Type 1 Diabetes

Today

2009-11-23T09:01:00.000-08:00

Nolan has now officially retired from having diabetes. He is done, he has said, "I'm out!" and no longer wants to have anything to do with it.

And I dont blame him.

For almost five years, he was an ideal "diabetic" and endured all of the lameness of being sick and feeling crappy and shots and sites, and pokes, and lows and highs, and restrictions at times, and everything else a kid can go through.

Even when he was being diligent about his diabetes, with my help, he did still hear a lot about how he was maybe "faking" his low blood sugars, and "faking" feeling sick, or "playing games with his food" so that he could be high, or low, and go to the nurses office at school.
Because all of us know, there is no more rockin' place on earth than the nurses office.

If everyone accuses you of it... I guess, why not?
So it gave him a good idea. One night, when he was asleep, he somehow disconnected his pump, and consequently woke up at over 600 with ketones. Of course, he also had not eaten since dinner, so that did not help the case. I cant take him to school like that, and he had to stay home.

So, after that happened, he disconnected again, and again, and again. I dont know if he is doing it in his sleep, or if he is just doing it, but finally I started putting a tegaderm OVER the site at night before he goes to bed, which he despises, but it works.

He lies to me about what his blood sugars are, and wont show me his meter... I have to make him show me every time now, and he hates that.

I know that it stinks, and he really does understand why I need to do so much of that.... I would like to turn it over to him soon, but right now, he wont do anything.
He does not want to.

And why would you? when your parents ask what your bg is and you tell them 340, and then you get a myriad of questions as to why, and you dont really care, you just want to make the biggest lego airplane you can...
Did you eat something,
are you feeling ok?
Did you wash your hands first?
"I dont know, ma... I just want to be a kid"

And so, for now, I continue to sneak up on him and look at his pump, or I try to ask him when he is in a good mood, but often it is a fight. But, he is alive to fight with me.
And that is what is important.

SPANGST

2009-02-16T08:38:00.000-08:00

Man alive! I love my son, but 5th grade has sone a number on his attitude. He is not only the whiniest kid on earth, he has also mastered the art of showing his exasperation with his incredibly stupid parents.

I remember that. I remember when I got so hip to the jive that my parents suddenly became the STEWPIDEST people roaming the earth. It was a miracle they were toilet trained, seeing that they spent thier entire lives in OBLIVION... and lucky for them, they had me to teach them. How did they fumble thier parts together TWICE in order to make my brother and I? Was it some moment of drunken clarity that they accidentally created life, I mean... these guys were dumb. I couldn't figure out how they managed anything, let alone both of them getting thier Masters Degrees.
(not to mention doing it BEFORE they got married ,and getting married BEFORE they had kids... now see, I did it exactly the opposite way around, first kids, then marriage, then a degree, no masters... not yet.. pine for that. smart me.

The new thing at my house is that whatever I go to tell my 11 year old, he already knows. He is showing a very astute psychic tendency, I will tell you that...

"Nolan, time to get up for school!"
"I KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWUH!"
Oh OK I didnt know.

"Nolan, I am going to pick you up a"- Interrupts- "I KNOWWWWWWWWWUHHHHH!"
"a new minibike after school" (i finish with a lie to get his attention)
"oh but you knew that already didnt you?"
"OH MY GOOODDDDDUUUHHHHHHH!"
He knows about my game.

"Nolan, could you put"--YES I KNOWWWWWWWWWWUHHHH!"
"your-" -"I KOWWWWW"
"socks-" -"YES I KNOOOOOOOOWWWWWWUUUHHHHHH!"
"in your-" -"I KNOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.. Im putting them in my dresser, GODDDDDDDDUHHHH!"
"MOUTH???? ALL OF THEM???? CAN YOU FIT THEM ALL IN THERE SO I DON'T HAVE TO HEAR YOUR CRAP?"

OK I dont say the last part, but I want to.
Dont even let me get started on when I ask for blood sugars.

2009-02-03T09:51:00.000-08:00

Nolan is eleven. He is at the age that he wants to be with his friends more than with his family. He likes girls. Girls like him. They text him all night long. Zoe, Kaylee, Irelinn... constant phone flirting.
I will tell you that some of these girls are quite grown up in thier phone text conversations... When it gets out of hand, I take the phone away for awhile, and we talk.
I had taken it last week, with the unstated intent of keeping it for a couple of weeks to really teach him a lesson, but ended up giving it back to him on Friday.
On Friday, I went to his friends house, where Nolan was about to eat dinner, and go to a Hockey game... And I gave him his Glucagon, slipped it into his inside pocket, and his phone along with it, told him really quietly that I loved him, and said goodnight.

The next day, he spent a good amount of the day on the phone with a girl he'd met at the hockey game. We took a short road trip, and had a pretty laid back day.

I was feeding the baby in the kitchen when Nolan came downstairs. He sat across from her high chair in a high stool, with that silly look on his face, and a bit of a pallor.
"You Low?" I asked him... but he was busy texting. I imagined texting him..." u lo?" and chuckled to myself.
"Put the phone down and check your sugar." I told him.
His pump said 50 but the sensor was old, and who knows... it may be lower or higher and he would still look like that.
He did, but the lancet device broke, at that very moment, the poking mechanism did not work. I would have done a manual poke, but I knew he would not let me, so I started looking for another poker.
I pulled open the kit drawer, where we have nothing but blood glucose kits.
Kit after Kit after Kit I opened, and tossed over my shoulder-- NO POKER! some had nothing in them, some had only a meter that we never used, some had a meter strips and no poker... I handed him some candy.
I went to the other room to get Nolans backpack. He is supposed to always have everything in there... I felt around... nothing.........
No kit, and also.... it seemed like I felt the absence of something else... AH yes! The glucagon! I had put it into his coat pocket. So I checked the coat. No glucagon. Now, wait, I am still looking for a poker, I gave Nolan some more candy. I then continued my search.
"wheres your glucagon?" I asked him.
*shrug* he did not know. "maybe at the Tyson event center?" He said.
Now I was getting panicky. I left the room again to look one last place for a poker, and found one. My secret secret super secret stash of one kit plus poker.
I pulled it out of its hiding place, (a place so secret that it will not be named here.)Then I heard it. THUD!!!!
I took two steps back into the kitchen to see Nolan face down on the floor, pasty-white and in a stupor. He had fallen off of his stool.
I called for James, and starter crusing candy into a fine powder and gave it to Nolan, who was able to stand back up.
We poked and he was 42. It must have been lower than that before we treated with candy under the tongue.
The baby laughed and giggled at our silliness, and in his stupor, Nolan smiled at the baby and sang to her from his chair.
I read him the riot act about losing his glucagon.
I read him the riot act about not having a poker.
I mourned a little, that he is growing up and away from me a little. I mourned that he has to have diabetes as well as just being a pre-teen.
I mourned that he is not a tiny baby anymore, that I can fix all the worlds problems for.
I made him go to the pharmacy with me while I bought a new glucogen kit.
Today getting ready for school he checked his sugar, and I was just about to give him the standard lecture on keeping the kit in one place all the time, and just as I opened my mouth The stereo turned on.
My husband put in some Ska to get us all happy in the morning.
It is almost a religion for us. You cant be mad when there is ska music on.
So, we started dancing. I tried to teach Nolan to skank properly, but he wont get his elbows out quite right. But It was fun anyway. He does a really good job otherwise, and instead of fighting about diabetes today, we skanked in the living room while Patrick brushed his teeth, and James got Lily dressed.
And for once, we started off on a good note.
Nolan went to school laughing at my dancing.
And that, though I cannot fix all the worlds problems for him now, is maybe just what he needs.

