D' Diligence

This just in...

By the way, I am grumpy...have a cold...

Car ride home from school, about 10 minutes ago. 

Me to Joe:  "You ordered the school lunch for the field trip tomorrow. Right?"  (We filled out forms for the all day hike a couple of weeks ago.  My mind is already carb-counting-out his lunch and trying to settle on some sort of basal reduction plan that may or may not work depending on the Universe's alignment and 'tude tomorrow...oh, and Joe's growth hormones, exertion level...hikes have notoriously left me a wreck in the past.  My worry of losing Joe in the woods connected to lethal amounts of insulin dripping into his body is a hard habit to shake.  He hikes fast.  I am usually clambering up or down some mountain paces behind him...yelling for him to slow down...it has been like this for years... yes, it is a little embarrassing)

DUH-faced Joe: "Mom!  You did not tell me to hand in the forms."

*internally going all kinds of ballistic*

Let me tell you the system.  The school sends home a folder.  Every.Friday.  The folder has two sides.  One side is labeled "home" and one side is labeled "school".  So the forms to view and complete are in the "home" side of the folder.  I view them.  I complete them.  I then put them in the "school" side of the folder.  The folder then makes it's way to school via Joe's backpack.  Now, I don't know how the folder traverses the school from this point on, but I am assuming that some-how, some-way those forms get to where they need to get. Hopefully the issue here is that Joe forgot about those particular forms on that particular week a couple of weeks ago.  Hopefully he is all set to go...for tomorrow.  Hopefully, I am frustrated for no reason.

Me:  "Joe the forms were in the folder." (firm, no-nonsense voice)

Joe:  "Ahhh .... what folder?" (mind you, there is only this one folder in Joe's life right now)

Me:  "Joe, this is your job.  I put the papers in your folder two weeks ago.  It had your permission form.  It had your menu choices.  It let them know that I am riding the bus and going on the field trip with you.  I am gonna blow a gasket on ya."

"And ...did you turn in your book order?"

*his blank expression spoke for him...he forgot to turn that in today*

"Fine.  If you don't hand in the book order, you don't get the books.  That is a logical consequence."  Using tactical parenting lingo while actually parenting is most likely not smart.  I am giving him an unfair advantage.

We pulled into the driveway.  I had, finally, calmed.

Bridget, Joe and I settle into the kitchen.  I look over Joe's daily diabetes log. We are still struggling with managing a large drop from pre-recess to post-recess.  At this point, I hesitate before looking at the numbers...depressing.

Joe notices me looking at his numbers.

Joe:  " I was double-downing before recess..." (he was 108 while Dexter showed the rapid drop)

Joe continued on:  "I didn't go for an Oreo~boost.  I needed fast-acting sugar for that number ... with the double-down and all.  I went for Skittles".

Joe's day-in-the-life of being a normal, forgetful nine year old boy while showing D' diligence.

It Was A Bad One

Trying to "harness" Joe's exuberant energy level is an impossible task. I know this. I don't even know why I tried. I expended more energy yelling at him while I was trying to run and keep up with him. I should have just saved myself and only focused on the running part. He is what he is and it is one of the things I love most about him.

"Walking LEGS Joe!"

and...

"Joe WAIT!"

and...

"Joe SLOW DOWN!"

and...

"JOE STOP!"

.... were repeated over and over and over again yesterday on the Snake Mountain Field Trip. It rained. The trail was wet and muddied. Leaves camouflaged rocks and roots that inhabited the path. My eyes were always glued to Joe who seemed to go into stealth mode and would suddenly be like 80 feet ahead of me. I fell a couple of times. It rained. I got eaten alive by mosquitoes. No really...it was all good. Seriously.

I digress...back to the story...

While hiking, my friend said she had never seen me like this. She had never seen me so anxious about Joe. Odd how I am fine with him playing hockey, skating up and down ramps at skate parks, and careening down slip and slides while standing on boogie boards, but a damn hike in the woods sends me over the edge.

Let me explain.

I am afraid of losing my diabetic kid in the woods. I am afraid he will get lost. I am afraid he'll go low. I am afraid no one will be there to help him and he will die. Alone. It is that simple.

*******

The hike started at a Tasmanian-like pace. Joe was working the trail with vigor. He and his friend were chatting incessantly. I was keeping up while hanging and talking with a good friend. Joe seemed fine ... for awhile. We had boosted him with 20 grams of carbs on the bus and decreased his basal by 30%.

About 10 minutes into the hike, Joe was 180 and double downing on Dexter. He drank a juice and continued on at a generous pace for a bit. Then he took another look at Dexter. I could tell he was starting to feel "off". Whenever he starts peeking at Dexter frequently like this, he is in for some massive blood sugar swings... 140, still double downing. I performed my heroics as a life-sized human Pez Dispenser and doled out a couple of Starbursts and changed the basal reduction to a negative 60%. I suggested a "break" from hiking until the arrows stop plummeting. No. Joe will hear none of it. We continued on with our friends.

A few minutes later...

"Mom...my legs don't work."

Here we go. It will be a bad one.

Joe sat on the side of the trail. His blood sugar was 50. Dexter was showing a 40 and double-downing. He was dropping fast. We were in the middle of the woods in B.F.E. I encouraged our friends to move on. I didn't want to ruin their hike. Joe was chomping down Starbursts. I was kneeling beside him. As far as my eye could see, the trail was then uninhabited. I felt a teensy-tiny bit uneasy as Joe was pasty and his CGM was still showing a 40 with double arrows down.

Joe's voice snapped me out of my unease.

"Mom, you may need to carry me down the mountain. I cannot make it up."

This angered me.  Not at Joe. But at the disease; at the low. You see, my son ... my Joe ... is not a quitter. He would not back down from a hike. It isn't in his nature. The low was clouding his judgement and making him feel so weak that he was considering giving up.

"Joe, I know you feel bad now. Let's ride out the low. We are hiking this mountain. Has mom ever let you down before? You will feel differently in a couple of minutes Buddy. Hang in there."

With the pep-talk complete and a few more minutes under our belt and some good friends coming up along the path, we continued on our way up Snake Mountain. Joe made his way to the front of the pack and was with the first group that emerged from the woods; from the hike. Due to his speedy-hiking, I got the "added bonus" of sitting on the bus an extra 40 minutes waiting for the rest of the Third Graders to finish the hike. Yay me (in a "Livin' the Dream" ~ like voice).

A day-in-the-life of Type 1 Diabetes and Joe on Snake Mountain.