Fair Flu Shot

She slouched down in the passenger seat; her messy top knot bun was getting scrunched  up.

A few days ago during our car ride to the pediatricians office, mentions of flu mist and flu shots peppered the conversation.  Bridget was listening in earnest as Joe talked about live and dead viruses.  The dead ones being what he needed, due to his diabetes.  Unfortunately the dead ones were in the flu shot and not the mist.  Bridget could opt for the flu mist, since she does not have a chronic condition.  Bridget sighed and then slouched down a bit further.  Bun getting scrunched up even more.

Silence took over the moment

Quiet filled the space.

Then Bridget confidently stated "I'll do the shot too...  ... to be fair .. to Joe."

A simple, softly spoken "thanks Bridge" came from the back seat; from Joe.

For the remainder of the car ride, discussions of past vaccine and shot experiences ensued.

They were both nervous, anxious, and worked-up.  

We arrived to the parking lot.  As we exited the car, a hearty and quite unexpected ... "don't BlarT yourself Bridge!" was called out by Joe.  From what I could gather the verb in that statement is two simultaneous expulsions (or explosions; take your pick) from opposite ends of your body.  They were both concerned this may happen to them upon inoculation.

Lovely.  I'm so proud.

Joe and Bridget were hand-in-hand as we maneuvered through the parking lot.

"We are in this together" cried Bridge.

Flu Shot Selfie

Being fair in our day-in-the-life.

A Small Mention

Earlier in the morning he had played a hockey game.

Then he swam.

As he approached me from the hotel pool, I knew.  The stumbles in his gait gave me the heads-up before the quickly whispered "I feel low" was uttered into my ear, while I stood in the hotel lobby.

I tried to get him to sit and check.  He wouldn't.  He immediately headed up a flight of stairs to our room.  This act gave me some peace of mind, his ability to climb the stairs.  As he entered our room, he crumpled.  I checked.  He was 24.  Smarties were dispensed.  Time was waited out.  Another blood sugar of 45...juice...more time...another blood glucose of 36...another juice....  He had trouble lifting his arm to man the juice; his extremities were useless, weighted down from the lack of glucose.

This past weekend, Joe and I traveled to the Montreal area with his hockey team.  Traveling in itself  can present some challenges in managing t1d.  Add in hockey games and a swimming pool ... and ... well ... jabbing my eyes with fiery hot pokers sounds like a more pleasant experience.  Joe's blood sugars usually climb to the low 300s during hockey games, due to the adrenaline rush.  I  partially correct those highs and don't cover about 20-30 grams, or so, of post-game carbohydrates.  The swimming and the scant IOB from the small correction did him in.

A few hours after the BG of 24 incident:

"Joe, did you feel low while you were swimming?"

"yes..slipped...on the pool deck...my legs weren't working right."

"Why didn't you stop?  .... for sugar?"

"I thought I had more time." (before it got bad)

"Joe, you can't do that.  You need to stop when you feel that way and eat sugar.  It's dangerous.  You could die from a low."

"I could?"

"Yes, potentially.  You didn't know that?"

"No."

"You should treat the low right when you notice it."

A few hours after the 24/He played another hockey game.

I thought he knew lows could be lethal.  I don't know why I thought this.  I never really told him that.  I just assumed he knew.  Thinking back over the years, I realize I've avoided telling him that little tid bit.  There was no reason to when he was 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, or maybe even 10 years old.  Now there is.  He is a 12 year old boy developing quite typically.  He wants his independence.  I want him to have it.  It all scares me sometimes..though.

A small mention of death during our day-in-the-life.

My REM Cycle

Many, many countless nights this happens to me.  The Dexcom alarms integrate into my dreams.  They seamlessly become part of my REM sleep cycle.  At times, I believe the alarms have continued for 30 minutes, perhaps longer, before I am nudged to wakefulness.

The alarms can be actual alarms in the dream; like an alarm on an alarm clock or an alarm to alarm me about a dreamt-up patient who has some impending decompensation. The alarms can also be a motor-like noise; like a noise of a broken vacuum cleaner or a dishwasher gone bad.  The alarm can also be some app on the kids' phones.  In my dreams, I'm searching through bags and backpacks, going house to house, traversing through malls, through yards, in search for the sound so that I can put an end to it's intrusiveness. 

Our Backyard/Moon

1:38am, a few nights ago..

WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!

It becomes part of my dream.

It's annoying because I can hear it and it keeps me just enough awake, but somehow I'm kind of  sleeping.  

WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!

Again, I can't quite figure out what the noise is.  I'm trying to locate the source of it as I play the main character in my dream.  It keeps my brain just active enough to prevent total rest; complete sleep.

WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!

Finally, I wake enough.  I remember Joe.  My son.  My kid who has diabetes.  The alarm is the "DEFCON 1", he is really, really, really low alarm. Another  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP!  WOMPP! sounds off, for good measure.

I wake.  I plod into his room.  I ready the glucometer.  I lift his finger for lancing.  His hand recoils.  A "bud ... your low" is softly spoken.  His hand relaxes.  I check.  He's 51.  One glucose tab is popped into his mouth.  He sleeps. He chews.  I'm nodding off sitting by his side, waiting for the first tab to be masticated.  Tab two goes in.  He remains sleeping.  The tab is slowly chewed and swallowed.  Finally, the third tab is given.  I wait til it's gone, making sure he doesn't asphyxiate.  The basal rate is decreased by 50% for two hours.

A day-in-the-life of our nights with type 1 diabetes.