2008-12-26T09:40:00.000-08:00

I almost said this was a terrible Christmas. I was going to hilight the high blood sugars and the lows, and point out how diabetes does not take a Christmas Hiatus.
But I got about halfway through this story and it hit me how the little things can make or break an entire holiday.
This year things were just too rushed. I wanted to spend time sitting on the sofa with James, sipping coffee, while we watched the kids open surprises that would make their young eyes light up with joy. I wanted to enjoy how sweetly the kids got along on Christmas day, just as I remember my brother and I doing as kids... Playing together, getting along, laughing... while my parents sat in thier pajamas for an extra long time and we layed on our backs with our heads under the Christmas tree, basking in the glory of the day being all about us getting what we wanted while we gazed up at the lights and talked to each other out of happiness.
But this year... It was just too busy.
James had foot surgery on the 23rd, (had to get it in by the end of the year, for insurance purposes) And that caused loads of paperwork to have to be done for the days preceeding, and of course, one of the nurses at my work quit, her last day being the 19th, so I had to be on call more often, and all the shopping was last minute, and I was wrapping presents on Christmas day still, all the while stopping to feed a hungry baby, stop kids from arguing, and make a futile attempt to pick up some of the slack with James being a foot shy of a helpful husband. (he is usually more than helpful... In fact, I need him... just dont tell him I said that out loud)
I found myself wishing I could stop the clock and just enjoy....
And to make things glorious, Nolan lost his kit twice at Grandma and Grandpa Deans house house.
I had just finished feeding the fussy baby and told him to check when he admitted to me that he could not find it, and walked into the kitchen to ask if anyone had seen it.
What did not surprise me was the immediate response of all the adults around, "OH he lost his blood sugar kit? I have not seen it.... and then they all ask around, and do some looking, not find it, and go back to what they were doing, assuming I had located the little bugger.
But I was still looking. Once in awhile, someone would ask if we found it... show some concern, and then go back to what they were doing.
And they probably don't see the importance of it. I used to become really upset when people did not understand... But now I dont feel bad about it. I am no longer on a quest to make the whole world see how crucially he needs his supplies. I have given up on that with no hard feelings. Sure, it would be nice, but that's not realistic, and they are just being who I was before I had a kid with Diabetes.

Nobody is being uncaring, but most of the time, they just dont know how to help, and perhaps the best way to help, is just to stay out of the crazed lunatics way as she tosses stuff around like a wild woman as she looks for a 3X4 inch black sqare case containing a key to her childs life support.

Normally I would be able to enlist James' help... But since he is not walking well currently, I couldn't. I had to get someone to hold the baby, get my coat, and go outside to join Nolan in his quest to find the kit, after the house had been unsuccessfully combed.

As I was opening the front door, and saw a black coat sitting on the bench right next to it, and squinted my eyes a little, and there it was... the outline of the kit.

Leave it to my kid to find the ONLY black thing in the room below eye level and put his kit right there, right on it. COMPLETELY camouflaged.

I grabbed it and opened the front door to see Nolan, walking briskly with his head down, looking through the snow, trying to recall his steps...
And I had to smile, when I saw him, because out there with him, in the cold snow was his Uncle Joe, patiently walking beside him and helping him to look for his kit.

I called out to him, and briefly thanked Joe for helping him....

But I mean to really tell him sometime... just how much that meant to me.

I think the best Christmas gift imaginable is to know that someone else who doesnt necessarily have to, offers some support and love to your kid.

That was the best thing I got for Christmas.

Gouda

2008-10-16T15:52:00.001-07:00

Good lord.
People say that little girls whine. As a young child, I was always told to quit whining... especially by my dad and my brother, to which I would reply in the most high pitched voice I could muster, "I'm NOT Whiiiiiiiinnnniiingggggggg-uh!"
Whats funny is that almost any whined word is followed immediately by the syllable, "UH".
Try it. "Give it heeeeerrrreeeee-uh!" try again, "It's not Miiiiiiinnnneee-uh!"
"Leave me alooooooooooooooooone-Uh!"

I think its because we have to grunt to get the whine out. whines are so forced, so frustarated. A whined word is one that resents having to be uttered... never should have to have been spoken, which should have been known before it was incited... by the person eliciting the whine in the first place. Usually a parent of some sort.

Rarely does a teacher hear the whine.

The whine is annoying, and makes communication difficult.

But I will maintain that girls are not the whiners. There is a creature out there that is FAR whinier than the little girl who doesnt get the doll she wants at the store.

There is one creature who utters 99% of all whines that cause sound.

I have said this long before I ever had one, the whiniest creature of all is the eleven year old boy.

And now I have one.
Oh I saw it coming. Not because there was some sort of warning sign, but because I had the joy of working with all ages of kids at a shelter for homeless kids.
Now, if anyone has anything to whine about, its orphans. For sure.
But time and time again, I found myself bristling up the back due to one genre of orphan. the eleven year old boy orphan, and I have suspected that this affliction extends to eleven year old boys with families as well.
And it turns out my suspicions are correct.
Now they don't do it around their friends, but they will do it when any mixed group with adults and kids. And they will do it constantly. They are now the self elected announcers on what is and is not fair in the world.
And there going to tell you.
"No FAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIR-uh!!!!! He got more than me" to which you should always reply, "what are you Monk??? Its upsetting the natural order of the universe because your brother got one skittle more than you did?"
and the eleven year old boy will inevitably say, "GOOOOOOODDDDDDD-UH!"

