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.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Baby steps.... and leaps and bounds!

It is a common occurence for Rowan (7) to wake me up nearly six times each night for a variety of reasons: "I feel low...."......"I feel high...."....."I'm thirsty....."...... "I'm scared....."..... "Can I come into your bed?"..... "My toe hurts......"

I remember before our Type 1 days, when she was a newborn, and reminding myself that I only had to endure the sleep deprivation for maybe another two years, MAX, and then I'd be able to sleep again. That all changed when Type 1 Diabetes emerged into her life from out of the shadows.

As a single parent, I don't have a partner I can nudge and declare "it's your turn". If something needs to be done around here, it's all up to me. I've got an awesome nine year old daughter who tries to help as much as she can, but I worry about burdening her with caregiving responsibilities. Everyone needs the chance to be a kid.

So this morning, I was so utterly exhausted at 5am, when she was declaring herself "low" for the fifth time that night. But there she is, all bright eyed with rosy cheeks, wanting to play in the sunshine and explore the neighbourhood with her big sister.

"You can't go out until we've got your BGI #" I declare. I felt so mean.

"Okay.... test me" she says.

"No" I reply warily, my sleep deprivation written all over my face and in my voice.

"Then will Trinity test me?" she inquires.


"Then who will???" she looks concerned.

"It's your blood, it's time for you to do it" I say, hoping that my exterior portrays more conviction than what I'm feeling inside. This is my baby and her lifeline, and I'm pulling away? It seems to go against everything maternal in my heart and soul. But it has to be done. If she does not wish to be the death of me, or one day visit me in the crazy-bin, she needs to step up and learn to be an active part in maintaining her well-being.

Oh the screams of horror! The kicking, the flailing, the twelve minute temper tantrum!

When I test her BGI, it takes under 60 seconds, a quick poke, a slurp, and the machine spits a # out at us. But she was frightened.... of what, I'm not sure, we do this six times a day... I don't know what she was worried would be different.

But after much stalling, complaining and hootenannying (15 minutes later) she did it.

"That didn't hurt at all!" she declares proudly as she holds out her blood stained thumb, and waves her monitor like a victory flag.

Two hours later.... lunch time.

"I feel low" she reports

"That's too bad, you should go get your meter and find your magic number"

She left the room so complacently, I was sure she was off to do something else. But low and behold, she set up the meter and the lancets, and proudly took her lunch time blood glucose reading. This time, it didn't take 15 minutes, I think it took all of 90 seconds.

This one is growing and adapting.... first with tiny baby steps, now with great big leaps and bounds. I couldn't be more proud! Thank you Rowan, for helping Mama.

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