances are that your classmates remember you from a certain category. And it might even surprise you which group you are placed in!

I had a great conversation on Facebook with some of the people from my old high school. Our conversation gives credit to the above paragraph. Sometimes I look at my friend list and think, "Wow, I can't believe so-and-so is a friend of mind. S/he was so popular in school!" Then, I started having conversations with these "popular people." And you know what? They are just as real as I am. They are dealing with many of the same crazy things in life that the rest of us are. 

So here's the thing. You don't need a group. At age 40 now, it's easy to see that we can all branch out. (And after talking to a bunch of friends who are also 40, it's safe to say I'm not alone.) Remember in high school when the seniors wouldn't talk to the freshmen? Because there was a 3 year age difference? And now some of the people closest to us are 10-20 years older or younger. The number one requirement for talking to someone isn't how cool they are, how smart they are, or how they dress. It's how close they are standing to you and if they will look at you when are speaking to them.

There are no more "groups."We all just enjoy each other's conversation with the common background of having gone to the same school. It's quite freeing, and I can't wait until my kids escape the lock boxes of cliques in school to be able to enjoy real people. (And not just "computer people," "soccer people," etc.)


Does this mean we have lost our identities? I mean, who am I now? Well, I am a Christian wife and mother who writes books and works with kids at church. I've done a lot of other stuff, and I do a lot of other stuff. 

And if that comes up in conversation with the person next to me, then maybe I have a new friend. No matter what time of day she likes to go running. 

6 "Shoulds" I Can't Do Anymore

Some things in my life, I always thought were givens. I'm a nice person, so I need to act like it. I'm a neat person, so I need to be neat. I having a working brain. Right?

Well, I've had to alter my whole line of thinking lately. Allow me to let you in on a few conversations I have had with the Holy Spirit about how my life is changing.  My daughter's diagnosis with T1D (Type 1 Diabetes) was a bigger change for me than I expected it to be - even 6 months down the line.

We knew my daughter would have to make the most changes, but the rest of the family had to make some too. Well, no one told us it would be easy. And I'm not just talking about what we eat. Here, you will see what I mean.

#1:Helping Others

Me: Oh! I see she finally had her baby. She'll be overwhelmed at home. I should take her a meal to help out.

HS: When did you expect to be able to do that?

Me: At dinner time, of course.

HS: Will that be before or after you make dinner for your family, and how much time are you leaving in there for blood sugar checks and insulin bolusing? If you do that more than 20 minutes before she eats, you risk a drop. And if you wait too long even without the insulin, she could start falling and not catch up quickly enough.

Me: Oh yeah. I'm going to have to pass on helping anyone else out during a mealtime, aren't I? But I always make meals for new mommies. It's killing me that I can't do the extra helping.

HS: Why? Because you really want to help? Or because you want to look like you have your whole life together?

Me: Ouch.

HS: It's harder sometimes to accept help than to offer it, because you have to admit that you are broken, and your best didn't quite make it. But think of it as an opportunity to let others feel what you feel when you help them.


#2: Donating Money

Me: The Readers Association! What a great cause to support. How much should I give?

HS: Well, how much do you have left after buying the pain-free lancing device, the new food scale, the medicines that were not covered by insurance, the organizing shelves, and bags,…

Me: I get it. I'm almost out of money this paycheck. And I really need to support the JDRF, so they can find a cure for diabetes and I won't have to worry about it anymore. But I guess I will pass on the Readers Association, even though I do want kids to read more. I can't give to every cause, even if I think it's worth it.


#3: Looking Good

Me: I'm off to the gym!

HS: Don't forget the phone. The school nurse might call. And you know she usually does.

Me: Thanks for reminding me. I forget a lot of things lately. I hope she doesn't call at the gym today. I really need to get in a good workout. Now to just brush my hair, and I'm off.



Me: Yikes! Is this how I really look these days?

HS: Yes, I'm afraid all the late nights and getting up to fix blood sugars give you those dark circles under your eyes. And the stress may account for some of that new grey hair. The wrinkles, though, are probably just from being 40.

Me: Well, I'll have to just fix it with make up.

HS: That's probably not going to happen. If the nurse doesn't call you at the gym, she'll be calling you after… so don't expect time for make up.

Me: Well, at least I don't have to look at myself. Hope everyone else understands!


#4: Remembering Things

Me: OK, I've packed her lunch, counted the carbs, written in the daily log, written the note to the nurse, done her blood sugar, made and gave insulin for breakfast, made sure she has clean socks, checked her backpack for notes. I think she's good to go to school.

HS: Don't forget to calibrate her glucose monitor and attach it to her!

Me: So glad you reminded me. I should be able to remember everything, but with new routines added to the list, I forget a lot of things lately. 

HS: I know. We just had this conversation, remember?



#5 Cleaning My House

Me: Where is that book?

HS: Sorry, I don't keep track of things like that.

Me: I know! I'll just clean the whole downstairs until I find it!

HS: Ha ha! Wait, you're serious? How long will your house stay clean if you get it all done today?

Me: Probably until tomorrow.

HS: Really?

Me: OK, it will be a wreck again as soon as school lets out.

HS: Then don't bother. Use your time on more important things, like working on reports to the doctor.

Me: It's a waste of my time to clean? I'll go crazy!

HS: You're going to go crazy anyway with everything else you need to do. No need to rush it by doing it yourself.



#6 Thinking an Uninterrupted Thought.

Me: OK. Blog post. Here we go…

HS: Here's what you need to say…

Child: Moooooommmmmm!!! I need you!

Me: Coming! Hold that thought.



Me: I'm back. Blog post. What where you saying?

HS: "The 'Shoulds" I Can't Do Anymore." Make a list of…

Phone: Ring, ring!

Me: Ugh. I have to answer that. I have answer all the calls now. Be right back.



Me: Back again. Where were we?

HS: I don't remember. I forget sometimes too.

