The Art of Forgetfulness

 Maddie is a talented girl.  I am often amazed at the things that she knows, and is capable of doing, and doing well, at the age of 12. Among other things, she is smart, witty, and super funny. She has a hint of sarcasm, but fortunately, she only uses it in humorous situations.  Oh, and most importantly, she has an impeccable memory....when it has to do with ANYTHING besides her diabetes.  With that, she is struck with an early onset severe memory disorder. 

"Did you check your blood sugar before lunch?"

"Ooohhhh...I forgot."

"Did you correct for your spaghetti like I asked you to?"

"Oops--I forgot."

"Don't forget to correct for that snack!"

{Hours later} "Uh oh....I forgot."

"Your blood sugar is a little too high right now.  Save that candy for when it comes down."

"Aww man--I forgot!"

I thought this kind of memory loss is supposed to be saved for women after they've had children.  I understand that she hates that she has to always deal with this stupid diabetes, but I would think that it would be automatic by this point.

It's weird--she can't remember anything that has to do with diabetes and carbs and insulin, but she doesn't seem to forget where her iPod is, or how much chore money she's owed, or that last Friday I told her I would get her favorite snack at the grocery store next time I went, or that I told her she could occasionally stay up until 11pm on some school nights (whaaaat?!?) or that 5 weeks ago, I promised her that I'd take her to Aeropostale at 2:30pm next Saturday (really?).....

Starting Over

This past summer, we made a very important decision.  Maddie decided that she wanted to go back to school.  Instead of going to the private school where she attended K-2nd grade, with a full-time nurse to keep a watchful eye on her, she went back to public school.  Back to having 25 kids in one class, back to me not knowing what or how much she's eating, back to a nurse being at the school ONE day per week, back to regular daily recess and PE sessions, and back to me worrying about her for approximately 5 hours of the day.

I honestly enjoyed homeschooling Maddie.  I can't guarantee that I was the best teacher in the world, but we had a really good time.  Unfortunately, I'm not one of these supermoms that I have come in contact with on a weekly basis over the last 2 years who have made it their life's work to educate their children.  I just did what I had to do at the time, and now I'm through with it.  When I started really thinking of all the "normal" fun things that she was going to miss out on by not being in a school setting, I started to feel guilty.  It doesn't have anything to do with her social skills, but more importantly, little things like chatting with her friends at lunch and recess, playing an informal game of kickball on the playground, field trips, Go Far, and the list goes on and on..... 

I had started thinking about checking into the school where the neighborhood kids attend.  I asked around (including people whose kids do not attend there) and found that it was in fact a great school--the best elementary school in the county.  I made a brief mention of "going back to school" to Maddie, and she was all over it.  All it took was one tour of the school, and she was hooked.

Then came the logistics.

"Maddie, you HAVE to remember to check your blood."

"Maddie, you have to speak up when you are feeling low, or are high."

"Maddie, you have to call me if your site needs to be changed."

"Maddie, you have to remember to give yourself insulin when you're through eating lunch."

"Maddie?  Maddie?  Maddie, are you listening to me?!?"

Then it came time to talk to the teachers, principal, and nurse about diabetes.  They are so very sweet.  I laid everything out very simply and neatly, and they took notes, and asked questions, but they have never had a diabetic child at the school before, so I still worry.  I was surprised to find that they were all attending a Type 1 seminar before school started, but I'm not sure how much information they were expected to retain--sometimes things like that are very overwhelming.  I do believe that if there is a question about anything, they will not hesitate to call me.

So, now we've been in school for over a week, and I have to say, she LOVES it.  Every day there's a new friend.  Every day, something hilarious happens in class.  Every day, they do some crazy-fun experiment or game.  Every day is better than the day before.  But still, every day I worry about her blood sugar.  But at least I know she's having a great time and enjoying herself, and that they're taking good care of her....every day. 

