Companion

I’m the mother of three boys, two of whom are young men and the youngest is quickly catching up. My role as a mother is changing all the time.

When my middle son was first diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes almost six years ago, much of my role as a parent revolved around counting carbs, trying to calculate the correct amount of insulin depending on the ratio for each meal and allowing normal food choices whilst attempting to have some awareness of foods which could cause spikes in blood glucose levels. It was my role to count and calculate, to monitor and often to worry. Trying to take the stress out of managing this condition for my son, fostering honesty and an open dialogue and accepting that perfection was not expected was how we rolled. I walked ahead of him, protecting him, sometimes acting as a buffer from those who did not understand. I was fearless and afraid of no one but it was exhausting too!

My son was diagnosed a week before his 13th birthday so diabetes has been a constant throughout his formative teenage years, years when his friends were free to experiment and explore. As parents we never once stopped him from doing anything that he wanted to do. Not once. He played multiple sports, had a part time job, learned to drive, went to school, travelled across Australia and to New Zealand for school and club sport, traversed the world for family holidays and had a very active social life.

This did not always lead to a beautiful in range line for his Blood Glucose Levels but it did produce a young man who knows he can do anything. We were judged harshly at one point for the way we did things but we felt empowered enough to walk away from that judgement and find people who better understood our son.

We were always there beside our boy and we were in it together. When he reached 18, we did not suddenly leave him to manage alone. In the lead up to his 18th and in the subsequent months we have had a ‘planned withdrawal’ and by that I mean planning with him to gradually hand over the responsibility of his diabetes. He also swapped the health care team he was with around the same time and that was such a positive step. If our son wanted us at his appointments with his diabetes educator or his endocrinologist then we were welcome. This worked well and a year later he attends appointments on his own but if he ever wants us there then we will go and are welcome.

Reading Leigh Sales’ amazing book ‘Another Ordinary Day’, really helped me to process what my role should be and seeing her speak in person at the Byron Writers Festival was a true fan girl moment for me. She spoke with quiet wisdom on how to help those around you who have had something awful happen in their lives. She talked about how we, as outsiders, can only accompany and these words stayed with me. I wish this book had been written when my boy was diagnosed. I feel sure I would have garnered strength from the stories of the people in the book and more importantly from their survival and resilience.

I love my family, I love bread and I love words! I teach languages in a high school so looking for just the right way to say something in English, French or Italian is how I spend my days. Nuance is everything!

Outside of work, I make sourdough. I’m passionate about it and slightly obsessed with keeping my starter going. The process of making it is quite complex, making me slow down and think as I go through each step. There is nothing quite like the moment of reveal when I take the lid off in the oven and see what is produced. Gifting loaves to friends and family never ceases to give me joy.

In class the week after the Byron Writers Festival, I was talking with a French class about the different words for friends in various languages : friend, pal, mate, chum, buddy etc and then we looked at the word ‘copain’ in French. The previous week my senior French class had shared a loaf of my sourdough with me in a lovely moment of connection. We often talked in French about what we had done on the weekend and my recount usually had the sourdough process in it somewhere. They challenged me to bring some in so I did, along with some Aussie unsalted butter and a jar of Bonne Maman Caramel Spread. Ah, the joy in their faces! As we ate, we talked about how the English word ‘companion’ was linked to ‘copain’ in French and how special the simple act of sharing bread was, marvelling at the magic that can occur when you mix flour and water.

In the last year, some of my friends have had some awful events occur in their lives, some dramatic and others quietly painful but, having read Leigh Sales’ book, I feel much better prepared to know what to do.

I have had many wonderful people accompany me as a parent of a child with diabetes. Their presence, be it online or in person, allowed me to question, to express my emotions and to learn what to do best to help my son and to survive. Their lack of judgement, even when I fumbled about awkwardly, their reassurance that I could handle it and their infinite advice when I sought help got me through.