Me: Ugh.

Child: Is it time for dinner yet?



… And one "Shouldn't" …

Me: Wow, with all that I'm not doing anymore, everyone's going to think I'm a mooch, a complainer, and a lazy bum.

HS: There you go, thinking about what other people think about you again.

Me: At least I won't be stalking another mother with a screaming child at the grocery store and threaten to call the police on her.

HS: No, but judging that woman for being an overprotective parent isn't any better than her judging you for being a kidnapper, is it? 

Me: Really? 

HS: It's all judging.

Me: I suppose I do have enough to think about. I shouldn't be concerning myself with what everyone else thinks, huh? Especially if I am placing labels on those people too. Thanks.

HS: No problem. That's why I'm here, to guide you. Just do your best, and I'll take care of what is said about you.

Me: I hope you're taking care of a lot more than that!

 

Are You Tired? Go to Bed.

You love your bed, don't you? I love mine. It has the best sheets in the world. Really, it wouldn't matter what sheets on on there. When the alarm goes off in the morning, it still feels like nothing could drag me away from them.

So then, why do I go to bed so late at night? If my bed were so great, don't you think I would be jumping into it the minute the kids are sent to bed? I don't. I usually wait at least 2 hours after they are in bed before I even think about it. The draw of everything else in the world pulls me back. But that's a different line of thought to which I will return in a minute.

There are nights when I suddenly find myself so tired, I can't even haul myself off the couch to go to that glorious place called bed. I don't think I'm the only one.

So why? Why, why, why? Why don't I go running up to my bed as soon as possible? I'm tired, aren't I? Even if not at the moment, I know for a fact I will be tired and need sleep eventually. I always wind up in that bed, and I am never unhappy about it. Never.

Hold that thought.

Have you ever put your hand out, hoping to have a bird come and fly to it? You may have even called to it, hoping it would understand that you will not hurt it. Why won't it come? Sometimes, you may even have food in your hand, and it still won't come. What is wrong with that dumb bird?

Keep this in the back of your mind. Back to the bed idea. 

If there were something even more secure than your bed, and going to it were inevitable, would you hesitate to go? It is so inviting, the allure of it draws you near. But you don't go in. Even knowing that you will go - at some point you will have to go - you hesitate. You wait. 

Why?

God has put out His hand. There is no more secure resting place than in His hand. Like you with the bird, He has no intention to harm you. Like the food you had for the bird, He has sustenance for you in His hand. You can trust it to be exactly what you need.

His hand doesn't grab for you. It waits for you. You must go to it. You must put everything else aside and go to it. Once you are there, you receive so much more than His nourishment. You receive His peace, His comfort, His protection. 

At some point, everyone will be brought to His hand. It is better if you choose to go on your own, rather than being plucked away from the world and forced to see the back of His hand instead.

No, where you want to be is curled up in the warmth of his palm, perhaps being stroked, perhaps being cooed at. Definitely, He is smiling at the prize He holds.

So why are you not running to leap into that hand? Maybe you are like the bird and you have trust issues. Or maybe there are too many other things around you, distracting you from the hand. 

Or maybe you are waiting because you don't think it's time yet. You want more out of the world before you settle into the comfort of the hand. 

Really? When I sleep on the couch, I get a kink in my neck. My bed was made for comfortable sleep. If I don't go to bed in time, I stay up and just get more tired. For what? A movie on TV? Time on the computer? Is any of it better than a full night's sleep in my bed? NO!

God's hand has His hand out for you. You were made to be held in His hand, and you won't be quite right anywhere else. You can stay away, but why? What in this world is better than God's comfort and love? Nothing is. You will need to go to Him eventually. Do it while the welcome is open.

Oh, and the best thing about His hand? There's no alarm clock. You never have to leave. So snuggle in. You've got all eternity to get comfortable.


P.S. - This post was completed at 11:38 p.m. Time for bed!

What You're Worth

My daughter has thousands of dollars worth of medical equipment attached to her body right now to take the place of one failed organ. She recently started on an insulin pump to do the job of her pancreas. Since the pump is a man-made device, we need to use an outside "brain" to activate it and tell it what to do. (My husband, the doctors, school nurses, and I are that brain.) To help this "brain" in its thinking, we need another device, called a CGM (continuous glucose monitor) to tell us how we are doing and adjust our thinking in operating the pump. 

It's so complicated, and yet, those of us with non-diabetic pancreases have the same work occurring in our own bodies all the time with no outside thought required. I'm sorry, but I find that amazing. The human body is incredible. So, today let's think about how we value it.

I have been trying to find out an exact count of how many organs are in the human body. Sources differ, and I have seen answers between 22 and 78, depending on what, exactly, can be considered its own organ. However, there is a pretty universal list of about 10 that are considered "vital" organs (as in, you would die if they failed.)

So let's consider the cost of maintaining each of these 10, should they fail. In most cases, when an organ completely stops functioning, the organ would need to be removed and replaced by one that works. There are, of course, cases of manipulating your body or medical equipment to do the job of the failed organ (such as in the case of Type 1 Diabetes, when we can use medical equipment to supply insulin), but most of the other organs, if in complete failure would need to be completely transplanted. Here are the costs of transplanting the vital organs, according to the National Foundation of Transplants. 
(www.transplants.org/faq/how-much-does-transplant-cost)

1. Heart - $1 million
2. Brain ~ $750,000 (This is the cost of 1 year of life support. If your brain fails, you are dead.)
3. Lungs - $800,000 (for both)
4. Skin ~ $700,000 (for 100% body skin graft)
5. Stomach ~ $25,000 (gastric bypass)
6. Liver - $575,000
7. Kidney - $520,000 (for both)
8. Large Intestine - $1.2 million
9. Small Intestine - $1.2 million
10. Pancreas - $290,000

Total cost of repairing all major organs in your body? $7,060,000! And those are just the vital organs. You probably would like to be able to see, hear, taste, talk, use the bathroom, and many other things involving other organs too. It seems the Six Million Dollar Man just got a boost in value.

