An Hour's Time...

The numbers never cease to amaze me.  How quickly they can turn on you; for the better or for the worse.

10:00 am-ish today:  BG: 319    Ketones: 3.9.  Site was removed; cannula was kinked.  Supposedly Joe had been in the 300s since 6am.  I never checked in with him about his pre-breakfast number until now (head hangs and shakes from side-to-side in shame).  New site was placed.  A "correction" of 2.3 units of insulin was given.

"How long will this last?" ~ Joe to me.  He is referring to the death-ate-a-cracker-feeling that he is enduring.

"Hopefully not more than a few hours."

Joe's sick.  Ketotic sick.  He's never been that kind of sick before.  Sure, he has been vomit-bug sick with subsequent ketones, but not vice-versa...the ketones inducing the "vomit-feeling" sick.

He is pale.  He is lethargic.  He is nauseated.  He is crumpled in his bed.  He should be at a baseball game right now.  And, sadly I actually tried to push him to go and play.  (I have a "competitive issue".... and ahhh... a "suck-it-up issue)."

Sometimes, actually a lot of the time these days...I forget that I am messing with a disease.  Not sure what I think I am doing with all the blood sugar checking and bolusing and carb counting and needle jabbing.

The "invisibilities" of  type 1 diabetes are like a double-edged sword. On the one hand, I am thankful for Joe's "normal-ness" in his appearance. His ability to run, jump, skate, bike, scooter, gallop, skip, and careen astounds us all. I am thankful for it; truly I am. On the other hand, what is difficult; what stings; what is painful is that the very thing I am grateful for is the very thing that detracts on why a cure is so desperately needed. It takes away from all that is done "behind the scenes", hourly, to ensure Joe's safety and wellbeing. The hidden sequella of it all can lull you into a false sense of comfort. It can lull the public into the inaccurate perception that we "have it under control". It has even, at times, lulled me into apathy and indifference.

An hour later...11:00 am:  Joe's perky voice is calling from his bedroom announcing his recovery as evidenced by his sudden urge to consume a fluffer-nutter.  BG: 249    Ketones:  2.4.  Carbs: 48.  Insulin Bolused:  2.3 units.

Things are going to return to "normal" quickly it appears.  The numbers, like I said before, never cease to amaze me.  How quickly they can turn on you; for the better or for the worse.  In and hour's time, things are drastically different.  Must be unsettling for one's body and subsequently for one's psyche.

A day-in-the-life of  an hour's time of living with type 1 diabetes.

The "One-Eye"

I think I was pulling the "one-eye"... you know...the middle of the night check "one-eye"?  It is where I only open one eye so that I can traverse the walk to Joe's room and sift through his d' supplies to grab a blood sugar check, while tricking myself that I am still sleeping b/c one eye is closed.  I think I was pullin' the "one-eye" at 6:07am this morning as I stumbled back into my room...from Joe's.

Dave to me:  "What are ya doin'?"

Me:  "Just checkin' to make sure Joe was still alive...he is not in his room...so he must be good."

Yes.  I am serious.  This is what I said.  This is what goes on in our d' home.

Here is what happened...here is what went down.

1:47am - I woke.  On my own.  I usually do in anticipation of the alarm.  I set my alarm for  3am,  but usually wake an hour or so prior; my internal clock so-to-speak.  The "one-eye" was employed per usual.  Joe's blood sugar was 280.  I went to bolus...I cannot remember how much the pump called for.  I think it was like 1.8 units.  I scrolled up the insulin dose, pressed OK.  Then that "dunh..nah..nuh...nah...nuh...nah...NUH" alarm went off.  You know (Animas users) that alarm that means something is up.  I looked at Joe's pump.  It said something to the effect of "there is not enough insulin left in the cartridge in this pump to give that dose you just scrolled up to".  There was 1 unit left in the cartridge.

You and I both know what I should have immediately begun to do.  You know.  Like open the other eye...traipse down the stairs...get out a new cartridge, a new set, an alcohol pad,  Site Prep,  IV 3000, and oh yea...the insulin.  You and I both know that I needed to be putting in a new site.

Now, please don't get judge-y here.  But, you wanna know what I initially did.  Yes, it is embarrassing.  It is embarrassing for a few reasons:  1) I am a nurse 2) I have been a d' rent for a pretty long time and know better and 3) this is my child and I should be taking decent care of him.

Ok...

