Holy shit show, batman!!


Do you ever have those weeks  where you just say to yourself “what the fucking fuck is going on!?” Yep, welcome to week 1 of September 2017!!
BOOM! (that was the sound of all of the shit shows exploding all at once)

It started out as any week would…. with a Monday. This was no ordinary Monday, though, it was a holiday Monday that preceded the first day of school for my 3 kids. We went about our ordinary “back to school” business – laundry, backpacks, hair cuts, etc. And then the hour was upon us – DUN DUN DUN!!!

This year we have to drive our oldest to the high school. Fear not; the grade 9’s have their own wing… their own area with their own lockers, bathrooms, classrooms and eating area. It basically is its own self-sufficient little pond in amongst the big pond that is high school. We had explained this to our son many times, and even showed him previous to the school year starting at the “meet the teacher night” that we attended, like the good little nerds that we are. We showed him around, helped him with his locker, figured out where his classrooms were, discovered the gym and cafeteria (he was elated to see the food options now, unlike the school he had before, which only did a basic hot lunch program). He got excited about school council (it helped greatly, I’m sure, that the girl telling him about it was this tiny perky little adorable blonde girl). He was hugely excited for volleyball tryouts (again, the girls volleyball team was there to help hand out the kids schedules, and again, adorable little perky girls). Learned that his 3 best friends from junior high were all in his homeroom, and the rest of his friends were in the homeroom next door, and in a few of his options. All in all, he was happy.

So on the first day of school, he got out, I did the typical “mom thing” and took his picture in front of the school sign (I have every year since he started kindergarten) and didn’t do anything mommish or embarrassing, and sent him on his way into his new school. Then we rushed across town to drop the other two yahoo’s off.

Our middle kid, our little diabadass, our space cadet – he was fine. We had a meeting with the grade 7 staff a few days before school, as to teach them “how not to kill our son this year”. So he was fine to start, and excited to see his friends. He is low maintenance (diabetes aside) and has a “zero fucks given” mentality about most things. He’s easy (again, diabetes aside… but you can win them all).

And our little guy…. awww… my baby! He started grade 1. And he was FINE! He was excited that he got a locker this year, found his seat, sat down, and my husband and I became vapor. I still stuck around a bit, cuz fuck, he’s still a baby! I keep getting told that he isn’t (he is almost 6) but those people can fuck right off…. Regardless, he was fine. Least of my worries.

Kids came home, and everything was fine. Smiles at the dinner table, stories of the first day and reconnecting with their friends. Happy times. Mom win.

Wednesday morning hits…. I am in BLISSVILLE, as I am home alone. Kids are at school, hubby picked up a last minute overtime shift…. so I was going to get my Starbucks and go read in the peace and quiet of my house… clean the bathrooms and revel in how pissless they remain for the entire day. I had big plans, I tell ya. Then my phone dings at Starbucks, and it is my oldest —

“I don’t want to try out for volleyball this year”

BOOM. What the actual fuck. My son LOVES volleyball like fat kids love McDonalds. This is not right.

“excuse me?!” fumbling for my scalding hot coffee and trying to not spill it on myself.

“I want to spend the year getting myself acquainted with the new school”

“no” I pull no punches.. while trying to catch my breath, as it felt like I was punched in the gut.

“fine”

Holy shit. What did he just say to me?! “WHAT!? drop the attitude please, sir!”

By this point, I was in my truck, dialing my husband, and flying back in the direction of the high school. Little shit wants to text me this crap, he can say it to my damned face! The face that has spent countless hours driving him to and from practices, watching every game and tournament, spent hundreds upon hundreds in volleyball camps, shoes, kneepads, clothes, bla fucking bla.

So I am literally shrieking into my truck phone, which I am sure sounded like screaming squirrel to my husband, who is blissfully working away, but still forced to listen to the ramblings of my seriously unbalanced psyche. By the time I get to the school, I am fuming mad. “fuck this… I did NOT raise a pussy ass quitter!!!” And I go marching into the school, parked in the 15 minute drop off. I give zero fucks at this point… except the fact that my “extra hot” latte is sitting in there getting all cold and shit.

I walk in, trying my best to not look like a fucking lunatic, and thank shit that I did my makeup that morning, so as to not scare the fuck out of everyone around me.

“hi!” big smile as I talk to the secretary I’ve never met before, “my son left his lunch money in the truck”, I lie, knowing she wouldn’t’ pull him out of class had I said “little fucker is trying to be a punk ass quitter and I need to strangle him!”

So he comes down the hall of his wing, sees me, and breaks down. I wasn’t glaring, I just looked up at him. Holy fuck, like, monster meltdown. I drag him outside as to not make a scene, and ask him what the fucking fuck…..