Of course, right now, we are paying just a fraction of this to sustain Audrey's pancreas. I'm thankful for insurance covering so much of her necessary diabetic equipment, but what's left is a reminder of the price we pay to keep our daughter alive.

What is my point in drawing all this up? Imagine the cost of having to sustain each one of these organs, just to keep your body functioning.

God does it all for free.

This is just to keep your body going. The use of your mind, thoughts, feelings, motivations, and determination are priceless.


And let's go beyond the financial aspect. Here are some of the time requirements it takes to pretend to be a pancreas:

1. Trips to the endocrinologist, who happens to be over an hour away (and I'm sure there will be other specialists soon too.)

2. Calls to the insurance. (How much on-hold music can one person take? I'm near to finding out.)

3. Trips and calls to the pharmacy (I'm there at least once a week. Even the non-regular assistants know my name. Norm!)

4. Reports to the doctor (At least once a week, they need to review her medical settings. So, I need to send in current settings, discuss events, and review hourly blood sugars.These reports can be downloaded from her devices or hand-written in a log, scanned, and messaged to the office with an email.)

5. Equipment set up, maintenance, training, calibration, etc. (We needed to drive out to the endo 4 times just to learn how to use her pump.)

6. Carb calculating (I admit, I'm getting better at this. But not every chicken nugget is the same, and I have to look up a lot of our non-regulars. Even bananas differ in size, so I need to weigh them first.)

7. Health educating (You know I'm reading everything I can to learn about this disease.)

8. Blood sugar checks (They take much less time than they used to, now that she is used to them. But still, a few minutes several times a day. Then remembering to record it, use it, calibrate with it, and so on…)

9. Going to support meetings (This isn't a bad thing at all, but still requires time.)

10. Sitting around worrying if I'm doing all I can (Not necessary, but it still consumes my time.)

11. Blogging about it to let people know (Productive outlet, I would say, but again. More time.)

12. Helping to raise funds to find a cure (because who else will? We are riding in the Tour de Cure this June.)

This is all for one failed organ. That's A LOT of work. I am literally losing sleep over it all. Can you imagine how much work it would take to sustain ALL of your organs? To continue your life? 

At what point does a caregiver say, "It's just not worth it?"

God is your caregiver, and He says, "Never."

God considered all of your worth - you. Just you! - and said, "I'm going to take on all that it entails to keep this one going." 

If you'd like to take it a step further, we can examine your soul. Having your soul- your own, very soul - was so important to God, that he He allowed the cessation of all life-sustaining organs in the body of His own Son to be offered as the price to have you able to come near to Him. And yes, it would have been done for you, even if you were the only person in the world who needed it done. If everyone else in the world were perfect and already going to Heaven, except you, Jesus STILL would have come to earth and suffered everything He did just to save you.

Or me.

Or my diabetic baby girl.

Or the old man standing on the corner.

Because you are worth that much. Every life is absolutely precious. Make sure you use yours for absolutely all it's worth.

What Will the New Year Bring You? NOTHING!

Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zamboni (No, wait, that's a hockey thing. Sorry! Couldn't resist. I like that commercial.)

I am going to sound a little like President Kennedy now, and I will take it as a compliment if you agree. No, I'm not going to call anyone a jelly doughnut. Instead I will ask you to remember when he said, "Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country."

We've gotten away from that mentality, unfortunately. We have become a nation of people who want everything given to them. We have become a nation of people disinterested in work. We glorify those who rise to the top quickly. 

We want to lose weight, but we want to do it by taking a pill - not by creating a lifestyle of exercising and eating right.

We want to make millions of dollars, but we want to do it by winning it.

We want to believe and spread everything that people post on Facebook instead of looking it up to check its validity.

We want to work fewer hours and be paid more for it. Or not work at all (and still be paid). 

There's something to be said for efficiency. No need to invent a wheel, if it has already been done. 

What does this have to do with the New Year?

I am already tired of hearing things like, "It's a new year! Everything is going to be different now."

No, nothing will be different unless we do things differently.

Remember the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing and expecting different results.

If you want a different year this year, you will have to do something different from what you did last year.

Now, this is not always the case. There is only one thing I really wish I could change about last year, and that would be my daughter's development of type 1 diabetes. However, since that disease hit us out of nowhere - there's no known cause of T1D, and it does not run in our families - there's nothing we can do differently to prevent something like that from happening this year.

But I'm not talking about the disease diagnoses. I'm not talking about the terrible accidents or weather-related disasters. I'm not talking about the things we can't control. I'm talking about the things we can control.

It's a new year! Will it bring you prosperity? 

No! The circumstance of the date changing from December 31st to January 1st has no more impact on your life than the date changing from September 15th to September 16th. (Even if that is your birthday. You have not aged one year, but rather one day.)

Every morning, the sun rises. Whether you see it bright and clear, or it hides behind the clouds, the sun rises. At the end of the day, the sun will set. The time in between is given to you to DO SOMETHING, not wait for something. When the sun rises, it does not bring you a silver platter. It brings you an opportunity.

Last year may have been great for you. It may have been terrible. You may have had some control over it; you may not have. You may have made some poor choices about how you spent your time; you may have made some excellent ones.

I challenge you to look back at your previous 365 sunrises. First, look at the ones you considered good. What made them good? Did you complete an athletic goal? A weight loss goal? A health or professional goal? Did you spend time with your loved ones? Did you find yourself bathed in God's glory? Take note! If that is what you did that made last year good, DO IT AGAIN!

Next, look back at the things that may have ruined your year. Were they preventable? If not, you will just have to put those aside. There's nothing that can be done other than cope and move on. Into every life, a little rain must fall.

