Woman, Independent Parent, Artist, Advocate, Artifical Pancreas.... and EVERYTHING in between.

I am blessed to be parenting two beautiful girls, ages eight and eleven. My youngest nearly lost her life at age six (August 2010) to diabetic ketoacidosis: an often fatal consequences of undiagnosed type 1 diabetes. This is OUR journey: raw and sometimes, uncensored.

Thank you for visiting wishing good health and a cooperative pancreas to you and yours.

Monday, October 18, 2010

I'm Sorry, I Thought It Was A "Support" Meeting

So we all bundled out, dangerously close to my youngest bedtime, to attend the monthly JDRF Abbotsford chapter support meeting.

I'm sure they called themselves a support meeting in the e-mails and other correspondence I received. Yet, maybe I blinked, and missed it, but I felt no support.

There were maybe twenty people in a circle. The only reason they indulged us with introductions, was because of so many new families. So in five minutes, everyone introduced themselves, offering how long they'd been living with "D", and that was it. An endocrinologist nurse spent half an hour asking for suggestions for this year's world "D" day (November 14) and then a guest speaker stood up and for the next hour, talked about insulin pumps.

Now, we aren't on a pump, in fact, I'm scared to death of them. I just got used to the idea of injecting Rowan everyday, inserting a tube into her side or buttock and hooking her up to a small piece of machinery nauseates me. Completely and totally. It keeps being pushed on us like it's the miracle salvation, but the pump "site" needs to be moved every three days, and frankly, I'd like to stand up and scream at the top of my lungs: "HELLO, I'M NOT A &%$#*!@ NURSE!!! NEVER WANTED TO BE A NURSE!!!! TOO BLOODY SQUEAMISH!!!"

I know that we aren't the only ones not on a pump, there was another seven year old girl who was diagnosed in July, and a 9yr old girl who was diagnosed a mere two weeks ago. I felt flush and overwhelmed just hearing all of the details, and I'm wondering to whose benefit this speach was being given?

I'm baffled. I'm telling you, they billed it as a support group. But doesn't a support group offer the chance to delve into ones feelings???

Yet I'll go back, if only because out of the seven kids my youngest was playing with, four of them were Type 1. Maybe that's the only support we'll receive, and even if it is, for her, it's worth it.

But I need to know where my shoulder to cry on is? Perhaps they have me mistaken not only a) for a nurse, but b) someone who's stoic and just plods forward.

I'm tremendously disappointed.

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