With my son, I now see my role as a companion too. I walk beside him. I am there for him. I will nourish him with my love and with my sourdough too. Accepting that he does not always want me to accompany him has been difficult for me, if I am entirely honest, but I know I must step back and let him go. As parents, our heads are full of all the horror stories of what can happen to people with diabetes and we are given the task of making sure this does not happen. I feel sad when parents are criticised , especially as they move from being the parents of children to being the parents of young adults. When it feels like your raison d’être has been to keep your child alive, handing over sole responsibility to your child at a time of experimentation and constant change is not easy or simple. We are still a work in progress in our home but we are figuring it out together and as my son takes on more of the responsibility, I am freed up. This too is bittersweet. I can no longer share the burden which my shonky gene pool created but I am happily filling my free time.

If you have taken the time to read this then you too are a companion and I thank you for your company.

Leaving on a jet plane…..

In two days, I’ll be jumping on a plane and heading back to Scotland, the motherland, for a month. Coming with me is my youngest son and my husband. It’s been over four years since I’ve seen my family, my own big crazy Scottish clan, and I am beside myself with excitement.

Staying back in Oz are the other two boys: one will be at home for a week before heading back to university and my middle son will be home for the remaining three weeks. All the rest of our Australian family will be away from the local area: the grandparents are rumbling off into the sunset, caravan in tow to seek warmer climes in Queensland and party on with the rest of the grey nomads?

What could possibly go wrong?

  • There will be a mammoth party or ‘gatho’ (you can’t full me on that name!!) the weekend after we leave, when both boys are still home. My house will be trashed and burnt down by drunken youths. Solution-tapping out on this one!

I’m hoping that the apocryphal tales I’ve overshared with my boys in the last few weeks will put them off having too many people over:  tales of house fires, arrests, pilage and the like, all of doubtful origin, but the they did make for a good conversation over dinner.

  • My stash of nice wine will be drunk and not even appreciated. The fear is real here as last night we grabbed a nice bottle of red and noticed it had already had a small glass worth of wine removed, the tell tale drip mark down the front the bottle was a dead giveaway as well as the lack of a satisfying click as I opened the bottle. Having recently had a conversation with a friend of my son, who suddenly wants to be a wine connoisseur, I knew who the culprit would be! We had a ‘friendly chat’ and I’m hopeful I won’t need to hide any wine left in the house. We only have wine after accidentally joining a wine club after flight delays in an airport! Solution – I will be taking a few bottles and hiding them in my wardrobe!
  • My son who has type 1 diabetes will be home alone for three weeks which includes a 3 day music festival in the middle. He will hopefully not get sick or have any misadventure befall him. Solution – he has a friend coming to stay. It is the same friend who pilfered the wine. This was organised before the pilfering incident occurred!  I’ve also organised for the dad of one of his mates to check in with him a couple of times. He is a kind man and will be discreet. There is also a whole posse of my girlfriends who will swoop in and mother my boy at a moment’s notice.

A year ago, I could not have envisaged this trip but a lot has changed. My son has a new team. They are there for him to gently guide him through, helping him to learn about his body, encouraging him to see how his body reacts to various situations and learn from what he observes.

What could possibly go right?

  • The house will be standing when I get home. My sheets and towels will be freshly laundered and everything, at the very least, will be as it was before.
  • My wine stash will be intact and there may even be a bottle of bubbly awaiting me in the fridge to welcome me home!
  • My son will thrive in my absence and I will learn to gently let him go. He plans to move out next year so this is a great chance to see what that independence really feels like. Reconnecting with my crew in Scotland is totally what I need right now. I feel an urge to scoop up and smell handfuls of the earth and inhale the odours and sights of the land where I grew up.

The last five years have been huge. I am so happy that I have held onto my marriage, some great friendships and the good relationship I have with my three boys but I am tired. I recognise this and the holiday to Scotland will feed all my senses and enable me to come back a happier and better person.

Another reason for my excitement is that this time next week, I will be in Edinburgh, meeting up with two mums of boys who have type 1 diabetes. I christened us the #mammydoc – three Scottish mammies who have supported each other through scary nights and life experiences. To be able to hang out for the day feels unreal!

Well, that’s me! Closing my laptop for the next month! Hasta la vista amigos!

 

Freedom! Move over William Wallace!