But what about that which was preventable? You may have to look deep to see whether or not there was anything you could do. For example, maybe you lament a deteriorating relationship with someone in your family. Perhaps that person could rightfully claim all the blame. But if YOU want a better relationship, YOU must work at making it better. (By the way, my advice there is to first clean the slate and forgive. Then build from there. But that's a different blog post.)

Were you sad about the condition your body or spirit is in? You feel you would be happier if you weighed less, stopped smoking, or went to church? Then… lose weight, stop smoking, or go to church! 

I don't mean to sound like I am yelling at you. I need to make improvements myself. Why do I get tired all the time? Because I eat too much sugar. Solution? Eat less sugar. Why am I frustrated with my children so often? Because I need to work on starting fresh with them each day and not let it build up. So I will work on that.

And work it is. The consequence of the year changing from 2014 to 2015 will not give me more energy because I want that to happen. I need to make a pointed effort to resist the call of the ice cream.

You will also have to work for what you want. But anything worth having in your life is worth working for, right? (Except God's free grace. Talk to me about that, if you would like to know more.) 

So, what will this new year bring to you? Nothing. But the question is, what will YOU bring to this new year?

A Morning with a Child with Type 1 Diabetes (Why It Takes Us So Much Longer To Get Anything Done Anymore)

Getting kids ready for school in the morning was never easy in the first place, especially for the one with "skin sensitivity issues." In other words, "NOOOOOOO! I AM NOT WEARING SOCKS TODAY!!! OR SHOES!!!" "Stop rushing me!!!" Ummm…

Our routine has become more complicated. For a person who has always enjoyed the pride of never being late, each day is a new challenge. We now have many more added steps (not to mention countless extra thoughts) added in, thanks to my youngest child's diabetes.

Below I have written out our normal, getting ready for school procedure. Included in it, in the purple, I have added the extra steps we now have to take because of the T1D:

1. Wake up the child. (We never had to do this before, but now we have noticed that high blood sugars lead to sleepiness, making it harder to get up in the morning.)

2. Hope we aren't starting the morning off on the wrong foot with crankiness due to any possible misstep. 

3. Brush hair. (Must been done while child is entranced in watching TV. Because have you SEEN how much hair she has?) If it is summer, entertain and reject the possibility of a ponytail to keep hot hair off the neck.

4. Set up the kit for blood sugar test. (We call it the prick.) 
  4a. Wash hands.
  4b. Make sure lancing device has a new needle in it.
  4c. Check to make sure we have enough alcohol wipes and bandaids for the day.
  4d. Unwrap a bandaid for the morning prick.
  4e. Prepare a test strip to go in the meter (not putting it in all the way, because if you don't use it quickly enough, the meter shuts off and the strip records an error. Because the strips cost roughly $2 each, and we go through at least 6 in a day, this is a big deal.)
  4f. Coax child away from the TV. (She's a little Type A about all this, so it is her decision that we never prick her without her fully aware.)
  4g. Choose a finger to prick. Sometimes, depending on how many pricks we have had recently, her fingers may still be a little torn up and not well-healed, so this could take a while to figure out.
  4h. Open the alcohol wipe and wipe down the finger to be pricked and all the fingers on the other hand that she will use to squeeze her finger.
  4i. Insert test strip as she "primes" her finger to draw blood to it. (She is a slow bleeder, and it is often hard to get enough blood out before the meter shuts down.)
  4j. Wait for her to say her required introduction of, "Do it quick!" (And not too close to the nail, or to the middle, or on the wrong side…)
  4k. Prick her finger and squeeze. 
  4l. When the appropriate amount of blood has formed a bubble, dip the strip in and wait for a result.
  4m. Wipe off excess blood and apply bandaid.
  4n. Throw away used products.

5. Get BS (blood sugar) reading and…
  5a. Record it in the log book.
  5b. Calibrate her Dexcom with it.
  5c. Record it on the meal log book to enter into the breakfast formula.

6. Figure out what she's going to have for breakfast.
  6a. Into this thought process now is not only nutrition, but trying to remember how certain foods have affected her BS in the past, and if it has happened enough times to consider that a food "definitely" will always affect her BS in such a manner.
  6b. If she is requesting certain foods, see how we can work it in to still be within a reasonable amount of carbs.

7. Calculate the carbs in the breakfast, enter that into the breakfast formula.

8. Finish working out the calculations for the formula and determine insulin needed.
  8a. Record insulin amount in log book.

9. Prep insulin shot. 
  9a. Put on needle and prime injection pen.
  9b. Get ice pack.
  9c. Choose an injection site on her body and point it out to her.
  9d. Pinch site "really hard" per her direction.
  9e. Administer shot.

10. Clean up shot.
  10a. Dispose of any sharps (needle/ lancet) in sharps container.
  10b. Return ice pack and injection pen.

11. Make and serve breakfast.

12. Eat my own breakfast.

13. Cajole child into getting dressed.

14. Check on the lunch, packed last night.
  14a. Double check that the necessary calculations are noted in the meal book. (Also done last night.)
  14b. Pack the meal book in the school bag to go to the nurse at school.

15. Check special for the day and make sure library books are packed if needed or sneakers out for gym.

16. Make sure homework and extra snacks are in bag.

17. Help with socks and let her put on shoes while I turn off TV.

18. Put on Dexcom monitor, coat, and back pack.

19. Wait to solve any meltdowns, the best I can.

20. Take her out to the bus stop.

All of this takes place in about 45 minutes. During that time, I used to also be able to throw away all trash the rest of the family left out for me, wash the breakfast dishes, and clean the cat liter. Those chores are now fit in later in the day.

And keep in mind, all of the above is assuming everything goes smoothly, and no other surprises get thrown in. Some of the other issues that we have had to throw in just last week included:
* finding a Santa hat for the Sing-Along
* writing an excuse note for an older child's absence
* tracking down some chapstick to take care of lips at school
* super gluing the velcro back on the sneakers
* just needing extra snuggles

You know, and all that parent stuff. Also, I have 2 other kids.