Here goes...I stumbled, "one-eyed" back to my room and into my bed dividing 1 unit by his basal rate of 0.3 units/hr.  Hmmmm...I figured out that should get him to about 5am...with the non-corrected 280....knowing that I was hoping to sleep into 7am.  Then I actually was wondering how long it would take the ketones to climb...and finally I thought of the ICBCs (kinda going all "Princess Bride" here...you remember the ROUSs ~ Rodents Of Unusual Size).  ICBCs translates to Inevitable Cartridge Bubble Clingers.  So, technically Joe may only have about 0.5 units left in that pump.

Eyes (both of 'em) were opened.

Bed was exited.

Stairs were traipsed down.

Supplies were collected.

Site was changed.

280 was corrected.

The CARNAGE..  Note:  No Glucose Tabs were used in this scenario...They were toppled over from a previous night...left them in photo for "drama factor"



Technically, I should have set an alarm for 4-ish or 5am.  Too tired to set the alarm, I was relying on my internal clock to just kinda jostle me awake around then.  It didn't happen, hence the check for life at 6:07am.

A blood sugar was finally checked at 8am.  A 107 graced the glucometer screen.

A night-in-the-life of managing type 1 diabetes for my son Joe. 

Cyclone Holding A Chicken?

My message to Joe's school's attendance line, which is manned by a friend, this morning (names have been changed for "privacy-sake"):  "Hi Lucy.  Joe will not be at school today.  He is still feeling under the weather.  He will, however, be at the play again tonight as long as he doesn't spike a fever.  And... George (Lucy's son) made a great monkey last night!"

Joe's school of fourth and fifth graders have been working diligently over the past several weeks to put on "The Wizard Of Oz".

Joe was/is part of the backstage crew... AND ... wait for it .... wait for it ... wait for it.....  He got the part of .... "The Cyclone".  No, the irony is not lost on me. 

Prior to last night though,  Joe had been telling me he was "The Tornado With A Hay Bale."  Uhhh, ok, so I am not all that artsy and I am by no means a meteorologist ....ah sooooo .... I really did not think about the "cyclone"/"tornado" thing and I just had visions of Joe twirling all willy-nilly across the stage with a hay bale  leaving a trail of straw in his wake.

So, the opening night was last night.

Yesterday, Joe had come home from school sick.  No fever.  Just a scratchy throat and lethargy.  He rested throughout the day and felt well enough to participate in the play last evening.  His blood sugars had been unpredictable and then subsequently on the rise.  At 4:30-ish I fed him dinner.  His blood sugar was 350, negative for ketones.  I smacked him with a good 4.5 units for his blood sugar and a cup of mac and cheese.

Off to the play we went.  Joe busied himself backstage and with his pals.  I hogged-up a bunch of seats and proceeded to wait for the hour until show-time.  Joe came by once to check-in with me.  No diabetes tasks were undertaken.  Dave, Bridget, and friends eventually arrived and filled the seats around me.  The play started.  I did not see Joe with the backstage crew.  I did not see a "Tornado With A Hay Bale" fling by on stage when Kansas was gonna be no longer.  I had not seen Joe in over an hour.

I got worried.

I had the Woodchuck.

Joe did not have sugar on his person.

He was sick.  He was 350.  He ate mac and cheese.  He had not checked a blood sugar in over 2 hours.  I had no clue where his number was (ahhh...do I ever?).

My visions of Joe were of him slumped over somewhere in the halls of the high school, the venue for the production.  Maybe he was slumped in the corner of the dimly-lit backstage area?  Perhaps he was slumped over in the bathroom.

All these visions of slump-age made me (and Dave) more and more uncomfortable.  I waited for a pause in the action and made my way out of the theater and high-tailed it to the backstage area.  I went to one side and asked about Joe. A scarecrow told me Joe was on the other side.  I trounced behind the stage to the other side.  There was Joe.  He was on the edge of the stage, waiting for a scene to end so he could go grab a hay bale.  He would not come off for a check until his duty of hay-bale-removing was completed.   Once hay bale #1 was removed from the stage, he came to me.  Gave me a finger.  I pierced it (yes, I still do this sometimes when he is focused on other things...like cool life events).  5-4-3-2-1.... a 194 graced the screen.

I asked him about the "tornado scene".  I told him I got worried when I didn't see him come out with the other "cyclones".  His response was, "Mom I was the first cyclone ... the one holding the chicken".

Nice.

A day-in-the-life of monitoring my "cyclone".