Scared. Big school. Big kids (he is 6’1″ I should point out). New teachers. New people. I get it. I’ve done it (not the 6’1″ part, thank you, genetics)! So I try to calm him down and talk some reason into his erratic thoughts. Nope. So I drag him over to the counsellor, who does a 180 and marches us right back into her offie upon seeing his face. He was not ok. We chatted a bit and then she sent me away, as to avoid a parking ticket (holy fuck, that would have just been the shit icing that day!)

He texted me later, and he was fine. Met his volleyball coach, and she is this cute little lady, not threatening at all. He was fine. Took him back to the school for his 5:30 tryout, and only 8 other boys are there. Sweet. No cuts! He had a great time. All smiles when I picked him up.

Lets skip ahead to 1am that night. My little diabadass, my low maintenance “I give zero fucks” kid pulled the children of the corn shit on me, standing at my bedside at 1am, staring at me until I awoke, barely refraining from hitting the body standing beside me.

“I have a stomach ache” ……. BOOM.

“okay, get back to bed and I will come check your blood sugars” And sure enough, they were elevated. So I plug a correction into his pump and grab him some water.

“I feel overwhelmed by junior high”…. fuck.

“uh, it is the second day of school. What could possibly be overwhelming already”

“I am nervous about finals. There is so much to learn…”

FUCK! Breathe, Jennie… don’t smother your child…..

“Okay”, breathe in and out, “lets talk about that in the morning” and I walk away, grinding my teeth, wondering if I screamed into a pillow, if I would wake anyone. Then I lay awake in bed until almost 3, because the little assbag scared me so bad standing beside me, and my adrenaline is pumping because of the bullshit he just spewed…. no sleep for the wicked, indeed.

Thursday morning…. “oh children of mine. Perhaps in the future, if you all feel like melting down and having some little freakouts, would you be so kind as to do them at a MORE APPROPRIATE HOUR!?!?!?!? Like at dinner when you are straight up asked how school is going!? MY FRICKING GAWD!!!!!” and they stared at me with open mouths, like, how dare she, why is she losing her mind!?

*insert crazy ass laugh here*

I thought I was in the clear until 3:16 on Friday when my phone went ding. I was walking into my youngest kids school, again blissfully unaware that another boom was coming.

“I don’t want to go to volleyball today”

BOOM.

mother of fucking hell……

“and why pray-tell not?” breathe in and out, Jennie….

“she made us play this game last time, and it was hard. and it took like a half an hour”

okay, here comes another ‘holy fuck, my mom is losing it’ moment……

“you have GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. YOU WILL NOT BE A QUITTER! You like volleyball. So, go like it again. Stop being a whiner when things aren’t easy, or you have to actually try. GO! TRY! Enough is enough! I am done with this. Life is going to suck for you if you don’t ever try and you give up when you feel like it isn’t going to be easy!”

“fine”

fuck my life…. he said it again…. as though the first time wasn’t enough of a warning….

“you have got to be kidding me. Attitude. Say goodbye to it, or you can say goodbye to your iPad, phone, Apple TV, xbox, life as you know it…. you will live an amish existence if you can’t get your head out of your ass and behave as though you are the kid that I RAISED!”

“ok. see you at 5:30. Love you”

Yeah, you fucking better………

“love you, too. Have fun.”

5:30……

“hey buddy how was volleyball?”

“GREAT! I had so much fun. Coach said I am doing good. I just need to practice my setting, but my serves and hitting are really good!”

I was right. I am always right. Bow to my wonder.

“well we already knew your setting needed work, you have long frozen hot dogs for fingers” this made him laugh, so I had my opening, “what is wrong buddy. Why don’t you like yourself?”

“I don’t think I am anything special or worthwhile.”

BOOM.

“I don’t see what you see. You guys all tell me all the time how special I am, and how I should be happy with who I am and how I am, but I don’t see it. I am skinny and weak”

AH HA!!!! We have a crack in the armor!!!

“Yeah, you are skinny and weak! You grew like 4 or 6 inches in a very short period. You grew straight up SO fast!! But your growing will slow down now, and now you will fill out. It happens! Some people are built this way. And you are weak because you are lazy and only sit on your ass and play iPad. Volleyball and athletic development will help”

And he smiled. I think I have helped, but I still call for reinforcements. I call my mom, who spent her night texting him and telling him stories of me and my siblings. He has no idea about this, he just sees us now and never assumed any of us were bullied or picked or had a hard time. I called my best friend and she almost broke down and talked me down off of my “oh my god, I suck at parenting, I should have done better!” ledge. She took his phone number to text him, too. My husband spent the night and next day telling him stories of when he was small and was bullied, and how he changed it. We showed him pictures of when all of us were young and skinny and awkward as fucking hell.