After she goes, I'm not on my own yet. I need to make sure my cell phone is charged, because I will be on the phone with the school nurse 2-3 times during the day. I will also be touch with the endocrinologist's office several times a week.

If it's Monday, we also need to scan the log book page and message it to the doctor's office for an update to her formulas, noting any extra factors that could have led to highs or lows. (For example, a low after running around at recess, or not finishing a meal.) 

We are still pretty early in our diagnosis, so we are still working out hospital bills from when she was in the PICU, insurance claims for her medication, and applications for a pump to administer her insulin. As I write this, I have the phone on speaker on hold with the pharmacy, waiting to hear if my co-pay reduction will be verified. The time on the phone currently stands at 1 hour and 2 minutes.

Once she comes home from school, we do it all again with dinner. Then homework, a bath, and one more prick and shot before bed. 

I didn't want to share all of this with you so that you would pity me (or us). It's not a request for any one to help us to find a "better way to organize our life." 

It's a plea for patience with us. When I forget to bring chips to a party, trust me, I was just impressed with myself for making it out the door. When you see me without make-up, I just didn't think it was worth my time that day. There's so much more on my mind these days.

And when my daughter is a little late to school, it might have been because she's tired of it all and needed an extra long hug from Mommy in the morning. I'm not going to deny it to her. She does have it tough.

So, thank you for understanding. It's our life now, and we are adjusting to it. If you are a praying person, please pray that a cure comes quickly for Type 1 Diabetes. Until then, we're praying for endurance. Because we're all a little tired.

Why Do I Like Pretty Dress Day So Much?

I wasn't sure I had an answer to this question at first, until I looked deep down inside. I had to dig through a lot of superficial "this is the way I am supposed to behave as a 40-year-old housewife" stuff and expose what I was really feeling. I'm no psychologist, but I can give it a shot.

It goes beyond the pretty dress. (Which, I really have to say, I was so excited to wear for this Christmas party. I didn't really need a new dress, but when I saw lacy, sparkly, and red - in my size!- I couldn't say no. But, moving on.)

It's a need for acceptance. And I am not talking about a need for others to accept me, I am talking about my need to accept the life I live.

Since more than half of the women at the gala were younger than me by at least 10 years, I think I may get some leeway. No one would expect me to go out there and be the Homecoming Queen. (Thank goodness!) But I want to be able to go out and be happy. Since I knew so few people at the party, only one person would even be looking at me anyway.

And it's all about that one. But I will get back to him in a minute. 

So it's not really as much about the dress as it is the woman in the dress, of course.

No one looks at a 40-year-old as a young lady anymore, unless they happen to be older. When I leave something behind at a store these days, a clerk will more often than not yell out, "Ma'am" instead of, "Miss." So therefore, 40 must be the beginning of "old." And what does old mean?

1. The best is behind you.
The days of not looking at the food I put into my mouth are long gone. I seriously remember deciding to celebrate Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) at college one year by staying in the dining hall for the entire day, with donuts by my side. (Later, I'd go for a 5-mile run and have no regrets.)


So too, are gone the days of being annoyed by a man whistling as I ran by instead of grateful for his kind gesture.


And the days when no one wondered how many children my hips held.


The days of going to bed without trying to remember if I took off all of that wrinkle-causing make up before I hit the wrinkle-causing pillow case.


Keeping in touch with my youth is a part of why I work out so hard. (But of course, the other reasons for that are because I can, and because I don't want to die early. Those other issues require a post all on their own.)



2. The worst could be ahead.
Another reason I work out so hard. If I didn't there would be osteoporosis, heart disease (due to my high cholesterol), and definitely (with the way I eat) obesity. I am sure there's more, but I don't want to go any further. And that's just physical health. Exercise keeps my mind and emotions in a good place as well. 

I won't dwell on this topic too much, because I prefer to think of the good possibilities we will see in the future. It's just not likely that any of those will happen in my body at this point.


3. The world no longer revolves around you.
This one kind of hurt to admit, but we all have a part of us that wants to matter. Just as when we were little siblings without a name of our own - for how long was I known as "Custer's sister?" - now we are known much of the time as our child's parent. Even when we go to the pediatrician's office, they don't bother to call us "Mrs. So-and-so," (probably because in this day and age, it could be any name at all!). They just call us Mom. I've always found that a little weird, but it works, doesn't it? Go to the mall and yell, "Mom!" See how many heads turn. Even if we don't recognize the voice, we turn our heads. I don't know why.


There needs to be an acceptance of being this age, whether it be considered "old" on not. There needs to be a turning out - a focus on everything outside of myself. (Really this should happen at every age. It's just now, there's no getting away from it.)


But on Pretty Dress Day, I get one night off. I can try to look a little younger, eat like I did when I was younger, and pretend for a few hours that no one else's existence depends on the choices I make for them. (No one once called out, "Mom!" at the party.) I can accept the rest of my life more readily when I get a break once in a while.

There can be a little (just a little) indulgence in who I am, not as a parent, but as a woman.  A woman who likes to dress up and hopefully bring a smile to her husband's lips. And maybe, making myself as pretty as I can might make my husband a little happier too. 

Wearing the Blue Dress… Again

My older daughter wore shorts today, and it's about 38º F outside. Last year, I would have been yelling at her and telling her she would not leave the house until all her skin was covered.

My younger daughter wore the blue dress to church for the 4th week in a row. I didn't complain as hard as I thought I would, even though she has several other dresses in her closet. Somehow, I don't seem to care as much if people at church think I don't buy her any clothes.

Oh, the many fights we had as the children grew. Some, like potty-training, we saw end with success. There was a right answer. (When you have to go, you go!) Others, like food, we are still struggling with. We have tried so many tricks in that area, good and bad. Our kids just don't eat certain foods. We have not won this battle. I'll get to that in a minute.

And then there are the "small" things. 