So here we have it! Schoolies is finally here. For the uninitiated, schoolies is a very Aussie tradition during which school leavers hit party mode hard for a week. Some head to Bali or Fiji, others stay closer to home, opting for places like Byron Bay or the Gold Coast.

My boys think it’s the best thing ever. Living in rural Australia, they have never lived the city life so are happy to stay on these shores. Big brother went last year and survived. This year came the turn of my middle boy who has Type 1 diabetes. Last year I worried about drugs, alcohol, and coward punches.

This year, to my worry list (which I try to contain to a padded cell in my head, visiting only occasionally to indulge in a huge silent scream), I have added 7 nights managing type 1 diabetes alone. Did I even think about stopping my son from going? Not ever, not even for a second.

He has survived 6 years of high school, has submitted hundreds of assessment tasks, sat countless exams and navigated relationships with teachers and peers. For five of those years his constant companion has been Type 1 diabetes. He so deserves to celebrate and the style in which he does that is his choice and is totally funded by him, from the sweat of his brow, after working solidly over the last couple of years in a fast food restaurant.

I read about people living ‘their best life’. It’s a daft expression as, for most of us, our choices are pretty limited. For my boy, he is totally living the life he wants and that’s what it’s all about.

I dreamt of having children who played musical instruments, were fluent in foreign languages and who loved sitting around watch ABC docos and chatting about the novels they were currently reading. Instead, I wasted thousands of dollars on piano lessons, never got past nursery rhymes in French and Italian, and have boys who do not share my passion for reading. They are however very aware of how lucky we are to live where we do and are grateful to enjoy the freedoms of the society in which we live. They will all be good men. Of this I am sure.

I have gradually realigned my lofty cultural expectations and have grown to accept the weird and wonderful ways of my three boys. The toilet seat at their end of the house is usually up and the first thing I do when unexpected visitors arrive is quickly go and clean it. I know that wrestling me is their version of a hug. I have learnt many life hacks on quick clean ups and coverups!

So here we are now, almost at the end of schoolies. We exchange daily texts, have only spoken once, and Diabetes rarely rates a mention. He is happy and knows what he needs to do. He is wearing a Libre, has his Frio pouches for his insulin and his MedAngel thermometer to make sure it doesn’t get too hot. He has a discreet little running belt under his shirt which keeps Libre reader, his insulin pen, needles and jellybeans just where he needs them. The last five years have lead us to this point. My boy may not be exploring cultural sites of significance in exotic locations and is more likely to be busting out some dance moves in a night club, beer in hand but he is doing exactly what he wants to do, and I could not be more proud.

Meanwhile, back home, I am chilling out! I thought I’d be a wreck this week but I am not. I have slept like a baby, albeit a baby with her iPhone ten centimetres from her head, and I have gone about my day to day life feeling confident in my boy. I have been pottering in the kitchen, working my way through my fave new cookbook Ottolenghi’s Simple, finally looking at what I want to do in my free time. Next week, I’m going to go and sing in a choir. I can’t read music and can just about carry a tune but I love to sing. This choir is only women and they sing 80’s and 90’s music. I am really hoping it’s fun.

The future is here, the moment we have been waiting for. School is finished, a University place has been accepted and deferred and we are embracing our freedom in our own ways. I’m still totally here for my boy and whatever happens, I know Diabetes will throw him many a curved ball, I have his back. This he knows and, comfortable in this knowledge, we can both enjoy our FREEDOM! (Make sure you say that in the same manner as Mel Gibson in the movie Braveheart -go on!)

My Diabetes Family – Growing up with the #doc

My Diabetes Family

I keep seeing this #mydiabetesfamily on Twitter and on other Social Media and it’s got me thinking about who my diabetes family is. Considering that I do not have diabetes, why am I even asking myself?

My middle son has had Type 1 Diabetes for almost five years. He celebrated his 13th birthday a couple of days after he was diagnosed, becoming a teenager whilst in hospital (cue the gift of a denim patchwork quilt, made by a local sewing group, which is still over the end of his bed).