My fucking god, lets hope this all helped. He has volleyball tomorrow night – cross your damned fingers that he goes in with a smile and comes out with a smile. Cuz I am not sure I can handle any more days where I feel like a gigantic failure of a parent, and wonder where I went wrong. And I don’t ever want him having any more moments where he feels like he is nothing special.

My diabadass is fine. Once we explained that finals occur AFTER you learn all of that stuff, he chilled and is back to his ‘zero fucks given’ existence. And my baby… well…. I still think he should stay home with me. But he is refusing, so whatever, I guess I am happy that he is enjoying grade 1, so far.

Holy fucking fuck… what a week. And now, once again, because of last week, my coffee is cold. Damnit.

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You are actually pronouncing that wrong…

As a matter of fact, “mom” is NOT pronounced “nag”… silly me, I have been saying it wrong for years!!!
When being a mom means you are perpetually nagging someone to do something, clean something, wash something, change something, check something, say something…. it gets tedious and eats away at your soul. So one day you wake up and realize that your soul looks moth eaten and you’ve spent your youth being a nag. Super.


You see all of these blogs and posts and whatnots of people glamorizing that which makes me homicidal… “the years go by so fast” “let them be little” bla bla bla. And while I am totally on board with this, and never ever ever want to wish my kids childhoods away, or wish time to go faster, I also see the flip side that none of these mommy blogs will share with you… Being a mom sometimes SUCKS!!!!

Waking up in the middle of the night for years on end, running on nothing more than caffeine and the desire to not die while looking this haggard, being covered in unidentifiable stains and liquids for the better part of your years with youngsters, teaching them to read, write, ride bikes, walk, clean themselves, clean their rooms, think for themselves, cook, clean, be responsible….. sweet baby Jesus, it is a wonder that more mothers are not walking around with straws just stuck right in the wine bottle, and sucking it back like it was our jobs.


I adore my kids. I love the shit out of my little fuck trophies…. but for real, motherhood is no fucking simple job. I feel like 90% of my day is nagging them. Not because I am a nag, but because their little ears and brains can’t process something until it has been repeated, at increasing volumes, five hundred times. Literally, five hundred. I struggle to comprehend how these tiny humans, of which have all been given awards for their intelligence at school, can’t remember, from day to day, just what is involved in being alive. Like bathing, or brushing their teeth, or changing their clothes, or doing their laundry, or in the case of my diabetic, making sure that his cgm is calibrated and he is not dead (calm your tits – I do 95% of his diabetic care, and he is only expected to do his calibrations and his 24hr injection.. I do not leave this all up to him, so don’t go getting all sanctimommy on me just yet – there will still be plenty of things I am about to say that you can pile on..k?). Day after day, these simple tasks are expected of them, and day after day, it comes as some horrific surprise to them that they have to do them.. and this is generally after I have come unglued and shrieked in their general direction. Shrieked. Because that is what I do now… remain calm until that is no longer an option, and then come unleashed on the people that I am responsible for keeping alive.


In a perfect world, my hair would still be thick, my skin would still have elastin, I wouldn’t have bags under my eyes that could accommodate a costco shopping trip, I would sleep soundly every night, wake up refreshed every day, have children that walked in nice straight lines with smiles on their freshly washed faces, they would do what is expected of them not because I freaked out but because they remembered to, birds would chirp, the sun would shine, and I would feel peaceful and serene.


But since my name is not Cinder-fucking-ella, that is just not the case. I just wish, with every ounce of my haggard mombie being, that they could just let me stop nagging. It really is just one simple request.. I would like to stop having to nag. Yes, I could just let my lazy flag fly and let them get away with it, but that is not how I roll. I am in charge of these little shitters, and my ass will they be the kind of people that go out in to the world and have no idea how to live or survive. My children will never be surprised that they can adult, they will never use the hashtag “adulting is hard” because they won’t have their heads rammed straight up their asses like some of these little snot nosed turds that are being raised right now. I do not pat their asses and tell them that their lack of effort is good enough. I nag because I care.

Yes. You read that right. I nag because I care! And one day, while my kids are being served their McDonalds french fries by some of these other kids who’s parents didn’t believe in time outs, or punishments, or teaching them right from wrong, or let them run the show, or allowing them to parade around without rules or consequence, then I can sit back, snarf my humble pie, and maybe then I will hear birds chirping and see the sun shining and feel peaceful.