2008-10-15T15:56:00.000-07:00

My son's teacher emailed me a few weeks ago, asking if I could please set the date/time option for his meter for the correct time.
I hit the "reply" button and started typing away, as I often do before I even have time to think about what I just read... I typed, "which meter? the pink one touch, the green one touch, the one touch ultra smart, the one touch ultra that is round with a yellowish screen, or one of the accuchecks, and by the way have you seen the green one touch anywhere lately?"
But then I hit the delete key, and watched everything I just said go away. Sometimes I wish I could do that in real life...
We do have a lot of meters.... and for a kid like Nolan, who loses at least one kit a day, we need them, or we will be spending all day looking for that little black zipper bag... yelling at each other. I lose stuff too, as does my husband... Actually, I lock my keys in my car. James loses his wallet and checkbook, Nolan loses his kit and his homework and his backpack and anything else he needs. Things just dont stick to him, or his dad. They should be nudists.

Anyway, I erased my words, because I thought first, "why does she need the time to be set... he doesnt use a meter that communicates with his pump..."

I thought naively for a while on that... then I thought... OH. wait.
I get it.
She thinks he is "faking" when he is low.
She is checking up on him, despite what my care plan said.
Despite the fact that I told her that even if he has a normal number, he may still need to treat if he feels low.
That skanky bitch.
I told her... under NO uncertian terms, that he does NOT fake lows, and that even if you think he is faking, even if you KNOW he is, you let that kid treat, because you may be making a grave error.

So I wrote back,
"no. I am not going to waste any time doing that. He has a continous glucose monitor on, and I download that info, the only other reason for doing that is so I can download and find patterns.... He has so many meters, some reset themselves here and there, the battery cover comes off, and suddenly it is november first, 2002 again, so... I dont mess with them these days.
Does it bother you when clocks are set wrong? Is this a "monk" type of a thing, or are you having him show you his blood sugars. He doesnt need anyone to check on this, but If I see fit, I will let you know when and if that ever becomes necessary. "

Then I hit send.

HI

2008-09-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

I get a lot of D mags and rags in the mail. I get a lot of meter ads, and supply ads, and part of that is my fault. I love the freebies. You can get freebies from almost any company, and that is the way it should be.
Accucheck sent us a free Aviva, with cool stickers so we could change the look of the meter, which is a novelty, at least, but is fun and cool. Years ago, I talked sidekick into sending us a free meter. They really didnt want to, and I figured our why as soon as we used it a few times. Novelty Item. Then Glucophone sent us their free phone. Another novelty item as well, because it limits the model of phone that you can use, and ours broke rather quickly, so... But a good concept... hopefully one that will be expanded on.
As fun as all of the freebies are, they are hard to toss out. I end up keeping a lot of magazines.
I decided today to go through them and toss what I did not need to keep.
I went through page after page of ads for foot lotion, sugar free Lorna Doones goodies, along with countless articles on Type-1 diabetic tri-athletes, and older Type 2's who are living life to the fullest by taking walks with thier spouse and the occasional famous old person adding thier face to the many faces of Diabetes, sometimes reinforcing the stereotype... OK almost all of the time...
And, of course, the myriad of ads for the Blood Glucose Meters. Less painful testing, Alternative site testing, Obviously meant to lure in the person who tests once daily or less, because when you need to test six or so times a day... what's pain?
And there are several brands of meters... some I have never even seen in real life... some I have a hundred of at home... like bar soap or a black comb... they are just an object in our house that are often unnoticed. The black vinyl zipper bag, with the zipper pull missing in many cases... They always show the meter on a white or bright surface.
But those ads would not even catch my attention if not for the one thing that makes them stand out, stark and noticable to me...
The number.
They all read 104, 107. 108, 102, and numbers like that.
I dont know if they are trying to imply that thier meter equals better control...
But much like the diaper commercial where they pour blue fluid onto the test diaper, the meters ads are only trying to make pretty what is most often not.
I think they ought to put realistic numbers in thier ads...
Like a sweaty and blurry from shaking hand holding a meter that says 36, or a Kate Moss from the 1990's holding a meter that says, 462, or better yet, "HI".
Cause thats what diabetes is really all about...
But then I'd also like to see a diaper full of mustard on commercials too.

Give 'em enough rope...

2008-07-17T16:00:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you know someone who has a big need to fulfill. It is hard to understand why... I mean, we all have needs, desires, everyone wants to feel important. But there is always someone who has some innate desire to step on you to fill thier soul.

It always starts out in a mild mannered way. They ask your advice, and they listen intently... take notes... And you share, because, it is cool to help, it makes you feel good... Anytime someone gives you a good idea, you tell someone else what a good idea that person gave you. You credit them, because they were cool to tell you.
And then later you walk into a room and see that they are telling someone about "the great idea they came up with."

And you cock your head to one side, and say, "but---- I-----" then to the other side, and then you just shrug and let it go... because, hey, it was a good idea, and just because it was originally yours, doesnt mean that you need recognition for it... Heck, if that person needs it so much, let them have it, right? They know deep down who's idea it was, so they cant really feel that good, can they? No not really. To each his own..... Que Sera Sera...... What it Is Bro,

Then you notice they are doing it again. "Hm. Well, Ok. thats a little annoying, I mean, I can see once, but again... Is this person going to tell every good idea I ever had and say its hers?" You ask yourself.
"Probably," you answer, because, who else is going to answer when you talk to yourself? "Better not tell her anything else good..."
Because that is just uncomfortable.
And not that big of a deal, at the same time... so why does that person keep doing it?
"some people are just weird" you tell yourself, and since you grew up pretty adequately socialized, you can't assume everyone knows how to just be a decent gal.... so... You just let it go. Its a Huge Faux Pas, but those things happen. Maybe that person never had a chance to be like that in Jr. High, so you just have to let it happen.

Then you notice that person sort of.... trying to put you down... Hm.
Well, OK thats fine...
And you just let it go on, because, who's the one really looking bad, here...
You have faith in people, that they can eventually see peoples motives, and once they see it, they will lose respect.

You know you do when your co-worker constantly puts down someone that works alongside him.... and constantly puts himself up... You lose respect, and so you just silently let go...

But you are still, ever wondering, just what this person thinks she is doing...
And just how far she will go.

And you throw out more rope to her, because... Sometimes that is all you can do.

Camp.

2008-06-11T17:16:00.000-07:00

Diabetes camp.
Every year, we pack up our bags with a flashlight, a few pairs of shoes, ten pairs of brand new socks, (because for some reason I cant have people seeing my kids in dingy whites socks--- what must they think?) Ten pairs of underwear, in case he gets a hole in one... about four pairs of swim trunks, because I know damned well that Nolan will consider swimming to be a shower, and I know that he will wear the same swimsuit all week, but just in case he has a hankering to change his look... I send more than one. Hats, jeans, boots, raincoat, a sheet, and a blanket, a pillow, bug spray, (which I dont believe in using, but buy because the list says so) sunscreen (That my son will not put on)
and a box of quicksets, for the numberous site changes he will do at camp, and we shove it all into the car and take off for Camp Hertko Hollow.

Camp Hertko Hollow is the most beautiful haven on earth. It is located at the Des Moines Y camp site, and is quite possibly my favorite place ever. I have been all over, just so you know...

