Monday, November 9, 2009
To the Tune of "Piano Man"...
"It's ten to two on a Sunday night. Blood sugars were low. I've been feeding glucose tabs like a mom possessed, hoping not to call EMS. Three rounds of corrections and it still won't budge, I am starting to freak. Then low and behold she's at 1-4-9. Yes, now we can both go to sleep..."
It's 2am and the adrenaline coursing through my system is not going to allow sleep anytime soon. Especially if Billy Joel keeps singing this ridiculous diabetic rendition of Piano Man in my head. Sparky and Halo are sleeping so soundly that their ears don't budge as I rummage through the diabetes kit yet again, searching for a new bottle of test strips. Even knowing that a generation ago it was impossible to check one's glucose levels 6 times in 50 minutes as I have just done, without really even making Maya wince; I am cursing test strips, meters, and all the rest. She is used to it by now, but I'm jaded. I'm a technology fiend. I love my iPhone and my Kindle. I'm thinking that if they can send a guy to moon, transplant a HEART, for crying out loud, I should be able to test my daughter's glucose levels without blood and without all of this paraphernalia. Something like that strip thermometer that I use on my kids' foreheads would be nice. I love that thing.
Since 1:05 I've been testing glucose levels, treating, retesting. Since the second check at 1:20, after 12 carbs of pure sugar, 15 minutes of waiting, and a LOWER glucose level than we started with, I've been envisioning ambulance crews and emergency rooms. Flashing lights and neighbors standing in their driveways wearing PJs. Strategizing. At what point do I wake Ricardo? Should I start throwing a few things into an overnight bag just in case? How cold is it outside? Do we need coats? Who will get Lucca ready for school in the morning if I'm at the hospital with Maya? Will anyone take the dogs out if I'm not here?
It's 2:57, Maya is zonked out on the sofa. The TV is blaring. Moose is singing that "jams are the jelliest" on Noggin'. Stop sitting here staring at this computer screen. Go turn off the TV. Joni Hennigan has writer's block. Go to bed.