My son’s diabetes family is small. It’s us! His mum, his dad and his two brothers. He lives with diabetes every day but it’s not part of his online presence. That’s all the family he currently wants or needs. He sees his medical team: an endocrinologist and a diabetes educator and they are his medical diabetes family. He is busy living his life, does what he needs to do every day and I think he does an amazing job.

My need for a diabetes family has been much greater than his. I also absolutely believe that the diabetes family I have around me has helped me to be a better mum to him.

I’ve always kept my online presence as anonymous as possible. I don’t ever post my son’s name and never post photos that would identify us. Strange isn’t it that here I am then, with a fully functioning pancreas and what I believe is the most amazing diabetes family?

I feel like I’ve passed through all the stages of life with my online diabetes family. I stumbled onto the scene like an awkward teenager having written poetry and feeling very needy and in need of reassurance. I am so lucky that my clumsy and sometimes misinformed attempts to connect with people did bring me into contact with the #doc and more locally #ozdoc.

I found some great people to mentor me, read some amazing blogs and survived my “diabetes teenage years” as my son turned into a young man. I am so absolutely grateful for the patience that people showed towards me, for the advice, for the positive comments my blog received and most of all for the connections across the world that stopped me feeling so alone.

The next stage, was where I came into my ‘adult diabetes years’, becoming more of an advocate for my son and also for issues affecting the diabetes community. I got more involved, campaigning locally for CGMs for all those with diabetes and having some good conversations with our local MP. I also felt like I needed to pay back into this community and into the search for a cure or for research into ways to live with diabetes. Every year I’ve held a fundraiser for JDRF and with a great bunch of women. We put the ‘fun’ in fundraiser every year. This event allows me to reach out to around 50 top females and quietly educate and raise awareness while we drink bubbles and have a great afternoon together.

I’m fading into the background now, I’m trying to embrace my ‘middle aged diabetes spread’. I don’t write so much any more. My boy is almost a man. My job will never be done with any of my boys but it feels like I need to step back and let him go, well, as best as I can. The maternal tug will always be there. Some of what we have gone through in the last year has been heart achingly horrid and other parts have been amazingly positive but these are not my stories to tell. That’s my boy’s narrative and should he choose to share it one day, that’s his choice.

The contacts I’d made on #ozdoc and #doc and the invaluable advice received in private messages gave me the strength and courage to act on his behalf. Without this, I hate to think of how we would have survived. The very survival of these hard times, allowed me then to privately share some of the wonderful moments with people and make even deeper connections with some. My thanks are heartfelt and deep to those who were there for us.

There are a couple of mums, one in particular, who I’ve met on Twitter and we have been there with each other every step of the way. Chatting online through the night and sharing jokes and hopes and well as frustrations and doubts has meant that I can function fully and happily in my day to day life. We have plans to meet up one day and that would be just fantastic!

What I didn’t realise until recently is that I have become part of the ‘diabetes family’ that other people have. Over the last year, some people have made contact and let me know that they enjoy reading what I write. This was unexpected and such a beautiful surprise! I was backing away from Twitter and blogging as I’m not really sure what my role is going forward but I’ve come to realise that, in small ways, I can help others and perhaps be there in the background for them just as others were for me. Not quite a wise elder but more of a crazy Scottish sweary mammy whose heart is filled with love for this big worldwide community that’s been thrown together by diabetes. I salute you all!

His hands

At birth his little premature hands were so fine and fragile with nails only part formed. There was a strength in the grip as I held him in my arms and looked at his tiny self.

He was a hand holder, always. Sidling up to me and grabbing my hand as an unsure toddler. Tickling my hand in a secret code when we both knew we were stuck somewhere but had to stay. Squeezing my hand tight to try to make me yelp in pain was followed by peels of laughter.

Watching those hands learning to master first cutlery, then a pencil and waiting for the elusive primary school ‘pen licence’ which was never awarded due to a stubborn personality streak which would not see the necessity of writing neatly.

Sport then occupied those hands: dribbling a basket ball, throwing a cricket ball, catching a rugby ball. Always amazing control, and coordination.

Then aged 13 those hands took on another role. Sharp needles pierced fingertips; a finger sometimes needing to be milked like a little udder to produce a glistening drop of blood which would then direct the course of the next few hours with insulin and carb calculations following on.