Of course is is heaven to me, because it is the one place on earth where my son gets NO looks of sympathy for having diabetes. He gets no, "awwww. that must be terrible"
Good god. How on earth must it feel, at ten years old to all the time be told that your life must be sheer misery? I consider it an insult, actually, to my person, my resiliance, will to live, and positivity.
To say that is just is just rude, the more i think on it. People are trying, of course, to be nice...
But what does that say about our quality of life?
No. Its not that bad, and I am not weak, and neither is my son, and we live a happy, normal life. He has lots of talent, he plays the drums, is very smart, and funny. Ask him about His drumming!!!!
At camp, he is just one of the hundreds.
HUNDREDS... Yes, its true.
His counselors are not afraid to yell at him for being a turd just because he is diabetic.
Other kids dont point to his pump and say, "whats that?"
Nobody looks at him funny for sitting down in the middle of a game of kickball to eat a snack... They all do it together.
And it is FUN for him.

I love camp.

I volunteer there as a camp nurse.

I love to listen to the stream as I walk back to my cabin at 2am, after doing night checks. I love to watch spiders crawl up thier webs that glimmer in the moonlight.
I love to talk to my cabin counselor about what she wished her parents would have done differently with her diabetes... and I love to learn.
I love to laugh.
I love to live.
And that is why I love Camp Hertko Hollow.
The kids there, as well as the staff work SO hard to have a great time. I think it is the one time of year that they can do this.
They sing at meal time, they get up from the table, and they dance to songs like sugar pie honey bunch that is blasting on the Y camp radio.
They play tricks on each other.
They sing when they walk.
They laugh... Belly laughs, the heartiest kind.
They compete for the cleanest cabin, and who can win the golden plunger.
Then they try to sabotage others attempts at winning.
The Y camp is beautiful, free, joyous, fun.

And now.... it is under water.

The floods have taken the dining room, and the pool.
Y camp staff, volunteers and all sorts of people are working to get camp ready for June 19th, when camp will start.
I take a deep breath and hope that it can be done, that the damage is not too extensive, that the 41st year of Camp Hertko Hollow can happen.
Lots of work is to be done. I am sadly too pregnant to do much physically to help. But I will be sending drinks, and supplies this week.
I would encourage anyone who is interested to check this website out
www.camphertkohollow.com and check out the Y camp link.
And, if you find it in your dear hearts to do this, call the Y camp, and see how you can help.

I say all the time that this we live in the best time yet to have diabetes. But all the technology, all the new treatments, and all the upcoming new "cures". I would not trade it for Camp Hertko Hollow... not in a million years. Camp has done more for Nolan, (and for my soul) than anything else has. Ever.

Once more, www.camphertkohollow.com

Thank you.

2008-04-08T07:05:00.000-07:00

Today has started off on all the wrong feet. Well... actually, it started off alright. We got my husband off to work with a minute or two to spare. That was nice. No stress there. Then I came home and made Nolans lunch menu out. First I checked my email to see if the guy from the community schools had emailed me carbs on the new items coming up this week. He had not, So I had to wing it anyway.
But Nolan, in his 4th grade, one track mind... was just not going to get anything done today.
First it was blood sugar. "what was your sugar, did you check it, will you check it, will you check it now, will you please put down the balloon and check your blood sugar. Nolan, check your sugar, check it now." After five minutes, I ask once again, "What is your blood sugar?" as I enter the room and see him bouncing a balloon off of the dogs head, his kit sitting on his lap, zipped up, and he whines loudly with his back to me, "I"M CHECKING!!!!!!!"
"NO YOU"RE NOT!!!!!" I yell, because I have had it. I have told him a billion times, I have nagged, I have begged, I have done all I can to light a fire under the kids ass. But he just wont.
I give him pants. I tell him six times to put them on, and to put them on now, while I am trying to look up his carbs online. Every time I let a minute go inbetween. Plenty of time to put pants on. He emerges from the bathroom, (his dressing room) with bare legs, no pants.
The same goes with shoes.
Then the backpack.
I happen to see that his site looks like it is about to come out. I think about letting it stay one more day, but then I think about getting a call at my new job to come change a site. No, we have 15 minutes, we can do a site change in 15 minutes.
So, here we go again.
"nolan, get me a site please"
down to seven minutes, I am still searching for carbs online while intermittently helping Patrick with his sticking up hair, and knots in shoes, etc.
"Nolan Come ON!"
he yells back, "I AMMMMMM!!!"
but he's not. I find the evidence later that he is playing around with kitchen utensils that look like eggs with eyes on them.
Eventually all gets done. But not until I am at my wits end, and we are one minute late for school. Again.
So, in a last ditch effort to pound something into his head, I scream at him. I scream and I swear, and I hollar and I let him have it, all the way to school, the whole 4 block ride, the car is filled with the loud verbalization of my vile feelings of frustration and anger, disbelief, and... well, anger. I ask Patrick if he likes being late when his brother is farting around. Only I didnt say farting.
I pitted my kids against each other. Mother of the year material right here. I told him I loved him, but that he was driving me to the brink of insanity.
The whole time, torn with guilt at my own frustration, and my inability to give my kid soem sense of being loved when I drop him off for school.
Nolan gets out of the car, and pushes the door shut on his brother, who is trying to get out. The door bounces off of Patricks foot, and I flared.
'GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!" I screamed.
Then I gave Nolan yet another verbal lashing about his attitude. And when I saw it in his eyes, the defeat, the dejected look... I started to cry. He then looked shocked and more hurt... guilty too. He turned around and walked into school, shoulders slumped, totally cooked.
Oh god.
what have I done?
And I cried all the way home.
The guilt of hurting your own childs feelings is immeasurable.
I cant stand myself today.

Referrals.

2008-03-18T20:51:00.000-07:00

Blah. The remainder of this pregnancy will now be referred to as, "my 40 week immunosupressant" I said it today to my sons endocrinologist's Nurse, Cheryl. I was in rare form. It just came out of my mouth that way, because... thats what it feels like... That is my reality, and making fun of it makes it SO much easier to deal with. Cheryl really liked that one. I also had to get on the phone trying to get a fax number for Aetna. I ended up getting to the wrong department, and the guy would not give me the fax number... He said he didnt have it. "come on buddy, stand up from your desk and ask the guy next to you what it is then, would ya?" I wanted to say that. The guy was saying that he couldnt give it to me, and would have to transfer me to a department that was soley formed for the sake only of giving out the fax number to people like me. Cheryl and the gal following her that day for training walked in at that point. I was showing off a little, because I know Cheryl spends all day on the horn with jerks like this guy... I cant act jerky at work either, so I do it when I can. Poor Cheryl is holding on Queues like I was all the time for patients like us, just to get things covered.
So, like I said... I was showing off. "So, you cant give me the fax number, but you can transfer me to someone who can??? How come you dont get a company directory like that person does? Do you have to earn Tenure first?"
The guy was mad. "I just dont have it go give to you!" He said shortly.
"They should empower you." I said. "youre a human being, you know? You seem pretty smart to me... I think they are selling you short. Yes I will hold"
Cheryl laughed, and so did her trainee. I looked at her. "he cant give me the fax number" I shrugged.
Well, he deserved it. He chose to work in the corrupt innards of an insurance company. I dont feel sorry for him. He has to break hearts all day long.