But until then, I guess I am stuck with the mom/nag gig. Ah well, I don’t fucking like birds, anyway.

Diabetes life – More than needles and blood


Let me preface this with: my son has diabetes. It is new to us, but I am already very well versed in it, and don’t take lightly to BS being said about it. 

Now… 

When my son was diagnosed, other than losing my grandmother, it was the worst day of my life. My little boy, who was so funny and outgoing, and so full of life, would be thrown onto a new path and forced into a life he didn’t want. Heart. Shattered. 

But not only was he thrust into this life, we all were. His parents. His siblings. His friends (and their parents). His grandparents. His aunts and uncles. His teachers. His future girlfriends/wife. His future classmates. His future employers. People he has never met before are already impacted by this. 

Would we change our path if we could? No question about it!! But alas, his pancreas is gonna be a useless piece of shit forever now, so this is where we live. And this is where we deal. 

I keep saying “we”, as this is one hell of a team effort. My husband and I do the brunt of the work, but no one – NO ONE – does as much as our son! I’ll touch on that more in a bit. 

My husband and I are the ones who plan all of his meals, his snacks, his injection points; determine his carb to insulin ratios, how much long-lasting insulin to give; who hound him to drink lots of water; who make sure he gets lots of sleep and exercise; who deal with the random highs and sporadic lows. We are his first line of defense. 

Our other two boys help a lot. They help to put his lunches together, help to organize our pantry (which is a finely tuned machine on its own, with all of the food in it stacked in clear order, with the carb count written on top in sharpie) Our 4 year old hugs our DiaBadAss every time he has needles. And we play a game at mealtimes to see who can guess the closest to his blood sugar. It helps us all learn how he acts at different levels, and it helps him to learn how he feels at different levels. Plus, making it like a game takes some of the blah out of it. 

Here’s a “day in the life of” to show that we may make it look easy, but that is only because I am borderline OCD and am slightly Type A, and we work well together as a team. It doesn’t look easy because it is easy! Do not ever for a second think this is easy. We just deal a lot better than most:

On a regular (school) day, my son wakes up around 7:10, does the normal morning stuff and comes for breakfast. There, instead of sitting down and eating like most people are accustomed, he washes his hands, gets his kits and sits at the table. He then takes a strip out and gets his meter ready. Then he takes his lancing device, and patiently blows a small hole into his sensitive finger tip. He gently squeezes, wipes that drop off, and squeezes out a fresh drop, which he then gently places onto his ready test strip. While waiting for that number to appear, which will dictate the dose of fast-acting insulin he will have at that meal, he wipes his finger clean and gets his insulin pens out. Once the number comes up, we then begin determining the carb count for his breakfast, and using the blood sugar we just learned, and using his carb to insulin ratio for breakfast (and it’s different for all 3 meals in the day – something we had to painstakingly determine through trial and error) we figure out how much NovoRapid he will be taking. He then dials 2 units, shoots it into the lid, then dials in how many units he needs for breakfast (usually 4 units). Then he sticks that tiny needle into his tiny belly, and counts to 10, while the life-preserving smelly as hell insulin shoots into his non-existent fat (he has to pinch skin to create “fat” to inject into). Then once that needle is done, he gets his long-acting insulin ready to go. This one isn’t based on carbs, it’s an insulin he only takes once a day, and it lasts 24 hours (so they say). He primes this the same way, but through trial and error and what seems like a constant change in need, he takes the dose that we have determined is his “basal” need for the day. (It started out as 7 when he was first diagnosed, but over the course of 9 months, it’s increased to 14. That’s not to say it won’t decrease once school starts again, as being at school, he’s more active, but for now, it’s 14). He picks another spot on his poor needle torn belly, and sticks yet another needle into his pinched flesh. And only then, can he begin to eat his breakfast. Then we pack his lunch and snacks for the day, all the while counting his carbs, and writing everything down in his food log (including blood sugar tests and how much of each insulin he takes). Snack time rolls around at school, and he tests, texts me his number, and we determine if he can eat the snack was packed, or needs to replace it with a “free snack”(which we also pack, just in case), which is what he has when he is “out of range”. Lunchtime, and he pulls out everything we have marked as “lunch” in his lunchbox (so he knows what is snack and lunch, as it is exactly calculated), tests his blood get again, texts us the number, and we, recalling the carbs we packed for him and what his ratio is, tell him how many of his NovoRapid to take. Then he goes through the whole ordeal with priming and ramming himself with a needle, this time in the presence of his classmates and friends. The same is repeated for his afternoon snack, as well as his test when he gets home from school. Once dinner comes, we have already calculated his dinner carbs (after usually taking the packaging out of the garbage over and over, because we have forgotten the carbs, because that’s just what diabetes parents do!) and he goes through the whole situation again. 2-3 hours after dinner, he tests again, and if he is out of range/high, he takes correction insulin and grabs a bedtime snack (generally something free – he likes Whisps and cucumbers) and goes to bed.. And that’s when I take over. I test him around 10:30-11:00, and if he has correction insulin, again at 12:00. And every night, I wake up at 3:00 in the morning and check him. So on a typical night, I check him twice when he is sleeping. The nights he has insulin, I check 3-4 times. And the nights he is low and needs juice (which he drinks in his sleep)? I check him 5 times. With lows while sleeping, diabetics run the risk of slipping into a coma, and never waking up. While there is air in my lungs, that will not happen to my son. His life means more to me than 15 minutes of sleep. Then we wake up the next day, and round and round we go again. 

