Growing Diabetes Balls

I hope you don’t think me indelicate, but I need to talk to you about my balls! I may be a middle aged mammy but I own a beautiful pair of diabetes balls. They started to form when my son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. I didn’t know what was happening! I had strange outbursts and surges of rage. Then, as they do, my balls dropped. Now I keep them tucked away in my handbag, nestled in beside the jelly beans and the glucagon.

They only make an appearance when needed. I know my son finds it rather embarrassing when I need to get my lady balls out, and I wish with all my heart and soul that I never needed to see them again. Making sure my son is safe, especially in the context of school, has been a large part of my raison d’être for almost five years.

Keeping him safe has meant standing up to his school, making myself unpopular at times. It has meant taking chances to gently educate those around me when opportunities arise. It has meant quiet conversations with my son’s friends to ensure they are aware of what to do if he needs them. This has taken balls as it would have been so easy to say and do nothing.

If only we lived in a world where people understood better: where diabetes, of any description, was not the butt of jokes, where schools understood that having diabetes does not preclude a student from being a normal teenager, where you didn’t need to be really brave and stand up for yourself or your child.

Now I come to my rather delicate issue. I need to help my boy grow his own pair of diabetes balls. He will finish up with school and the children’s diabetes clinic at the end of the year. He will then be working for a year, and living at home before he moves off to university the year after. That’s the current plan!

I know I would say this but he is an amazing kid. He was diagnosed a few days before his 13th birthday, almost five years ago. This was just at the time where he was gaining independence: going out for the day with mates, taking off on his bike with a few dollars in his pocket for lunch, having sleepovers. He took that independence and ran with it, continuing to do so for almost five years. He is always busy doing something: multiple sports are played, he drives, has a part time job, is in his final year of school and in the last year, he parties and drinks beer!

How do you teach your child not to be embarrassed, especially as a young adult dealing with news situations?

How do you help them to find their voice ? To avoid getting into dangerous situations by being brave enough to speak up?

This is the challenge for him and for me.

Talking of balls, just so reading this was worth your while, I though I’d share some more balls, this time in the form of a recipe. These are a favourite in our house.

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Sourdough, Simplicity and Sisterhood.

I’ve been learning how to make sourdough and slowing down enough to enjoy the steps involved has given me lots of thinking time.

There’s a real simplicity to the process which would have frustrated the hell out of me a couple of years ago but I am enjoying it. If I rush, I get it wrong and the sourdough does not work out. I keep the starter in the fridge and on days when I’m not making a loaf, I try to remember to feed this precious starter in order to keep it alive and thriving.

I wake up at crazy times, hoping that the proofing process has worked its magic overnight and that the dough has risen nicely. It’s the best way to start the day. I put the oven on, heat up the cast iron pot in the oven and a bowl of water on the oven floor to create the atmosphere which results in the perfect crunchy crust. 

It’s a very low tech procedure which modern technology has not replaced. It seems to thrive on the love and care! Am I turning into some crazy old hippy?

All this puts me in mind of parenting! The other word for the starter is the ‘mother’. Those who are into making sourdough guard their ‘mother’ with care. Some have been on the go for generations, feeding entire families for decades  I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.

The mother must be nurtured and cared for or the bread will not work and what is produced will become inedible.

I am nurturing three teenage sons. This requires a lot of effort, consistency and care to produce the desired results: good men! I need to be on form for this to happen. If I am not taking care of myself then I cannot look after my boys. 

As part of what I do, I am the mum of an almost 17 year old son who has Type 1 Diabetes. Whilst his brothers are equally loved, there is an extra element of care needed here. It is what it is! He takes care of himself and I’m looking ahead and trying to envisage a time when he leaves home. In the meantime, I am catching a few early morning lows as I get up to put on the oven and the thinly sliced sourdough and egg combo that we’re having for brekie seems to be agreeing with his bgls. That’s what we call a win, win!

The Diabetes Australia #WDD2017 campaign #SuperSHEroStrong caught my eye today just as I was kneading my sourdough and so I would like to send my love, my thoughts and a whole heap of sassy sisterhood out to all the women in the diabetes community: those who have diabetes, and those who support others with diabetes too!

Ma Wee Scones

  ‘Ma wee scone’ ( my little scone) was a term of endearment used by old ladies in Scotland when I was growing up. You’d hear old ladies in the street looking at children : “Look at that poor wee scone over there, fell over his wellies and skint his knee!”. It fills me with nostalgia to think of it!

Now to life in Australia and I’m practising recipes for the fundraiser I’m hosting for JDRF  on 21 November. 

The boys are very willing guinea pigs. Everything has to be in mini versions as it’s a high tea. I’ve always avoided making scones due to that rubbing in of butter palaver but, to my astonishment, after a big day at work, I’m finding it quite therapeutic! 

I’m onto my second batch today. Twenty eight little beauties of around 15g of carb each. Pure butter and some of the weekend’s rhubarb and strawberry compote make it all worthwhile!

Now I’m mum to three wee ( OK, not so wee really! ) scones of my own. It’s funny how life can come the full circle!