The fact is simple. Insurance comanies make more money by NOT paying for you and your selfish illness all the time. How dare you get sick and have insurance, what an outrage... What about the poor CEO's at these insurance companies who have daughters turning thier sweet 16 and want thier party on MTV, and therefore HAVE to fork over half a million for the entertainment alone? How can you look those poor girls in the eyes, as they tell thier chauffer to take them to the party planners to put down a deposit, and explian to them that they cant have 500 grand for entertainment, but have only 500 grand for the whole party? Do you want to be the one to do that???
WHO just said, "with all my might.." ???? OH that was me.
So, how about you people sucking it up some, and living with a little less for a minute here, and lay off on the insurance company. How in the heck are they supposed to run a successful profiteering business while people like you are filing new claims for "new and better" diabetes options. Settle down, people!!! It is JUST diabetes, Take your shot and suck it up, how 'bout???

So today, I felt like giving insurance companies a little hell. So I did. All in the name of good fun. I guess if I call and waste a little of thier employees time with things they are not able to do... and sass mouth, then it will cost them a little cash somehow down the line...
and i am gonna get that from them one way or another.

I have come up with ways to cost them cold hard cash.

1. go to the ER for slivers and such.
2. Go to teh E.R. for low blood sugars. (after you treat of course) Do it every time. Youjust want to make sure there was no brain damage.
3. Have your doctor order more blood glucose strips. They cost a buck each. Ten a day for 30 days is... well, I dont have a calculator, but I bet thats more than like say... fifteen dollars or something. My doc ordered us 12 a day and thats what we get. I might up it soon. Two can play at thier game.
4. call the number and tie up the lines all the time with stupid questions, call to see if they got a bill yet. Call and ask what time it is. Find someone you like there and call.
5. Find out what your insurance company will cover for tests and labs, how often, and then ask your doctor to write a letter of medical necessity for twice that amount. At the very least, make sure that you get those tests as OFTEN as they will cover it.
6. Date an employee for inside company info.. if you are single, or you are sure your spouse wont mind.
7. file appeals for anything that is denied. They will pay a doctor a load of money to find a reason to deny you coverage. Then find out how much money they paid that doctor, (and I dont know any doctor that does anything for less than a grand) and then call them and ask them for a price comparison: which is more, paying for my 1000 dollar piece of medical equiptment... or paying six doctors a few grand each to fins reasons to deny coverage? and then say, "because we can keep doing this..."

Those are all I can think of. Fight your dirty insurance company, and bad bad insurance doctors and nurses. They have no soul left... if they ever had one.

And have a laugh about it.

What sucks.

2008-03-14T23:36:00.001-07:00

I was feeling better. A lot better, Thanks to Mr. Zofran, Mr. Zantac and a lot of rest. I got back to near normal functioning level. I worked all week, and the only time I got a little sick was after dinner on the night shift, wednesday. I went home and barfed my guts out a few hours later. Blamed it on hyperemesis gravidarum. They say its rare, but I dont feel like the chosen one... That is for certian. After this baby, I am having my tubes tied, cauterized, torn out and beaten in front of other peoples tubes to make and example of them. Yes I really am thinking about that.
One thing I have been doing that makes this blog pertainent is checking my sugars here and there, all willy nilly like. I dont do my glucose tolerance test for another 4 weeks, so I have been checking. My post prandials are good, usually between 80 and 110. Pretty nice, except for the fact that I only eat very small portions at a time these days, and only a couple times a day-- lecture someone else-baby's doing fine.
But one thing consistent with the pregnancy and possibly me in general is that I have elevated fasting bgs. Usually around 118, 116, nothing TOO worrisome, (yes my doctor knows)but I have been noticing lately that number is creeping up.
Today was 135. And my post prandials are getting to be up to 120 or so too... not so great.. I am not too worried, I cant be too much of a wuss about some gestational diabetes... Really, I cant complain. The glucose tolerance test will be of interest to me, to see where I come up in numbers.

All that said, There was a chill in the air today, after three really nice days. 9It got up to 58 one day, and that was glorious) But Nolan started getting stuffed up a little.
This afternoon I kept reminding the boys to shut the door, because I could feel the chill in my sinus... And that put me in a bad mood, because I know just what that feeling means.
The tingling at the back of the nares, like you swallowed a freshly opened gulp of soda right out of a glass bottle... Fizzy like.
Damnit. I am getting sick again. WTH is wrong with me????
How can I just get sick again, I just got OVER beign sick, I should have some type of grace period!!!!
This is not fair. Not again. Its like my immune system just packed up and left the moment the egg was fertilized... "well... I can see where I'm not needed!" huffed my immunities, and walked out the door.
Then tonight, I decided to check the sugars. Four hour post prandial- 136. Now, I know, we all have elevated bg's with infection. But now I am thinking that the sugars are running high, and that is why I am catching everything that comes within a city block of me.
And I work at the hospital. Great.
I am currently pursuing other employment, some less intense nursing... Mental health field... see, that stuff is not contagious. I am so tired of working with infection. I never used to catch anything, but now... I may as well lay in bed and cuddle with all my patients, because no matter what precautions I take... all of this stuff is going around... Most of it is droplet- contracted-- much more easy to catch, esp if you have an ill fitting mask, or a patient coughs, gets a miniscule drop on your skin, you absorb it, and viola-- you have a contagious illness that is going to put you out for a week.
*sigh* Only 20 more weeks. I am halfway there...
On the bright side,
If I am diagnosed with GD-- I am going to ask the doc to put me on the animas pump-- Then I will give it to Nolan when I am done with it.
I am still the lucky one-- Gestational diabetes goes away after the baby is born...
This kid had better be something special... I will tell you that much. SOmething tells me it will be.