His doctors appointments are in a city 4 hours away. And we go every 3-6 months. (Every 3 right now). We are at the drugstore getting supplies every week and a half (his supplies take up over half of my previous liquor cabinet – how I drink less now, I’ll never know!) The pharmacists know us. The diabetic team know us by our first names (including our non-D kids). We do training with teachers at school, and several of them have our cell phone numbers saved in their phones. Our family and friends have been given crash courses on testing, needles, carb counting, radios, how to inject his glucagon for the emergencies in which he goes into a coma and can not eat his fast acting sugar. 

We have done more math in the last 9 months than I have in years. And you know what? He’s worth every tear, effort, sleepless night and frustration. 

There are a lot of misconceptions about diabetes, and I’ll touch on that another time… But what you need to take from this is: it’s hard. Every damned day is hard. It’s hard for us, but it’s the hardest for our son. Regardless of what we do or how much we put into this, it is only happening to our son. This is his life, we are just helping him learn how to make it be best possible. And I will continue to do so as long as he wants and needs me to. 

Period. 

Right or wrong? Who fucking knows..

Decisions Decisions.. how do you know when you are making the right one? Do you get a feeling in the pit of your stomach? Do you get a tingle up your spine? Do you have a little crazy ass voice in your head leading you in certain directions (if you hear it all the time, I may suggest speaking to someone about that.. haha) How do you know when you are making the right choice? How do you know when you are on the right path? And don’t fork over any of that new-age mumbo-jumbo that spouts off that every path is the right path if you look hard enough. Bullshit. I know a lot of people (present company included) that have blindly stumbled down all sorts of incorrect paths, and where did that lead me? Right up shit-creek. And I am here to tell you, shit-creek is not a pleasant place to be, especially when you are a weak swimmer. Regardless.. how do you know? YOU DON’T!! You just close your eyes, hope you’re doing the right thing, and hold on for dear life.

Not every right decision feels right. And not every wrong decision feels wrong. Sometimes, they interchange. Sometimes, the bad decisions are the best feeling things in the whole world! I would imagine that is why being “bad” is deemed as fun, while being “good” is usually deemed as boring as fuck. It is because being good doesn’t usually feel good. That’s not to say that all good decisions feel bad, or aren’t fun. I have made a lot of good choices in my life that were the best things ever, the most fun, and felt amazeballs. That being said, lots of my bad decisions felt that way, too.

So, how do you know what to do? When you are faced with something that you feel is the right decision, but you KNOW that it is going to piss off a lot of people, and potentially hurt and destroy others. But you know deeeeeep in your gut that it is absolutely the path that you need to be on right now? I know I shouldn’t be concerning myself so much with the opinion of others, or worrying with how anyone else is going to feel about my choice. But at the end of the day, in spite of many opinions that would suggest otherwise, I am not a rampaging irrational unreasonable bitch on wheels. I am not. At my core, I am a good person, and very smart, and I have a very keen eye for people and am an amazing judge of character. Maybe that’s why I am perceived as a bitch to most? Because I can see through bullshit and people are afraid of me being able to see who they really are, before they are ready for that to be public knowledge? Maybe it is because I stand up for myself and (used t0) frequently speak my mind. For a long time, I stopped, because I was exhausted of always having to defend myself. And I just hung back and let shit happen. But now? I am kind of exhausted of that, so I have started putting my foot down, and the bitch-mask has been thrown on my face again. SO BE IT! Just call me Bitch-Girl and watch me rock my cape and mask. (of course, my “cape” will be in the shape of a hoodie, and my “mask” will be sunglasses, because while I may be considered a bitch, I am not bat-shit crazy)