I don't know if I'm too tired and have lost the will to fight anymore, or if I've grown up as a parent. Maybe, perhaps I've become a worse mom by giving in more now. Or maybe I'm just not the micro-manager I used to be.

There's a lot more truth to that first part, I think, than maybe some of the rest. I'm tired.  Maybe I am learning which battles to pick because there are just so many more battles.

I have a pre-teen daughter who has been trying to act like teen since she turned 5. I feel like fighting has been a normal part of our life with her. Although I have always thought I have only chosen to fight for worthy causes, such as what she was eating, and what she was wearing, I think I am seeing a bigger picture now. Her choices are no longer a reflection of me. I can take myself out of the picture.

All 3 of my kids are picky eaters. Yes, I am blessed, aren't I? We tried every method under the sun to get them to eat a reasonable dinner. 

Now, I've got bigger concerns at dinner. Life and death concerns. OK, maybe not quite that drastic, but serious medical complications are involved. If my diabetic daughter does NOT eat what I expected her to - what I treated her for with her insulin - she could have more medicine in her little body than it needs. That would cause a drop in her blood sugar, that could lead to a coma. It's rare, but definitely in the range of possibility. 

So I save my energy for that. I want to be taken seriously when things are truly serious. I want the kids to know that if I say something is important, it really is. It's not about me, it's about them.

What's important to me now? Health & safety, courtesy, and obedience.

Health: I will fight for my kids' health. I might give up for one a meal in a day, but not all of them. Big picture here. No total junk food meals, of course, but over the course of a day, I want good food going in somewhere along the line. I'm winning with drinks. My kids drink water or milk. Period. We constantly explain "health" to the kids. No one is allow to complain about being "fat." It's healthy or unhealthy. We don't want to hear our kids complaining about fat when they are given every opportunity to be healthy.


Safety: No hurting each other. At all. No doing things that will make someone else cry. Period. If you can prevent someone from hurting, DO IT. There's too much else out there trying to hurt us, we don't need to add family members to the list.


Courtesy: Respect. It's the only thing we ask the kids to show others. You will never go wrong if you use the right words.


Obedience: This one sounds like it is about me, but it isn't. Children are put into families to learn how the world works. In the world, there is always an authority to which we must submit: a boss, a police officer, God. Parents are the first authority and the ones who will train submission to that authority. Bottom line is: If I say it, I will be heeded. Because I believe I only ask what is reasonable, the words "because I said so" are enough.

So basically, if you want to wear the blue dress for the 4th week in a row, and I didn't forbid it for some logical reason, as long as you aren't rude about it, there's no reason you can't.

That covers a lot, doesn't it? So what have I given up? 


Cleaning. I have my standards, and yes, it is partly my house. But I am losing this battle. My house is a mess, in my neat-freak eyes. You can't even see the kitchen table for all the mail, pictures, games, gloves, and well, I'm not even sure what else is on there. I don't sit there anymore because I just can't look at it. So I give up. They will move out someday, and I will get the house back.


Showering. I want my children to be clean and to smell like a meadow, but maybe they don't like smelling like a meadow. Until it becomes a health issue, I'll just wait until peer pressure settles in to up the daily washings.


Homework time. Apparently, all of my children prefer to wait to do their homework. I always did mine immediately after school. So they aren't me. I check their grades on line, and know that it is all being turned in. They do know the risk, however, of cutting it too close, and not having someone available to help when they need it. That's how it goes.


Clothing. OK, I do have girls. I buy their clothes, so I don't have to worry too much about modesty at this point. When it becomes an issue, we'll step in with safety concerns. I have a boy too. He will wear the same shirt everyday. Whatever. I'll let his friends tell him when he starts to reek while I stand 3 feet away.


There are some others too. Don't sweat the small stuff.

When my oldest goes outside with shorts in cold weather, she might get cold. (She'll never admit it, though.) Because I know that colds are caused by viruses and not just cold weather,  I used to tell myself the issue was frostbite. Chances of that happening were pretty slim too, but something just wasn't right about it. So I needed justify it. Today, I don't.

I'm glad to have put the "you need to wear a coat/no I don't" fight behind me now. As she goes into the teen years, I know there are going to be more serious dangers than I will need to fight. When any of my kids come to me with those teen problems, I want them to be scared if I'm scared, and relieved if I am relieved. 

While out on a walk with the oldest the other night, I was shivering. She was happily walking around in shorts, tee shirt, and flip flops. I asked her if she noticed that I wasn't bugging her about wearing a coat. She smiled, patted my back, and said, "Yes, Mother, I'm very proud of you."

That was 2 weeks ago. No signs of pneumonia yet, so maybe we are going to survive a little longer than I expected. 

And I will wash the blue dress every week so it is ready for one less fight on the next Sunday morning. The washing machine can take care of that for me while I measure carbs and calculate insulin. If something in the house starts to stink, maybe I'll just go find a cup of coffee to smell instead. I'm going to need that energy for the bigger fights.

I Painted My Nails (and Didn't Feel Too Guilty About It.)

I like to have my nails painted, but there are a few reasons I don't do it often. First, I don't get it done professionally -ever- because I have a thing about paying for things I can do myself.

That leaves me to actually do it myself. Ladies, you know the problem with this. Time. 

For several years, my nails were never painted. I had babies. Babies sucked fingers. Sucking nail polish probably wouldn't taste so good. And, yeah. Time. When would there be enough time to let my nails dry? There wouldn't be, so I just didn't. 

Naked nails lasted about as long as my extra baby weight. When I lost the rest of my baby weight, when my youngest was 3 or 4 years old, I celebrated with new clothes and a happier outlook. No more baggy, frumpy tee-shirts. Baggy had become too baggy, and I had to wear more fitted clothing. It was fun to try to look like a girl again. 

The toes were first. Painting toenails is just easier because you don't use your toes as much as your fingers. But the fingers had to be done. Maybe not during softball season, but other times of the year. 