2008-03-06T20:37:00.001-08:00

Its been awhile. To everyone who likes to read these blogs, I apologize. I have been worked over and run ragged as of late.
But today I feel like I have a new lease on life, or... even own one, imagine that.
I caught influenza B at work, and.... being all kinds of pregnant, became very very ill due to it, got dehydrated, and my electrolytes went all to hell in the crafty little handbasket we hear so much about when we talk of that trip.
I was knocked clean cold for two weeks straight. I could not move. and in the midst of the fevers, the hacking and vomitting, I started to become dehyrated.
It ran me over, killed me, took me to the cleaners, bedraggled me, zeroed me, played me out, and all the euphamisms you can think of, and then... it enlightened me.
When I was at the hospital getting some fluids, just plain old Nornmal Saline for me thanks, no twist of lemon, No I dont want to look at the dessert menu, just saline for me please.
Enlightenment. I know you want me to get back to the inspiration for this blog, and you know what? I will. right here. I was ever so slightly acidodic. Meaning, my body was spilling ketones, and eating itself. for a few days that went on.
Now.... When I learned what my levels were, I first said, (the nurse in me did anyway) "well no wonder i feel like such a load of S***." My doctor laughed. Then I blurted out, "Jeez. My son probably feels like this half the time."
My doctor silently nodded. Then he sent me for tests. I drove myself to the hospital, (probably shouldnt have) and the moment my head was clear, it jumped back into my mind.
The things I expect of him when he feels like hell.
Pick up your coat off the floor.
when he feels like he is the floor.
Get dressed and do a correction bolus, and for the love of all thats holy would you stop drumming on everything?
Do your homework.
Carry your laundry upstairs and put it away.
He never says a word.
He must feel like he took five benadryl half the time and entered a lard eating contest, (urpy that is to say) and then tried to run six miles.
The kid is amazing.
I need to cut him some serious slack.
I whimp out after a couple of weeks of it, and here he is taking it all in stride, and growing into a responsible young man while he's at it.

What the Hell is wrong with me?

2007-12-06T12:44:00.000-08:00

School daze

2007-11-04T17:45:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I get so mad that my head spins... I get to the point that I cannot even think straight. I want to break out of my own mind and scream... some type of release.... you know....
But I am grown. And I can't do that anymore.
I have to act my age and try to fit in with society. I can't get a mohawk to express my dissatisfaction with society anymore. I am like a hippie that stopped hipping and went to work for the man. That is me.
So I take my kids to school, and I hope that all goes well. I encourage them to have thier own opinions, and not to care what others think. It seems to me that my oldest has a good grasp on this. He really could not possibly care less, he is like me... or like I was...
But my youngest... He cares.
Now dont get me wrong here, I would never do what I did if I thought that school were anexceptionally educational, enlightening and provocative place for them, , then I would not let them miss a moment. But, since I do see school as a sort of hum drum experience, (not at the fault of the teachers, or the adminstration, it is at the fault of American priorities) I do not rely on school as a place for my kids to gather information, or a place for my childrens minds to flourish... I rely on my giving them unique experiences, and allowing them to think for themselves.
They are smart. And to me... the grades do not matter much at all.
So what I did was I took them to the vet with me and a new dog we had. One reason was that I was not sure tht the dog would be coming home. He seemed sick, and I thought that they would be telling us to have him put to sleep. I wanted them to understand why if it needed to happen.
So, I called school, told them my plan, and the office lady cheerfully said, "OK GREAT!" and hung up.
But when I dropped the kids off for school an hour late, they got "a talkin' to" by the office ladies, telling them that "That is NOT a good reason for calling in late!"
They could have told me that when I called, but I am grown... and for whatever reason, it is easier and comes more naturally for them to come down on little kids for something that they don't make decisions on in the first place.
So my kids told me about it the next day. I was mad. I called school immdeiately and the phone was answered by Janice, the lady who does lunch tickets.
"Apparently someone has been telling the boys why they can and can't be late...." I started, and Janice, who is the one that the boys told me got on them first, said, "I'll let you talk to Jean, she's the one that deals with this."
Jean was on the phone in a few moments. She thought I should talk to the principal about it. I told her that if they had a problem, or needed to get something off of their chest, they all have my phone numbers and can talk to me. Patrick gets stomach aches over being in "trouble" and it is MY fault not his...
My kids asked about if I talked to them about the whole ordeal or not and I told them, that I would be talking to principal Kollars soon...
That is when Nolan said it.
-- mind you... I do not allow my kids to be disrespectful to thier teachers, or principals... they KNOW they will catch hell for being disrespectful, and they also know that I do NOT stand behind them for thier wrongdoings... I am not "one of those" parents.-----

"Jean always says, 'Hurry up Nolan, I have other things to do!'" Nolan mocked a snotty, annoyed tone.

"Uh... what?" I shook my head to make room for this information, scooby doo style...
Nolan repeated himself
"Why does she tell you to hurry up?" I asked...
"when I'm bolusing."
uh huh. telling him to hurry up and take his insulin... hm... I dont like the sounds of this, but... lets give her one more way out before we assume fault here.
"Are you... taking a long time, or is it taking a while to add up the carbs... or are you farting around in the office, or... what is happening when she says this?" I ask, trying to use the most laid back tone ever...
"No," he is exaperated, "I dont know why! She says it right when I walk in the office!!!"
oh no she doesnt.
I felt my neck start to go, my head go off to the right... and all I could think is, "them is fighting words!!!"

Oh no. no she did not. Oh no. that is NOT going to happen. NOBODY is going to tell MY baby to hurry up and take his insulin ESPECIALLY someone who accidentally told him to bolus for what his blood sugar level was one time... 103.. after he'd eaten less than 30 carbs for lunch, then called me, saying that they did not have anything for him to eat to even that out...
Oh no she did not.
It was like Nolan could read my ready-to-fight-someone mind....
"she says that every time mom!"
I could feel my blood start to boil.

************************************************************************************
I have had one entire weekend to let this get better, or fester... and I must say that it has done a bit of both. I feel more put together about it, but I feel more angry too. The level of frusteration I have is not natural. I only wish something could be done, but to force adults to be nice to a kid that they dont want to deal with is just not easy to do.
I could hover over them daily and make sure they dont say anything mean to my kid.
His life is hard enough with Diabetes to deal with...
Let alone adults acting like complete jerks.

*sigh*
who could be mean to this kid.

You will have to turn your volume way up... it was windy.

Your nurse

2007-10-25T21:48:00.000-07:00

Your relationship with your nurse can make or break your treatment in so many ways.
I am so happy to say that I LOVE Cheryl at Dr. Guptas office. She is quite possibly the most supportive and wonderful person I have dealt with in Nolans whole diabetic career.

If your nurse seems unhappy with her job... that should tell you something. If your nurse seems wholistic in her cares for your child... that should also tell you something.

I once fired a doctor I was going to, (you heard me, I fired her... you see... without you, THere is no job.. nobody to doctor. YOU have the right to go to as many doctors as you want until you feel like you are at the right one.)

I fired her because I could hear her throwing a fit from the waiting room. I could hear her yelling obsceneties at her nurses.

I wont contribute a dime to a person like that.
So I left, and I told her nurses why.