I have made a few very big and life altering decisions in my life. Lots of them are ones that most people are never faced with. Lots of them would pale in comparison to some other peoples life altering decisions. But regardless of where I land on the “holy shit” meter, they were the ones I had to make, and they are part of my journey and have shaped who I am. Again, I don’t think I turned out that bad. It has been pointed out to me (directly and indirectly) that not everyone agrees with my appraisal of myself. But again, this isn’t about anybody else’s opinion right now. My life, my choice, my journey.. And here we are. At yet another crossroads. Some days I am baffled at how many of these fuckers I have encountered in my life. I am 35 years old, and I feel like I have had to make choices that could potentially alter my world permanently WAY too many times. But it is about perspective. Had I not made those choices, I would not be sitting here. I don’t think my choices have landed me in a horrible life, just sometimes a really HARD life. Then again, most of the time, it is easy and awesome and fun and enjoyable. Nobody loves every minute of their life, I suppose. And if they say they do, they’re crazy enough to be wearing a cape and mask.. hahaha.

I know that once this newest “WTF” issue comes to a head, there is going to be an awful lot of shit thrown at me, a LOT of protest and probably some tears. Which is why I am sitting on my couch, for the third hour in a row, with my headphones on full blast, with very loud and aggressive music on (read: very drum laden) It is how I have always dealt. Music. I turn it up as loud as my poor old-ass eardrums will allow, and my mind kind of goes blank. I think all day every day… a lot. So maybe when my mind goes blank, it opens up avenues for sense to me made of the shit that is swirling. I used to do this in my truck. I would make insane playlists on my ipod (or burned to cd’s cuz my cd player was able to turn up louder than my ipod transmitter thingy) and I would drive. The longer, the better. Most people hate driving long distances alone. I used to LOVE it! Grande Prairie to Calgary was my favorite. It was 9+ hours alone in my truck with nothing but my sunroof and music to keep me company. I turned my phone on silent, and just drove. It was always when my mind was the clearest. I also did Grande Prairie to Edmonton several (hundred) times (gotta love long distance relationships!) and while that was only 4 hours, it still usually did the trick. But, being older (and somewhat more responsible) I can’t really just jump in my truck and drive to see my best friend in Calgary like I used to. So, my pretty blue Beats and my Apple Music playlist are just going to have to do for the time being.

Is it making this decision making crap any easier? Not really. Because in my gut, while I know it is the right thing to do, it is still hurting me. I hate having a conscience. It is brutal. There is something to be said for the time that I was numb inside – didn’t matter what choice I made, I just didn’t give a fuck. Though, being numb probably wasn’t super healthy, either. Oddly though, that was when I was the most up-front and brutally honest, stood up for myself the most, and didn’t really give a shit what people thought, and nobody thought I was a heinous bitch! But now that I am more timid and care about other people’s feelings, I am Bitch Girl. HA! How ironically ridiculous.

Long story short (okay, not really short…) making decisions is not always easy. It is not always cut and dry. It is not always clear what you should do. It is not always going to make you happy. It is not always going to make everyone happy. It is not always going to make you feel good. It is not always going to hurt. It is not always going to be clear to other people why you did it. It is not always going to make you popular with everyone. It is not always going to make you feel good.

How do you know if you are doing the right thing? Like I said.. you don’t. You just close your eyes, hope you’re doing the right thing, and hold on for dear life.

Here we go… time to jump.

Diabetic monster..

I read a very sad story tonight about a young and promising college athlete with type 1 diabetes who, like so many other people before him, quietly passed away in his sleep due to a low blood sugar. . It sneaks up, often without warning, those unpredictable nighttime lows. And without warning, if you’re not careful, they can sneak up and steal the most precious things on earth.. it doesn’t take long, and it comes without any noise or alarm. Just poof…….

My heart shattered into so many pieces while reading that story, the pieces could not ever possibly be counted… Because that is my main fear with my son. The highs and lows during the day we can handle; they are completely manageable.. While they are entirely infuriating and sometimes frustrating beyond belief, it is something that we can easily deal with. It’s the lows that sneak up at night.. that is where the terror lies.

After he’s given us his hundred hugs and said his million “I love you’s” and tucked himself into bed, that’s the scary part. Because when so many other children go to bed and peacefully slumber, only afraid of the monsters under their beds and in their dreams, diabetics are constantly in a battle with their own kind of nighttime monsters. And it is the parents of these humans that fight their own variation of these monsters. My son is still too young to fully manage himself; one day, it will be in his hands (I will always remain in the background… whether he likes it or not!) So, for the time being, it is on my shoulders to keep him on this earth, and as healthy as possible, and for as long as possible.

