The school phoned fifteen minutes ago. Rowan was hyperglycemic (at 20.4) BEFORE eating any of her lunch. It is pouring down rain here, so there will be no running around to burn off the glucose. Off I went, with my insulin pen in my pocket, to visit my littlest LadyBug.
She peed on a ketostix... no keytones (small yay!), she sits there in the office chair in front of the receptionist, the back of her tiny left bicep her sacrifice for this afternoon's dose.
"Can I come back home with you now?" she asks me sadly
"Rowan, if you came home everytime your sugars were out of whack, you'd be 42 and STILL in Grade 1" She accepts this with no rebutal.
Back in the classroom, she pulls out her lunchbox, time to break bread with her peers. I give her a hug and a kiss, and tell her what a great job she did for me as I head to the door. Her little voice chrips up....
"Thanks for the lunchtime insulin Mama..... I didn't mean to"
All I can repeat to myself with every step to the classroom door, is "get out before you loose it. Don't let her see you bawl.... again"
I know you didn't mean to Rowan. Why would anyone ever mean to? I'm sorry I had to give you an injection. I'm sorry for all of this. My brave, brilliant, beautiful LadyBug.