Those hands seized the blood glucose meter on the second day, jumping as the spring released the needle, eyes wide in fright as a plump drop of blood sprang out onto his finger. From then on, other than when asleep, the meter was his and his alone.

My hands have danced with his hands in various strange nocturnal waltzes in all kinds of crazy locations: from tents to long distance planes. Sometimes those hands do not want to come out, especially when tucked under a pillow in the depth of a cold winter’s night. An unsightly arm wrestling match can ensue but it is never the best of three as the meter must win, a number must be had and then sleep can be resumed.

I know these hands intimately. I know which fingers he prefers to use for checks. I know his cheeky smile as he sticks up his middle finger at 3am, half asleep. I know the part of his fingers that the needle hurts least.

Over time, the tips of certain fingers have grown hard and dots mark their surface. They are men’s hands now. Where once his tiny hand nestled in mine, both of my hands can cradle one of his.

There are times in the early morning, when I sneak in to do a check before a busy day begins. I feels his hand’s warmth and sense the pulse and life force within it. These are moments of thanks and gratitude to the universe for keeping my boy safe.

In the next couple of years my boy will leave home. I will watch him pack his bags and those hands will carry bags out of our home and into an exciting future.

That’s exactly how it should be.

The Boy and the Egg pull some moves!

So here we have it. Remember The boy and the Egg? I wrote this not long after my son was diagnosed. He spent his 13th birthday in hospital a couple of days after his diagnosis. How times have changed! And how they’ve stayed the same!

So here we are over four years post diagnosis. How is my boy and how is that Egg? I’m so pleased to report that both are intact! Initially the worry was how my boy could play sport, navigate school, hang out with friends and still manage to take care of the Egg.

These days, the Egg goes on dates. Through what I can only imagine are passionate embraces, the Egg has not been smashed. The Egg has also been there when a heart was broken. Not my boy’s, but an amazing young woman who was his first serious girlfriend! He had sat with the Egg in his hands as he tried to think over how to be diplomatic and delicate in ending this relationship. The Egg lost a fierce protector when the relationship ended but having someone to share the Egg with is not enough of a reason in itself to keep a relationship going. (Note to self, as the mother of three boys, do not fall in love with your son’s girlfriends!)

The Egg is a frequent attender of parties where my boy can hold a beer in one hand and the Egg in the other and can apparently pull some dance moves at the same time. How amazing and terrifying is that? In order for this to happen, we had to have some Egg and Alcohol sessions at home. We gradually increased the number of beers my boy had over the course of a few weeks, making sure he held on to the Egg and never left it where it could be smashed. We checked frequently throughout the night that he hadn’t rolled on it and smashed it and so far so good! We have had to be totally realistic about alcohol. We are living in the real world and facing the challenges in a way that reflects the reality of our boy’s life.

Driving with the Egg on the dashboard presents a few challenges. Keeping an eye on it and the road can be hard, especially when you are a learner and you have a parent there with you, trying to explain what to do. My boy has recently moved from an automatic to a manual car and those gear changes certainly increase the adrenalin and those kangaroo jumps can be scary and are accompanied by pleas from my boy that I stop swearing.

Working in a fast food outlet with an Egg in his pocket has been interesting. Finding a part time job that is permanent , rather than casual, has meant that employers have had to acknowledge the existence of the Egg. They have been offered the chance to be trained in Egg Preservation but it hasn’t been needed so far. The main thing is that my boy can take that Egg out of his pocket if he needs to as it isn’t a secret. He can take time out on a shift and make sure it’s alright. He gets holiday pay and sick pay which is an incredible thing at this age and offsets the lower hourly rate.

We live in the country and many of my boy’s friends live in other towns and villages which are not necessarily close by. This means he has days and nights away and as he has expanded his social circle it means the we do not necessarily know the families of these friends. Trust and honesty have never been as crucial. We have a little kit bag which serves as a nest for the Egg. When he goes off, my boy packs it full of everything he may possibly need for a couple of days and promises to text us regularly. He knows, if he has a big day or evening, that he’ll need to wake up during the night and check on the Egg.