I haven’t slept through the night in months. I get my son to check himself when he goes to bed, then I check him when I go to bed a couple hours later, then I get up every single night at 3 am and check him again. I should be exhausted, I should feel drained beyond measure. But when it comes right down to it, that is my baby’s life there, and I am not willing to sacrifice it for 15 extra minutes of sleep. I jump out of bed and happily/groggily check his tiny little finger, only lit by the hall light, and he sleeps right through it. He sleeps through a sharp object blowing a hole into his delicate finger skin, me squeezing a drop of blood out, wiping it off, and squeezing another, and the incessant beeping of his glucose monitor. Then, once I have his reading, I either tuck him in and slunk back to bed, or rip to the fridge to grab his emergency juice (also known as his big brothers regular juice boxes… ah, the simple life) He even sleeps through me ramming straws into his mouth and forcing him to drink enough juice to bring him out of his lows (of which require me to recheck his finger every 15 minutes until he is back to an acceptable reading.. which means, I have to keep blowing holes and squeezing blood until he is back to a good level)

I’ve read stories of mothers who haven’t slept through the night in 20 years because of their Type 1 children. And that is absolutely going to be me. If there was ever a question before that I was going to be an overbearing mother and one of the ones who are still a constant in their children’s lives when they’re older, I have no doubt in my mind that I’m going to be now. Sorry future girlfriends, after everything I’ve been through with him, you’re just going to have to put up with me!

He is 10. He has a lot of years left ahead of him. And if it means I lose sleep for the foreseeable future, so be it; it means he wakes up every morning. If it means my cell phone bill is more every month, just so he can text me his levels, so be it; it means I know he is safe, and I always get a ton of “i love you” texts, and there’s nothing wrong with that. If my grocery bill goes up so he can have the best possible foods for him, and always be prepared, so be it; it means he has the best shot at being completely healthy and happy.

My son  is a Type 1 Diabetic. But he is so much more than that. He is my son, and I intend on helping him figure out exactly what else he is going to be.
  

Not all sunshine and rainbows..

The last few days have been trying. That’s not to say that the previous days were particularly easy, but we were handling it.

Slight catch up. My middle son got diabetes in November. And it has not been all sunshine and rainbows since then. I am beyond grateful that we caught it when we did, but a part of me will always grieve for the piece of my son that was lost on that day. He is such a beautiful boy, with an amazing heart and a promising future. He is so full of life and humor and love. And no matter what we do now, and how hard we try, there will always be a part of him that was taken away that day. I will fight until my dying breath to make sure that my baby is happy and taken care of, and always do my best to remind him of his inner light.

But like I said, the last few days have been hard on him. There is so much about this stupid asshole disease that is literally left up to trial and error. There is so much guessing and testing and trying. So much of it resides in the grey. It is not as cut and dry as most diseases, and that makes it SO FUCKING INFURIATING!

Why? Why are his normally stable numbers all of a sudden creeping up? From a steady 6-8 to an 11, then 14, then 15, and then from there, there was no going back. We battled. We rallied. We racked our brains as to how to fix it, why it was happening, what could have caused it… We threw out his insulin and gave him a new cartridge, we revamped our meal plan, I went through 2 months worth of numbers and food logs and checked for any patterns, we made him sleep more, drink more water, have more protein, increased the insulin to carb ratio, increased his lantus dose… I did everything that any professional would do in my position.. and then I hit my breaking point.

I caved and called the Health Link. In my province, it is a call center run by nurses who listen to symptoms and help you decide if you need the doctor or emerg or maybe some allergy pills. More often than not (I would say 98% of the time) they send you to the doctor anyway, but I still call. I will not be doing that again! While it is useful for some things, they are not allowed to do shit about kids with diabetes. I told her “I have everything sorted, I just have one question” and I asked it, and all she did was reprimand me on his numbers and told me to call his nurse. THANKS TIPS!! After completely exacerbating myself with that very nice, albeit completely useless, woman, my sons diabetic nurse finally called me back.

Our regular nurse is no longer at the health unit, so we have a new lady that I have yet to meet. She seemed very nice, but upon telling her my story, my frustration overfloweth, and I had a little breakdown while on the phone with her. We talked for an hour, she reassured me that I was doing everything right, and that I was a good mom and he was lucky to have me… but I can not begin to tell you how broken I felt. While she did make me feel a bit better, and we did hash a few things out and get some ideas going between the two of us, I still feel like I am failing my son because I can’t fix him!

Why is he high? These are the reasons we came up with….