Diabetes 101

It was a Wednesday afternoon. When we walked in, the nurse took us to a conference room. Whew--no examination room, no paper liner on the table, no tiny sink or stool with wheels. Just a table and 4 chairs. It wasn't anything intimidating for a 5 year old. And there we sat from 2 p.m. until it got dark outside. I don't even know when we left. All I knew was that my mom had my 2 year old and we had a sick daughter.

We learned A LOT about diabetes that afternoon. We learned about cells, blood, sugars, the pancreas, how to give shots, how to check glucose, what to do when, and what to do where. It was information overload. I remember thinking that this was more information than I had taken in during all 4 years of college.

Then it was time. The doctor wanted ME to give my child a shot. He wanted ME to stick a needle in her smooth tanned skin. I washed my hands. I prepared the insulin. I screwed on the needle. I wiped down her skin with alcohol.

Now, we don't have cats, but I've heard that it is almost impossible to get a cat into a toilet. Why anyone would want to put a cat down into a toilet bowl is beyond me, but nonetheless, I've heard it's tough. Supposedly the cat clings onto the side for dear life, all the while scratching, biting, hissing, and screaming. Clinging to your arm, so as to not get wet from the water.

Administering this shot, was like trying to get a cat in the toilet. Once I held up that needle, we had to catch Maddie. Once we had her in our grasp, we had to physically hold down her arms and legs. We had to hold her still, because she was NOT going to let us near her with a needle in our hands. After the even-keeled doctor and nurse tried for about 10 minutes to talk her into letting us stick her, Shawn stepped in and held her. When she wouldn't allow him to hold her down, the doctor, who is probably 5 feet tall and in his 60's, grabbed Maddie, while the nurse held her arms and sat on her legs.

I had a tiny window of opportunity to stick her teeny little tummy with this stupid needle. I just went for it. I held my breath, pinched up her skin, and let her have it. I was sweating, my eyes were burning, the lump in my throat was painful, I was nauseous, and I was shaking. Shawn was as white as a ghost and plastered up against the wall in the corner.

The sound that came out of that child's mouth was like nothing that I had ever heard before. Not only was she being held down by 2 total strangers, but she was getting a shot in her stomach, and it was being administered by her mother. The person that promised that she would never let anything happen to her. The person who loved and hugged and kissed her. The one that held her and rubbed her head when she was upset. The one that picked her up when she skinned her knee and carried her inside. The one that sat up all night when she was sick. Hopefully she would forgive me for this.

When it was over, I was relieved, Maddie was an angry mess, the doctor and nurse were stunned, and Shawn was still quiet and pale. What a relief that it was over!! Now, I only had to do that exact same thing 6-8 times a day for the rest of her life. Oh, and by the way, I only have to check her blood sugar 12 times a day until we get this under control.

As we were leaving the dark and vacant doctors office late on that Wednesday evening, the doctor announced, "I'll see you at 9 in the morning. Be prepared to stay until at least 6 p.m. Oh, and you'll come in all day on Friday, too."

We had a trip to the beach planned for that weekend. Shawn was going on a missions trip the week after that. What in the world were we going to do? I don't know if I can handle this. I guess I don't have much of a choice.

Panic

Have you ever not totally known what was going on, but you could tell that it wasn’t good by the face on the person in charge? To look at a man, that had inspected every square inch of my child’s body, and see his face go pale, and his eyes bug out, is never good. All he said was, “She’s over 600,” and he left the room.

“What’s he doing?” I had such a confused look on my face.

“She’s definitely got diabetes. She’s higher than I’ve ever seen a child be.”

Susan was speaking quietly, as if she didn’t want Maddie to hear her, or as if it wasn’t going to sting my innermost being to hear her blurt out something so dreadful about my child. She cleaned up from checking Maddie’s blood sugar and left the room.

You know, when you are trying not to cry, and you get that lump in your throat, then it kind of burns your nose, and your eyes well up? You know that feeling? Or when you get in some kind of accident and right as it’s happening, you’re thinking, “Great--wouldn’t you know this would happen to me.” Or what about when something happens, and you know that you can do nothing to change the situation or influence the outcome?