I dont imagine whe ever got the message, but at least I stpopped supporting someone like that.

Representin'

2007-10-06T09:08:00.000-07:00

The new webiste is
www.sacwd.org
give it a looksee.

pictures

2007-08-05T22:58:00.000-07:00

Living out of a box

2007-08-04T23:43:00.000-07:00

I have heard the term before, people say it when they move... "we have been living out of boxes for weeks until the furniture arrives" and such.
But I realized yesterday that some of us actually DO live out of a box, in a different way.
The mail man had come and gone, the dog had his barking fit that lets us know that the mail will soon be here, and after the mailman leaves the neighborhood, he calms down.
But yesterday, as he does sometimes, that dog started in again later, and barked like a freak until I almost wrestled him to the ground.
Then I heard something ruffle by the front door, The kids looked out the window, "THE U.P.S GUY!!!"
We never got a delivery when I was a kid. My parents would never have paid shipping costs for anything.
Once, when I was maybe nine, my aunt and uncle sent me a birthday present in the mail. It was a miss piggy doll, and I was really, really confused about that. They had never sent me a birthday card or anything before, and never acknowledged my birthday ever since. It made me feel funny. I..... I really didnt like miss piggy.
But the with Ebay, and Amazon.com, and all of the other ways you can get goodies over the internet, my kids know the U.P.S. guy by name.
But, yesterday it was a 12in cubed package. That meant only one thing.
And it is always much more fun to open than miss piggy.
Diabetic supplies.
I am always excited to see if the insulin is actually cool, or if it burns my hand... I always inspect and count the infusion sets, and the lancet devices, and the test strip vials, check to see if they all have the same code, so I know if we are going to be able to go a month without recalibrating, (when it works out that way, I always whisper a loud, "YESSSS!" and even my youngest son will hear me and say, "oh are the test strips all the same number again?")
Sometimes I get a surprise, like IV 3000, or more alchol swabs than you can shake a stick at. (like we really use that many ever) and infusion pump syringes... all sorts of goodies.
It is pretty fun. Getting all of the medical supplies, as, I think that people who deal with medical conditions become sort of conissuers of supplies.
But as I fold the box tops back together and set it aside, because we have to get going soon... I think about it.
In this box is everything my son needs to stay alive for one more month.
What if they stopped sending it? What if his insulin was not available? What if the FDA did a recall on insulin, or pumps, or both?
These things.... This box of supplies that I am so happy to open every month is only life support.
And somewhere out there in this world, there is a kid who can't get the supplies he needs, or his insulin is rationed. There is no package, there is no pump, no alcohol swabs to clean his skin so that when he uses an old, dull syringe to inject his insulin, he pushes infectious bacteria into his skin... perpetuating the disease.
Somewhere, there is s kid with no test strips... and no faith that he will have what he needs the next month, let alone the next day.
Puts things into perspective for me, as I carefully put the box aside, and put my arm around my son, and realize that he is one of the "lucky" ones.
And I say a little prayer to all that is good that he stays that way.

Guessing game

2007-08-01T12:10:00.001-07:00

I GUESS I started a little controversy with the advocating blog. I am getting a little annoyed by posts telling me NOT to be angry about my sons treatment at a program he attended... And is has become all about religion to this lady.
All I want to do is blog about Diabetes, because, I like to read from other D people, and get feedback, and advice. This is supposed to be a place where I feel like I am understood.
I guess there will always be some folks that take offense to something.
Many thanks to Denise and Angela, for their eloquent ways of pusing to point to places that I, for emotional reasons and not able to put it.
Love to all,
and to my D friends, Good luck, Good numbers.

2007-07-25T10:02:00.001-07:00

Things not to do with a quickset inserter

2007-07-14T23:51:00.000-07:00

Catchy title, I know, Though perhaps this blog may be more aptly titled, "How to lose your childs trust and cause great emotional disturbance in less than one second"
I know I pretty much gave the whole blog away with that. But, still, if you could spare a moment, read on, and see what a jerk of a mother I am.
My son Nolan has done all of his own shots since day two of having diabetes. All of them. I have had to sneak up on him as he sleeps do do lantus, and now, as he pumps, I dont even get that joy.
A seven year old boy with sandy colored hair and hazel-green eyes took his first syringe in hand, holding it carefully, wonderously, and dreadfully between little tan fingers with white nails bitten to the nub, he touched the surface of his flawless child-skin with the tip of the thin needle. He turned it, as I looked on, Biting my tongue. Seconds passed. Seconds turned into minutes, as he turned the needle around and around in both directions, and pinched the skin.
His fingers released the syringe, and gravity slowly sunk the hub of the needle into the epidermis, and slightly into the dermis where his nerve endings gave him reason to pause. Twisting once more, he began to bite his lower lip. His eyebrows cinched and he slowly forced the hair-fine needle into his subcutaneous layer. Very audibly he let his breath out, and climbed his fingers carefully up the syringe and pushed the plunger down.
And every injection, and every site change has been the same ever since. He never let anyone do his injections, he never let anyone change his sites.
My son is a control freak, and likes to do his sites alone, with nobody breathing down his neck..
He does them slowly, by hand, in a very painstaking manner.
It hurts to watch.
I just want him to do it fast. I just want the stress to stop and for him to just get over it and get on with it and then with life. But he is not like that.
And I cant accept it.
I got the big idea that he should start using an insertion device after seeing how many kids at camp have no pain with it.
I helped a girl use a Sil serter for the first time and she said, "OH MY GOSH! THAT IS SO MUCH BETTER!!!" Her parents never bought one for her, and since I had an extra one, that I gave to somone who had one already, just for a spare, I asked for it back and gave her that one.
She walked home so happy that she had found a new way to insert her sites.
I thought that I could get Nolan to try it and see if he liked it better, instead of spending so much time with his ritual, he could just push a button and...."POP" it would be over.
Now, I would not try to get him to do something that I had not done, I have tried a site inserter to put a site in my own arm, and the insertion did not hurt one bit. However, after a few minutes the site started feeling really.... crappy, (for lack of a better word) It was tender, and annoying. I took it out. I am a wuss. But I get it now.
So, I took it into my head to buy an inserter for the quick set, and had it shipped with the next batch of sites.
There it came in a little box... all blue, and harmless. Looking like a tiny alien spacecraft. I loved it. I was going to help Nolan see that insertions did not need to be such a prolonged trecherous thing.
They could be fast and easy and something you could do in a heartbeat.
So, I showed it to him, and offered a reward for trying it.
He said, "OK" but he wanted to go do it himself in the bathroom.
He has been afraid of inserters SO much that he has hidden under a chair in the educators office, in tears.
But this time would be different. I would show him how his diabetes could be a little easier.
But I thought, if I let him alone, he is going to do it by hand, and just say he did it.
I followed him into the bathroom, saying, "I want to watch" He said no, I ignored and pushed on, because, Hey, he is going to like it!!!!!
He held it to his stomach and whimpered, and tried a little, and I sat by, prompting him on, encouraging him, reminding him of how good squash cakes were once he tried them...
Soon, he was crying, and I took the inserter from him, and he sat with his head in his hands, crying... the pressure, I suppose.
So, was I sympathetic?
Of course not.
I looked, and thought, and stared at his shirtless torso. I cautiously moved my right hand toward his abdomen as his head remained in his hands. I tested to see if he could see, by making a few fast motions. He could not see. He had his eyes covered.
I looked at the inserter, and at his side skin, and in less than a second I pressed it on his skin and pushed and the site was in.
Now... what was supposed to happen is tha the would say, "NOOOO-- dont!!!! leave me alone!" and then I would point out that it was already in, and he would look at it, smile, and say. "OH!"
But that is not what happened.
He screamed immediately, a scream, not of pain, but shock, horror, and hurt. He screamed like I just sold him. He screamed, and he ran, as tears flew from his eyes, he ran to his bedroom, where he screamed and cried for another ten minutes.
So, maybe not the best Idea I had.
I had so wanted to make him see that this was better.
And really, is it?
I know now that I only wanted to teach him something cool about D,
But I realize now, as I hold him in my arms and apologize to him for breaking his trust... That is is always him that will teach me.
As it always has been, it is HIS diabetes. Not mine.
Also, I am up for mother of the year award, so... go ahead and cast your vote my way....

