A couple of days ago...in the car, on our way to school...
"OK Joe, so I'll bring your LEGO Ninjago Space Ship~Thingy and Catching Fire for the Endo visit." No comments on the Catching Fire. Bridget read it. Yes, violence. Yes, it, the violence, isn't as "depersonalized" as Star Wars with it's Lightsabers, or as Harry Potter with it's "STUPIFY", etc. I know ... kids killing kids with spears, arrows, and hand-to-hand combat that is organized and sensationalized by the government to instill fear in the "governed" seems to be a bit inappropriate for an eight (almost nine) year old. After typing that I realize that... indeed ... yes, I suck.
Back to the story at hand...
"Oh... and... Joe, please try not to laugh when the doctor examines you. He is a diabetes expert and he needs to look you over to see how your body is doing with diabetes."
In the rear view mirror, I see Joe's eyes widen. "You mean he is the best at diabetes in the world."
"Ahh. No. Well, I don't know exactly Joe. Let's just say he is the best at diabetes in children in our region. How's that?"
"mmmm" Joe seemed satisfied with my shifty response.
I dropped Joe off at school. I had a couple of hours before I needed to return to grab him for the Endo appointment. Now, usually I am not too thrilled to be going to Endocrine appointments. It seems that they coincide with a bad batch of blood sugar trends. I have felt that I was going in to "face the music". I have had "defensive manifestos" prepared for my actions with the pump, with boosting, with letting the settings ride. This time, however, I felt confident. Joe's numbers have been steady. Diabetes has been in the periphery of our day-in-the-life. Joe's last A1C was 7.3%; his highest, since pumping. I was hoping for a 6.6 to a 6.9%.
With Lego Ninjago thingy and Catching Fire in hand, I collected Joe from his school and off to Endo we went. While entering the parking garage, I saw a stretcher with a covered body being loaded into a hearse. I scope out Joe's focus. He saw it too; the body. He thought it was being loaded onto an "ambulance" and he did not understand why the persons head was "under a maroon colored sheet". I explained that the person was dead and that the body was being taken for burial. Joe chimed in "so the doctors did everything they could to save that person and they just couldn't". So... do I just go with it? Or, do I let him know that "life" isn't always the "best outcome" for the patient. I let him know ... the truth. This upset him a bit. The part that a person would choose death over treatment options. He wanted to know that I would always choose to treat anything that comes my way in the "medical condition" department. I reassured him that I would at this stage of my life... that I would do everything possible to ensure that I would be here for he and Bridget. A simple "good", was his response.
After the "body" sighting and deep discussion we headed into our appointment.
The Endo visit was uneventful. Joe's A1C was 6.9%, with a fairly tight standard deviation.
We checked out. On the elevator to the parking garage, an elderly man in a wheel chair joined Joe and I for the ride. I looked down at the gentleman's feet. He was missing one. His prosthetic was visible. I notice Joe's eyes were taking it in (face palm... I don't think I can handle another deep convo with this kid today). We departed from the elevator; from the one-legged man. Joe said nothing for a few moments. Then... "I think he lost his foot racing dirt bikes Ma."
A day-in-the-life of trying to parent a kid through doctors visits at the hospital.