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.

Saturday, November 10, 2012

A Letter To My Bones

My sweet precious L'il Bones:

You did something tonight, that I was beginning to doubt you would do before you were 39.  You did your own site change! I'm rather certain that this pivotal moment will be locked in your memory, and I'm sadly confident you and I will have rather different versions of the event. It's my hope that one day, you'll read this entry, and you'll have greater understanding of the big picture.

I know that none of this has been easy on you.  It's been huge changes for a little person. But I'd like to think that you are learning at a early age, exactly how strong you are, what all you are capable of overcoming, and what you are able to rise up to.

I'm sorry.  I know you didn't want to do the site change. I'm sorry.

One of my biggest worries, as an independent parent and your sole diabetic caretaker, is that you have the means and confidence to manage type 1 diabetes should anything ever unfortunately happen to me.  I'd hate to think of you mourning the loss of Mama, and at the same time, having to learn how to take care of yourself, or being at the mercy of someone who doesn't understand the way you're used to it being done.

Did you know that when Mother Birds are teaching their Baby Birds to fly, sooner or later, they have to push the baby out of the nest? Not to be mean, or because they're mad at their Baby Birds, but because the "unknown" is so overwhelming. So frightening.

Tonight, you got yourself all worked up before we did this.  Heck, you being all worked up was part of why this happened. 

I love you, but sometimes your behaviours aren't fair.  At the end of the day, this isn't my diabetes. There is an expression "don't bite the hand that feeds you".  I think by the time comes you read this, you'll understand the metaphor, or maybe after just tonight, you understand.

I want you to grow up remembering, that if you work yourself all up over the unknown, you only intensify the misery.  Take a deep breath, and JUMP into the new.  Yes. It will be scary.  Yes. It will be exhilerating. Yes. You will wish you didn't have to.  But when you're swimming in that "new" you will be BEYOND proud of yourself for your bravery and courage.  If you remember nothing more, this advice is in the top 5 I would like you to remember. It's that important.  Breathe, trust, and jump into the new. Just remember to breathe before jumping, while jumping, and while landing. Breathing's important, it'll get you through everything.

I realized that I pushed you out of the nest tonight.  I realized that you very much got pushed out of the nest the day you had to inject yourself at family camp.  Please know that pushing you out of the nest is probably as hard as being pushed. Right now, you're curled up in a blanket, watching TV with your sister, meanwhile I, "the pusher" am sitting at a computer crying.  I feel mean, and I hope you don't see me that way.  I hope one day you'll understand.  I just want you to fly.

Much love,

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