Diabetes weather forecast for our region

Ok ladies and gentlemen!
On tonight’s show we are looking ahead at the diabetes weather forecast for the week.

It’s difficult to predict what lies ahead in the next few days.
Given the lull lately,
We predict a strong possibility of some highs 
Which will inevitably be followed by some unexplained lows through the night.
Be prepared for some sleepless nights as you batten down the hatches.

Those sporting fanatics amongst you will  no doubt be keen for predictions around your weekend games.
It’s finals weekend, adrenalin is pumping!
Make sure you avoid the post game lows by reducing those night time units.
Remember what happened the last time? 

Looking ahead to the weekend,
Not much activity is predicted 
The resulting change from the weekday routine may cause chaos in some households.
Don’t let that be yours!
Remember to count those carbs carefully and avoid random guesses 
You know you hate those three am wake up calls!

There we have it folks!
As you can see, forecasts are a fool’s game!
Nothing can be predicted with any certainty
So keep smiling and be prepared for any eventuality!

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That boy and the egg is growing up.

The boy and the egg
Is growing up
He now carries his precious egg to a part time job.
He didn’t tell of his egg’s existence on his application as he doesn’t feel it is a disability.
Time has moved on.
He hasn’t felt brave enough to show anyone his egg.
I worry that he finds it a burden and is embarrassed by its presence.
I fear he may not find compassion and understanding when he is brave enough to show it to others.
What if he is rejected?
Not telling them about the egg is equally terrifying.
It’s real and it exists and if it cracks one day,
People need to know.
Yet and still,
It hasn’t cracked.
It isn’t broken.
He continues to live the length and breadth of his life.
And me?
I need him to be safe but
I want him to be his own man,
To find his own way.

This is how we do it….

We put one foot in front of the other.
We pray to the universe and the God we no longer believe in
To keep our child safe
Until he returns home
When we will happily carry his load.
We do all that we can
Each and every day
To keep our child safe from invisible harm.

We take solace in the normal moments:
The issues with homework not being done well,
The squabbling amongst teenage siblings,
The overuse of mobile phones,
The constant need to stay in touch with 765 ‘friends’ on Facebook ,
The obsession with animal videos on YouTube.

We rejoice in the victories:
A run of days with normal blood glucose levels,
Playing sport at 100% effort and staying in range,
The days out with friends jumping in rivers and riding bikes,
The meals out in restaurants, ordering the biggest chicken shnitzel,
The laughs around the dinner table, hanging out together.

This is how we do it.

Message Monday- My dreams and hopes.

Why the French title? Sometimes French words just sound better!

My hopes and dreams for my son who has Type 1 diabetes are so important and keeping positive about every aspect of his future keeps me motivated. This is the same for all three of my sons but, in the face of so much negativity around diabetes, it becomes all the more pertinent when you want to keep the image of a bright, positive future alive for a teenager with Type 1 diabetes. 

This time last year I stumbled across diabetes blog week. I found blogs by other parents and suddenly I didn’t feel as alone. From this grew the idea that perhaps I could write a blog too. I spend so much time thinking (but not talking) about my son’s diabetes, so why not write about it?

One of the first posts was a poem I’d written. I am not a poet. I’m a mum of three boys, a wife and a full time high school teacher. Walking was my sanity in the early days after my son was diagnosed. I’d throw my self out of bed and into my walking gear and pound the streets. My head was trying to make sense of what was happening and I found myself constantly reliving the day of his diagnosis. 

I’m pretty together in my working life and didn’t find myself often in a position of helplessness yet here I was,  feeling raw and exposed. I wrote this poem and it felt just right to share it with others who understood the feelings it expressed. The connections I’ve made through sharing this blog have given me the enthusiasm and desire to continue, albeit more sporadically. Making connections with other parents online helps so much when there is a absence of connections in my ‘real’ world.

I love the diabetes online community the most when I feel connected or when it gives me messages of hope. I know the reality, the potential future complications for my son, but I try to help him deal with his reality with realism and, together, we face each challenge as it comes. I love to read about those who have lived their lives with diabetes and thrived in the process. I don’t necessarily mean by climbing mountains or swimming across vast oceans. Things like finding love in the midst of diabetes chaos, working at jobs which are fulfilling, travelling and experiencing the world would be the pinnacle of success in my book and those are the blogs which fuel my hopes and dreams.