I could hear him in his office through the walls. He was talking too loudly. But I could only make out phrases like, “immediately,” “serious,” and “she’s only 5 years old.” I had forgotten that Maddie was actually sitting there on the bench next to me, or that my mom was in the waiting room with my 18 month old. I just remember staring at the tiles on the floor, wondering what I had done wrong for my beautiful daughter to be sick.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” That’s usually a question that any mother shouldn’t want to answer. What should I tell her? How do I tell her what diabetes is, when I don’t even know what it is? Is it going to go away? How can I fix it? Does she have to go to the hospital? What’s going to happen to my little girl’s life???

“I don’t know, Maddie.”

The Date Was June 28, 2006

The first week of June in 2006, our family went to Disney World. Yes, we went in June. Yes, it was 150 degrees outside in the sun all day. And yes, we went to the parks as soon as they opened, and we were there until the parks closed. Maddie was 5 and Reilly was 18 months old. We had lots of snacks, and we ate every meal at the park restaurants, and at the different fast food stands. The kids had every slushy flavor that existed, every cotton candy color that they sold, and ate at every snack food stand that they saw. We were just living it up. That was our vacation, and we hadn't been on one like that ever, and probably won't again for a long time.

For quite some time before that trip, I had noticed that Maddie had terrible dark circles under her eyes. I just thought it was from being tired, or maybe her glasses prescription had changed and she was straining her eyes, or maybe she needed to drink more milk, or eat more vegetables.

She had also started wetting the bed every night. Here is my daughter, who at 2, decided that she wanted to use the potty, and never, I repeat, NEVER, wet her pants again. No pull-ups, no accidents, and no changing the sheets in the middle of the night. This girl had a camel bladder. I went twice as many times as she went during the day.

Maddie had begun to use the bathroom all the time during the day. She would go every 15 minutes. She would go as soon as she woke up. She would go whenever and wherever she was. When she went, it was as if she hadn't been in hours. She also began drinking everything in sight. If you had any beverage, she would walk up to it and down it in a matter of seconds. She would drink the whole glass if you didn't take it away from her. She didn't even care whose it was. If it was liquid, she would drink it.

Instead of buying her summer clothes that spring, I went digging through her old clothes because not only was she not fitting into her shorts that were 4's and 5's, but some of her 3's were falling off of her waist. She had started wearing size 2 and 3 shorts (normally a 2 and 3 year old size) with her size 4 and 5 tops.

All of these things mentioned were strange things that I had noticed over the spring months, but I never put them all together. I just thought she was acting weird, or she was just going through a growth spurt and maybe she was leaving her "baby-ness" behind and turning into a "big kid". I started getting a bad feeling about all of these things when we got home from our vacation because it seemed as if everything was magnified from that point on. All of these "symptoms" seemed to get worse. I realized I had to do something about it, or at least talk to a doctor.

I remember June 27th, 2006, sitting in my driveway, calling my sister, who at the time, was the only diabetic person I knew. She told me things like, "She doesn't have diabetes--you're crazy" and "save your copay, and I'll check her blood sugar next time I'm in town" but something inside of me was making me feel uneasy about the way Maddie looked and the way she was acting. So I hung up with my sister, and still sitting in the driveway, I called the pediatrician and asked to speak with the nurse.

As of right now, 3 years later, I can remember sitting in the driver’s seat, the car running, it was 5:00, and Maddie and Reilly were both asleep in the back seat. The nurse’s name was Susan, and all I remember is her saying, “Well, if you think she has diabetes, we need to get her in first thing in the morning.” There was no appointment made, there were no instructions, just get up, and bring her in! So, as directed, the next morning, my mom and I took Maddie up to the pediatrician’s office. Mom waited in the waiting room, and Maddie and I went down the hall, where we had gone so many times before. All the way, I’m telling Maddie that it’s going to be fine, but they would have to prick her finger, but I would get her a prize if she didn’t cry. At this point, my main concern was whether or not she would let the nurse have her finger.

That was the longest walk down that hallway that I can ever remember.