  • he was left high all weekend and his body built up a resistance to insulin (yes, that bullshit is legit)
  • he is going through a growth spurt
  • he didn’t sleep enough and his body is feeling insulin resistant
  • he is fighting some sort of infection or illness
  • he is dehydrated
  • he is stressed out about something
  • he isn’t rotating his injection spots enough and his tummy is building up an insulin resistance
  • his insulin was somehow exposed to extreme temperatures and it’s garbage
  • his carb ratio needs to be adjusted
  • he needs more of his all-day-long insulin
  • his “honeymoon” phase is over
  • who. fucking. knows.

There are literally so many reasons why diabetics sugar levels go all psycho, but all I know, is that his did. I do know a few of those things are true, and I busted my ass for him to rectify that which was done wrong for him (no fault of my own).

I am his person. I fight for him, so he doesn’t have to. I fight and bust my ass and lose sleep and feel insane, so he can have a semblance of a childhood. But we still had to get to the root cause of his stupid high numbers.

He has had a runny nose, but hasn’t complained once. Not once! So after he texted me his lunchtime number today, I decided to pull the mommy card and yank him out of school, so I could have him home for a big chunk of time, and focus on him and getting him better. Being excited can raise blood sugar, and with him already higher than I would like, I figured being at school would just perpetuate it. So, he came home! And on the way home, he was really sniffly. It hit me! “is there any sort of pressure or pain in this part of your nose?” And he said yes. BAM. I had my answer (well, part of it.) It is now believed that after his numbers were left high for a whole weekend, his body was stressed enough to allow him to get sick again. I gave him a sudafed (pharmacist approved) and had him drink a liter and a half of water, gave him his correction insulin… and for the first time in 4 days, I got him below 10!! I almost cried. He almost cried. And I kept it down all day. It was one of those moments where you just feel totally relieved.. and yet, stressed at the same time.

This is his life now! This is what we have to look forward to forever. Any time he is sick, or stressed, or excited, or sleep deprived, going through puberty, doesn’t drink enough water, his body decides to be an asshole, etc etc… I feel so sorry for him.

This whole disease is a crock of shit. I am just hoping and praying that there are some amazing advances in the field in his lifetime, so he can maybe have a bit of an easier time.

But for now, know this. Diabetes sucks ass. It is a crock of shit. My heart shatters when I think of what my funny happy baby has to go through now. But I will be by his side, doing what I can, for as long as I can. And maybe even longer.. haha, I am pretty stubborn, I’m not sure I will ever allow anyone to tell me I am not needed. Oh yes, I believe I may be one of “those” mothers… bwahahaha!!

 

 

 

The “mom burn-out”

mom

The “Mom burn-out”… it happens to the best of us. And those of us who swear it hasn’t are either lying, have wine in their reusable starbucks tumbler at all times, or are some mutant form of superhuman. But for the rest of us, it is a real thing, and it can really suck.

I find that my worst mom burn-outs tend to coincide with the month of August. Coincidence? I THINK NOT! I adore my children, but summers can be a bit tricky with the difference in their ages. My oldest is caught between 12 and 13 (read: a sweet child and a moody-ass teenager) and my youngest is just an adorable little 3 year old. The filling to my son-oreo (cuz he’s the middle, get it??) is 10. So, there is a bit of a gap, and a plethora of mixed interests.. so while summer starts out with a bang, it tends to just end with an explosion. There is arguing about outdoor activities, tv shows, xbox games, board games, movies… everything down to what we eat for dinner. And this is not due to a lack of activities! They have all been sent on their fair share of outings, camps, bla bla bla.. it is just the way of the world. End of August = grumpy kids and burned out moms.

But the sweet smell and sound of school is just around the corner (for those of us who haven’t already sent our kiddos back) Last week I ordered their school supplies, which were delivered 2 days ago (best thing ever! School supply shopping is the bane of my existence), their back packs are on their way (barring any issues at customs, they should show up on time), their clothes and shoes have been bought, the little adorable ice packs for their lunch boxes are freezing in the freezer, and snacks and juice boxes have already been stocked. All I need now is their lunch boxes, and we are set. I went a bit OCD this year, and am prepared a bit before schedule, but it’s okay! That means we get to spend the last week we have of summer holidays, together, as a family. Well, as long as their crummy mood swings and attitudes don’t get them sent to a quiet area too many times đŸ˜‰

Mom burn out is exhausting. But every day brings a fresh start and a hope that it will be better than the last. And every day IS better than the last, because I get to look into their beautiful blue and brown eyes, hear their amazing and contagious laughs and listen to their voices telling me the greatest stories ever. Burn out is exhausting, but if it means I get to have these days, even the ones that are hard as freaking hell, then it is worth it. When my little boys hug me, when they tell me about their days, when I hear them say “I love you” or hear my little guy call me his princess…. my heart explodes and tells the burn out to suck it. Totally worth it.