RUT

2007-06-04T21:09:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you get stuck in a diabetes rut. Your kid wakes up, checks the blood sugar, tells you an either unfortunate or frightening number, ex. "its 201" or "it's 47". You wake up, make breakfast, or tell them to get a waffle and skim milk, and they do it. The bolus or they forget to bolus. Mostly they forget to bolus and they tell you they did anyway.... You finish showering and drink a half cup of coffee, which for some reason has lost its flavor to you.... Then you check the bg an hour later and it is near 400.
"Did you bolus?" you ask,
"yeah" they say, and roughly translated from school aged kid to english this means, "no, but I dont want you yelling at me, so I am just going to say I did."
You correct, you send him out to play.
You call him in to check.
The other kids watch silently while their friend runs home to make himself bleed.
And you realize... it is his diabetes... not mine.

2007-04-27T23:26:00.000-07:00

I knew my grandma well, for a grandkid, which means, of course, I knew that my grandmother loved me, made killer root beer floats, and made me special ballerina sandwitches any time I asked, ( wonder white bread, peanut butter, lettuce, and hidden valley ranch powdered seasoning, of course, that is what ballerinas eat!!!)
I did not know much about my grandma at all.
I knew she was a nurse, that she grew up on a farm in Ponca, that she wanted to be a red cross nurse when she was five years old.
I knew she had survived cancer, once, before I was ever born, and twenty one years after I was born, it tore her from her living family once more.
What I did not know about grandmother is a thousand times greater that the small pieces that I can say, though the tiny snippets I had were enough to make me love her completely.
I did not know that my grandmother was the Charge nurse on the medical floor at the same hospital I work at now. (I knew she worked there, but not that she was charge)
I did not know that my grandma used to work holidays and weekends, because young nurses she worked with had families to be with (this was when my grandmother was older, her kids had left home, her husband had passed... )
I did not know how much it meant when the whole nursing community of sioux city respected her. And they did.
When I did my first clinical rotation, my instructor, Judy Turner, was talking about her many years at that hospital. I took a chance, and told her, "My Gramdma worked here when it was St. Joes" Judy looked at me, doubtful, "what was her name?" I told her, "Marion Johnson" and Judy threw her head back, shook it back and forth, and said to me the only words I needed to ever hear about my Grandma, "What a lady..." she said, with a dramatic voice of reminisscence.
I almost cried.
That sums it up about my grandma. WHAT A LADY, and that she was. Professional, wonderful, so full of.... Grandma Johnson-ness.
One thing I did know though, from the time that I was young... seven, I guess, was that my grandmother was passionate about Diabetes.
She was the first "Diabetes Educator" in Sioux City. She had left Mercy to help her husband at Smith Villa grocery that he owned, back in the day when a corner grocer could make a buck, and she came back when he died. She was asked back, to start a diabetes education department.
I remember her talking to my mother, excitedly, about how they used oranges to teach people to give shots. She was sitting with my mother teaching her, and my mother, several times, drew water into an insulin syringe, and injected it into an orange. I was not too interested, I turned to watch Hee Haw. But, my Grandma, for one reason or another wanted my mom to know how to do this, she was smiling though, excited.
There was no diabetes in our family. Type one or Two... But my Grandma was teaching.
She took me to her office once. I remember walking through a parking lot. My grandma in her white dress, her white stockings, her white hat, and me.... We passed a sign that only recenty put up. It said, "Marian Health Center" They had been St Joes only weeks before.. I looked at my grandmother, her name being Marion, I gasped, "Grandma!!!! They spelled your name wrong!!!"
"Dont tell anyone, they'd feel bad" she said. She held my hand and walked me into her work where there were tall filing cabinets, desks, and lots of doctors office type of things.
*
When Nolan was first diagnosed, the very first image that came to my mind was that of my grandmother showing my mother how to inject into an orange.
I had a life changing diagnosis on my hands...
and still I felt strangely protected.

Dirty Job

2007-03-30T10:48:00.000-07:00

I know what the dirtiest job in the world is.
Maybe you have seen the show "Dirty Jobs" in which a the host of the show goes to someones actual job and tries to make a go of it for the day. He goes to fertilizer plants, waste management, steel manufacturers, and performs the job as best he can. These jobs are usually tough, and you get really dirty... on the outside. But they are an honsest days living.
The type of job I am thinking about today does not cause one to get dirty on the outside. These people stay neat clean and nice looking all day long. They might even still smell good at the end of the day. But they are far from clean. They are dirty on the inside... the kind of dirty that does not wash off with soap and water. The kind of dirty that does not come off in the shower, and you cant get out of you with any type of transfusion or fasting or purification diet, or anything.
I am talking about doctors that work for insurance companies. Doctors that are paid by insurance companies to say NO to medical treatments that would make somebody better, prevent further illness or complications. The nurses too. They are paid to agree that whatever drug or treatment you actually need is not necessary, or still investigative. That is what they do for a living, crush peoples hope for a future.
These people went into the medical field, presumably, because they wanted to see people get better, but now... they are denying that basic human need.
How could they sell thier soul?
But they do, all the time, for the dollar bills to fill the void where the soul once was.
And that is what makes it the dirtiest job on earth.
and like I said, you cant wash off that kind of dirty. You just have to wait until you rot, right along with your sense of moral obligation.