Confidence in the Desired Outcome

The title...I think that means "hope".

Where has the time gone?  He is starting high school in the fall.  He's been living with, living well with t1d for like 11 years now.  I've been typing away on this blog on and off over the course of  7 years.

Graduation from Middle School

Woodchuck (I think normal people call it a "diabetes bag") has evolved from a camouflage-murse to a gray kinda-like messenger bag to a  royal blue Nike string-strapped backpack.  This new bag, well...it's not as convenient for me to assess supply needs, as everything is just jumbled up on the bottom.  Joe prefers it though.  It looks like what many of his friends carry.

NIKE Woodchuck

He wears a medical ID now; dog tags.  It's a must as he traverses the community without me present. I expressed the importance of having some sort of identification on him...you know, in case.  It's hard to phrase things like you might need help if you go so low that you can't talk...a.k.a. you are unconscious or maybe having a seizure...So I just kinda mumble through those moments.  He knows.  He knows he may need help at some point.  The ID is worn daily; no reminders needed.

Joe.  Joe seems pretty typical to me.  He is checking his blood sugar regularly.  He boluses for snacks and meals.  He doesn't appear uncomfortable with his diabetes-ness.  His CGM and POD are on his arms.  They are visible often.  He performs his care in front of his peers.  This is where I think an early diagnosis maybe has helped us; helped Joe.  He knows no different.  Having "something" has been his norm.

Me.  I go from this elated feeling of 'WOW...he's a teenager and he's still doing pretty well with the daily grind of managing t1d.'  My life has gone from micro-managing blood glucose levels, carb counting, bolusing, pump-site inserting, CGM inserting, blood sugar boosting 24/7 x 365.  Now, I assist with CGM insertions only.  Joe does the rest.  Occasionally, I check in on his self care with a "what's your number?" or a "did you bolus?".  I am pleasantly surprised by his response to a "how many carbs are you counting that as?" and his reply is within 5 grams of my calculation.  There is a huge relief in all of this.  He can participate in sports, solo, with minor d'-sasters here and there; these are learning experiences.  Each season he becomes better and better at handling the rigors of t1d and activity.  I say all of these things and then it sneaks in; the fear.  Fear of nights, of driving, of college.  Eleven years ago, when he was 3, I couldn't imagine us here.  He is thriving.  This is what I hold onto as I look forward to the next several years.

A day-in-the-life of hope...confidence that Joe will grow up happy and healthy and live a long life.

The Exam Table

There was a time I had to lift him up to the exam table. 

His A1C was 7.1%.  

An 8:15 a.m. appointment, during his first week of summer vacation, was not a cool start to his day-in-the-life. 😀

...On A Stick

As he stumbled to the pantry  for a juice box, an  'I feel like a butt cheek on a stick' was heard.

'What's your number?'

'38'

A teenage boy's description of a low in the day-in-the-life.