Little by little, I was getting "myself" back. Myself likes pretty - pretty clothes, pretty jewelry, pretty me! 

Then, my youngest child started school. Her kindergarten was all-day, so I suddenly had a few hours of quiet "me-time." I felt guilty taking it… in the beginning. But then, my runs got longer, my coffee dates with girlfriends became more frequent, and I became more relaxed.

There was still plenty to do. I still worked a part time job. And when I signed my book contract, I found out how much more work was involved in being an author. But I could make time for me too. I made time to paint my nails.

I grabbed a hold of that lifestyle. Kids in the morning- me through the day- family at night. And I kept my nails painted as much as I could. 

Because I could.

But then I took a few steps back. Something reminded me that I can't be so self-focused. I got a message that said, "you need to be Mom, even when your kids are at school." That message? My daughter's diagnosis with Type 1 Diabetes.

She's had a tough go of it. The girl gets 4 shots every day, and at least that many finger pricks. What kid handles shots well, even the once a year shots at the doctor? None of them do. 

So, she's reverting to some behaviors we thought we were done with. She's 7, and until her diagnosis, she was making her own breakfast, taking her own showers, and walking everywhere. Now, she wants to be carried, she needs Mommy to wash her hair, and we must make her breakfast. That, and the time of pricking, sticking, recording, checking, calling in, making appointments, going to appointments, gather supplies, and so on, is tantamount to another part time job. 

So the time is not there. The nails were naked again, and just as I had worn the same shorts for several days in the hospital, I felt okay again if I kept the same pair of jeans out for a few days. It's a lot easier to focus on my kids- on controlling this disease- if I don't think about my appearance.

The other day I pulled out one of my favorite fall nail polishes. I stared at the bottle and counted minutes in my head. Would they dry before the kids got home from school? Probably.

But what if I'm needed?

What if the school calls and says I need to run over with more supplies? Just pulling my cellphone out from my purse would smudge the polish. What if she came home crying from her high blood sugar, and I was needed to hold her and stroke her hair? I'd get my wet polish stuck in her hair. What if I noticed she didn't have enough of the snacks she needed, and I had to stuff my hands in the pretzel bag? What if I have to test her blood, but I get polish all over the test strip? What if…?

I painted them anyway. 

I felt guilty. I was choosing myself above my diabetic child. Over all my children. Over everything else.

Sure, this kind of thinking lines up perfectly with what the world is saying today. "Take care of you. You deserve it. How do you expect the world to come bowing before you if you don't show them you are worth their respect?"

OK, the world wasn't saying "Paint your nails." To be honest, the world doesn't care what I do with my nails, because the world is too busy thinking about itself anyway.

But it's okay. Life goes on. 

Painting my nails was message too. I'm giving in. I can't control the disease. I can't. It's too big. (By control, I mean to put it into submission of my whim. We are not ignoring it and letting it go "out of control.") I'm getting that now. Diabetes is always going to be one step ahead of us. We can give her what we think is the right amount of insulin, and she could skyrocket. Or we could measure every last carb, and she will dip below target. I hate that, but that's what it is. 

I had to paint my nails. It was a step. Diabetes might go any direction it wants, but I'm not going to sit and wait for it to decide where it wants me to go. I'm not going to put off doing my regular life activities while I am busy trying to predict where her blood sugar is going to go. It's going to go where it's going to go, and I'll take care of it. 

One of these days, my little one won't need me to wash her hair. We will allow her to make her own breakfast because she is already counting how many carbs she is allowed to eat. And when she is not counting carbs or checking her numbers, she's going draw pictures, read books, and ride her bike. She's going to dress up pretty and wear her medical alert necklace like purple heart medal.

We have to start somewhere. I started by painting my nails. Now, I'm going to paint my daughter's too.





(The above picture is a stock picture. No actual nails were painted this badly in my house.)

We Thought It Was A Virus

It was much worse. When my baby told me on the first Thursday of the school year that she didn't feel quite right, I kept her home from school, even though there was no fever. She doesn't make up illnesses. She loves school.

So, I had her rest on Thursday, and Friday she felt a little better. Saturday was not a good day. We ate our dinner out at a family buffet. She was miserable, but determined to eat. Strange. She ate a main dish, so I allowed her to have an icee drink, which led to more pain in her belly and more crankiness. (She wouldn't tell me that her belly was upset, because she was afraid I wouldn't allow her to eat! Remember this…) Then, upon leaving, we treated the restaurant to our daughter giving back everything she ate… right in front of their establishment.

Home for rest. More crankiness. I was eager for the virus I knew was in her body to hurry up and run its course. She had no fever - just like the stomach bug we all had a few months previously. While Sunday she stayed home from church to rest again, and seemed to being doing a little better, she still didn't eat much (because we didn't let her). She was terribly thirsty, and besides all the water she had, we made sure she had plenty of ginger ale to help her belly. And a new symptom was developing - wheezy breathing. She must have had a cold and stuffy nose on top of everything else.

Monday was bad. All she wanted to do was snuggle. On my lap, I noted that she would need to brush her teeth when she felt better. Her breath was pretty bad. 

She could barely walk, but was moving fast enough to get to the bathroom several times. By evening, she was throwing up. More ginger ale. She wanted to spend the night on the floor in the bathroom. Writhing in pain, she begged me to take "it" away. How I wished I could! Throwing up did not make her feel better - it made her feel worse. That was a clue to me that something wasn't right. This was not a virus. Continuing to snuggle her, I felt her heart. It fluttered. Another clue. That was when I made my decision to call the doctor.

The on-call nurse called me back around 10 in the evening. It didn't matter how late it was, because I knew I was keeping her home from school the next day. The nurse felt we should head over the the ER because she could have been dealing with a blockage. In my pajamas, I scooped up my baby, who could no longer walk, and brought her to a very crowded hospital.

