This photo says it all...
The pallor, the grim expression, the dark circles creeping up under his eyes.
His focus wouldn't settle. It was like he couldn't find a place or an activity to make him feel "OK" or "right" in his body. This is what I observed of Joe at the New York Hall Of Science in Queens, NY last weekend when we were visiting my sister.
I suspected a low. Right as I was suggesting a blood sugar check, he stopped abruptly, sat, and said in a decrescendo voice "I feeeel low." He was ... a 50 graced the glucometer screen. Four Starbursts were dispensed to Joe, one to Bridget, and one to Cousin Chloe. We all copped a squat next to Joe right in the middle of the exhibition floor. We then waited. We waited with Joe. We waited for his legs to work. We waited for his mind to clear. We waited for him to feel well enough to move on.
At times I find it difficult to explain life with diabetes. Sure, it is relatively easy to talk about insulin, pumping, counting carbohydrates, and "boosting" for activity. But there is oh so much more to it. The waiting. The waiting is something I don't talk much about. We do it. Quite often, I suppose. Joe has some lows that will stop him dead in his tracks. When I see him splayed on the ground, on the floor, on the ice and hear the words "my legs won't work". I know. I know it is a bad one and we will be waiting a good 10 minutes or so before he will feel well enough to continue with his day. Sometimes there will be crying. Sometimes he needs to curl up in my lap. Intense hunger accompanies these lows as his brain waits for the glucose to hit his blood stream and cross the the blood brain barrier. Eyes stinging... ****ing diabetes.
A day-in-the-life of loving and supporting a child with type 1 diabetes.