Now two and a half years after diagnosis, I know my son and our family have come a long way but I read this poem and I’m right back in that day. It must be around a year since I wrote my first blog post and it feels right to connect with these feelings again.

 I lost a layer of skin

I lost a layer of skin
As we entered the hospital on the day of the diagnosis.

I didn’t feel it fall off. It certainly didn’t hurt.
It gently slipped off with less than a whisper, unnoticed, like a soft, satin scarf.

I wish I had noticed it leaving.
I imagine it floating gently over the roofs of nearby houses,
Carrying with it the half formed dreams I alone held for my child,
leaving behind only rawness.
Over days, weeks and months a strange new layer has grown in its place.
It’s a bizarre contradiction – tough yet sensitive.

Watching the drops of intense ruby blood makes it want to shred itself
Glimpsing needles pierce the stomach where raspberries were once blown makes it ache.
Seeing the somber eyes of a child learning to cope leaves a hollowness.
Dragging a weary body through night times of wakefulness leaves it feeling prickly.

It’s certainly more careworn than the layer it replaces but it’s strong and it needs to be.
It bears the brave scars of battles: some internal and silent, others of epic proportions.

Hiding the multitude of maternal fears which largely remain unshared have hardened the carapace.
It has to be tough for the times when it’s all too much for a child who just wants the old normal.

The old normal isn’t coming back.
I like to imagine that I’ll find that layer of skin again someday and fashion a purpose for it in this new existence, for there is hope.

Move over Miss Marple

In the words of Taggart,

“There’s been a murder”

But there is no body.

A pancreas has been killed

And it’s inside my son.

My dodgy gene pool looks like the prime suspect

With weird and wonderful auto immune diseases abounding

On both sides of my family tree.

No happy valley here.

Just a predisposition

And the elusive lightening strike

That leaves him with needles and insulin pens: the wire in his blood.

I spend my days as a silent witness,

Looking for the ‘green around the gills’ tinge of an impending hypo

Trying to work out the reason for sudden high levels.

I snuffle about, metaphorical magnifying glass in hand,

Forensically examining the carb count of a recent meal,

Querying the impact of an activity or lack thereof,

Constantly learning new tricks.

There is no right or wrong in this game.

He is above suspicion.

Sleepless nights feeling like I am waking the dead: a teenage boy in deep slumber.

Blame is never attributed for the weird and wonderful numbers which

Randomly appear on that small screen.

No offence is taken by this amazing child but

No convictions will ever be made for the death of a pancreas.
Edit – how many detective shows can you find reference to?

Disco Inferno (Otherwise known as a night out for parents of a child with T1 diabetes)

    

   

  
 
I wrote this after we had a great Christmas night out with all the people from my work. We still had a good time but I didn’t totally relax once that phone buzzed. My boy was only looking for some reassurance and I realised this the next day. 

I refound my mojo that night, even just for a brief while, and that was fun! It was all I needed to remind me that I love that man of mine too! He’s the Kel to my Kath! Best Christmas present ever!

Dear teacher

  
Parent teacher interviews last night. Great to hear that these teacher’s know my boy. I know that our beloved educator is going to do a talk to the staff soon. Last week we had a near miss and the lack of awareness could have come at a huge cost to my son’s health. 

It has all been a reminder to us of how vulnerable we are when we send our children off. We hope that the teachers remember who our children are and what they need to do for them: it’s usually nothing but when things go wrong we need them to have a minimum amount of knowledge. I thought I’d been proactive but that was not the case.

I know this job. I’m a teacher too. This makes it even harder as I know what a tough gig teaching can be. I feel conflicted but making sure my boy is safe is my priority.

I wrote this poem at the start of this year when my son returned to school after the holidays. All my nieces and nephews in the Northern Hemisphere head back to school soon as we edge closer to our Australian summer. This is what I’d really like to say to the teachers.