At this point, she was screaming in pain and frustration. That might have been a good thing, because we were called almost immediately. However, my little one had deteriorated to the point where when she needed to go to the bathroom, I had to hold her up while doing the whole procedure for her. Pulling up pants while baby girl can do nothing but slump? Mama got a work out. Also, this was when the incoherent speech began. At that time, I had no idea the dangerous waters she had entered.

It was only a month ago, but some of this night was a blur. I believe the great ER admitting attendant finagled to find us a room somewhere between 11-11:30pm. I remember my baby lying on that big bed while grappling with the thought that she had lost 20 pounds. (Keep in mind, we are talking about a 7-year old who started at 60 lbs. earlier in the summer.) I remember looking at her ghostly white face and thinking about how deeply her eyes were sunken in.

Several great nurses worked with us, and it was immediately determined that she was dehydrated. How can that be? I thought. All she's been doing all summer has been drinking water.

The dehydration provided a new problem, one that would cause trouble all week. This tiny, 40-lb. child with roll-y veins would prove to be a challenge for any professional looking to place an IV. At first, she found this needle-digging painful, but after the first hour or so, she was too incoherent to even notice.

A doctor had been in to ask the same questions I had already answered for nurses and other attendants. I don't even remember what they were now. He mentioned CAT scans and testing for some scary diseases. I'm pretty sure God let those diseases float in one ear and right out another. I have no idea now what he said.

What I do remember is the nurses calling for Alan - the Super Nurse. He remained the only person able to start an IV on her through the week. (This includes anyone on the pediatric IV specialist team in in regional ICU we went to.) It was Alan who noticed her wheezy breathing and said, "Has anyone tested her glucose?" 

No one blinked. Someone immediately moved to get a nearby reader and did what seemed to be an instantaneous test. 

"561."

The number, the moment, that changed our lives. I knew a little about diabetes. I knew they were testing her sugar level and that they expected to see a number between 80-100. 

561. Where it all changed. Treatment now had a direction. Of course, I was in a daze, still dwelling on that number that I knew was bad. There going to be no more tests, not at our local hospital, anyway. Now knowing how very sick my daughter was, and had been for some time (her A1C was 14.0), the doctor was hurriedly making plans to get her transferred to a hospital with a pediatric ICU, an hour and a half away.

We thought she had a virus.

Really, she had Type 1 Diabetes. And she had gone into Keto Acidosis (DKA). Doctors were now concerned, as I would later find out, about swelling in her brain and the permanent damage that it could lead to.

Once the ambulance got us to the next hospital, a pediatric team got working on her right away. The paramedics left us and were replaced by several doctors and nurses. It was going on 6:00 a.m., and neither my baby or I had slept at all. For her, it was because even though her speech made no sense, the doctors were afraid of her losing consciousness. So they kept her awake. For me, I was just too scared. We wouldn't be able to sleep through the night for a few days more.

Another round of questions came for me and for her after we arrived. I was asked the same questions I had been asked a few times before now, about family disease history and so forth. She was asked questions to determine her lucidity, such as her name and who I was. I was so nervous about her answering correctly, I could have thrown up. 

Throughout the next day, she began to "transition" as they told me, out of DKA. The vigilance and constant presence of the nurses made me nervous. They were worried too. Fear was an ever-present guest in our hospital room. I was taken aside early the first day to be told that visitors should be kept to "family only" during her recovery. Fear didn't get the memo, because it is not part of our family.

The many machines she was hooked up to fed her the liquid, medicine, and nutrients her body needed, while others monitored her heart, blood pressure, and other vitals. She still has some residue of the tape marks on her little body. 

As she came out, through the week, her breathing became more normal, her skin tone less ashy, her face less sunken, and her feet less blue. All good signs. Then, as more tests needed to be taken, more blood needed to be drawn, and with her awareness increasing, the blood draws drew many tears and wails in addition to the scant amount of blood they were able to get. As painful as it was to watch her recognize the pain, I was thankful that she was with us and able to cry.

Eventually, the IV fluids and insulin were removed, and the training began. I was thrown into the world of shot giving. God made me a fast learner as I needed to be. But watching trained nurses struggle to get enough blood from her fingers on a prick should have given me an indication of what we had to come at home.

The turning point and highlight for my little girl was a visit from the therapy dog, Jasper. I am so thankful for Jasper. As he jumped up onto her bed, ready for a loving petting from tiny, bandaged hands, he had no idea he had brought the first smile to her face we had seen in days.

In truth, we were beginning to see what the high sugar level and acid in her blood had done to my little girl over the summer. (Her blood pH level was one of the most acidic the doctors had ever seen in a child that young.) Screaming fits and toddler-like tantrums had become such the norm, we joked about walking on eggshells. The reality was, she just felt miserable and had no way to tell us that her pancreas had stopped working.

After she was discharged, we spent the next day in "diabetes boot camp," learning about the disease, the basics of her care, and most importantly - how to feed our child. Our lessons have been reinforced daily.

The first few weeks at home have been tough - especially on grumpy days when her sugar is high. I was asked in the hospital, repeatedly, what questions I had. At the time, I knew too little to know what to ask. Now, I wish I had a live-in nurse just to answer questions (and if she could do pricks and shots too, that would be great.)

We haven't really told her much about what "forever" is going to look like for her here on earth. That's because we are sincerely hoping a cure is on the horizon soon. If nothing else, this new diagnosis has brought us to our knees much more often. He never left her, and we are sure He will always be by her side. God has been good - now that she has the medicine she needs, she is feeling much better than she had been through the summer. Our permanently grumpy little girl has gone away and been replaced by one more aware of what her moods mean and how to control them.

We thought she had a virus. We were wrong, but God saw us through and saved my baby from what could have been something very bad. I hope this post has given you some ideas of symptoms to look for if your own child gets sick and you worry it could be Type 1 Diabetes. I will reiterate it by posting a list soon. Until that time, give your child a hug, and remind him or her that God is always in control.