Our boy has realised this summer that having the tiresome responsibility of the Egg does not preclude him from all normal activities. He has taken on a more active role in looking after the Egg. We are still there as the Egg Support Squad in the background but as he gets ready to finish his last year at school and move on to a big exciting future, I feel like he has the world at his feet and a good grip on that Egg!

Neither fish nor fowl

As things currently stand, I find myself in a grey area with regards to my son (and his Type 1 Diabetes). I don’t have a name for it but it reminds me of when I lived in Italy in my twenties and an older lady I worked with described her son in his late teens as ‘né pesce, né carne’ ( in English we say ‘neither fish nor fowl’) to describe that ‘in between’ state in which my son currently finds himself. This stuck in my head as a weird expression but now I totally get it and wish I could go back and have a chat with that woman.

My son is growing but not grown.

He is gaining independence but not independent.

He is both a man and a boy.

He knows everything and nothing.

He yearns for freedom but needs boundaries.

The fact that he can drive but only has Ls sums it up!

Where does this leave me? I have been there with dogged determination every step of the way since his diagnosis four years ago. He is fairly independent and he can manage his diabetes well. He knows how to calculate his insulin doses and work out the carbs in his food. He knows the impact of sport and how to adjust for this. He can go out for the day and I am not concerned.

We have a lovely way of communicating via text when face to face convos are just too emotional and hard because it does get hard. There has been no running away from that this year. Technology has helped us and some days as I sit at my desk at work and he sits on the school bus we have a beautiful little written dialogue where we let go of the worries and anger that can start off the day and we both then move on feeling much better.

He has just got on a plane to Victoria where he will play in a cricket competition for the next week. I am feeling confident that this will go well. He will focus on the important thing- cricket!

This confidence is backed up with the knowledge that the Diabetes Educator trained the two staff on the trip. There has been information exchanged by me with the family where my son will stay and he will be woken by them at 3am each day to check his Blood Glucose Levels.

He has now started his last year at school. It’s a weird system in New South Wales, Australia. The first term of the final year of school starts before the summer holidays so he has hit the ground running for his final year. This time next year, School will be over just like it is for his big brother who is currently on a ‘gap year’ to recover from the huge amount of study of the final year of School. Guffaws of laughter were heard when this idea was muted but we do get it and will be encouraging our other two boys to do the same thing.

What is my role now?

I feel like I am on the side lines: the linesman. No longer the referee on the field, making the big decisions. I watch from outside the action, intervening only when strictly required. Sometimes I let things go but at other times I need to come down hard. It is quite clear that I am now an observer rather than a participant. I am also a partisan linesman! I actively support too! I will not allow foul play and I will protect my boy with my very being. Do not mess with me!

Mission Accepted : The (Re)quest for a Replacement Blood Glucose Meter- Diabetes Blog Week – Day 3

The Blame Game – Wednesday 5/17

Having diabetes often makes a visit to the doctor a dreaded experience, as there is invariably bad news of one kind or another. And sometimes the way the doctor talks to you can leave you feeling like you’re at fault. Or maybe you have a fantastic healthcare team, but have experienced blame and judgement from someone else in your life – friend, loved one, complete stranger. Think about a particularly bad instance, how that person talked to you, the words they used and the conversation you had. Now, the game part. Let’s turn this around. If you could turn that person into a puppet, what would you have them say that would leave you feeling empowered and good about yourself? Let’s help teach people how to support us, rather than blame us! 

This is a blog post I wrote a while ago but I have relived this conversation again recently.


Background: 15 year old boy with Type 1 diabetes. Great kid with two settings: sloth and clumsy giraffe on speed. There is no way to predict which setting is in operation at any moment.

Motivation: Two Blood Glucose Meters which both, within a space of a week, show signs of not being reliable. This is not wonderful when your son has Type 1 diabetes. A call to the helpline will surely be able to fix this? 

Setting the scene: Your lunch break is 45 minutes. Mobile reception at your work is dodgy to say the least so calls have to be made from a phone in the middle of a busy staffroom. There is a tiny surface, about the area of a phone directory, where you can balance a notebook or iPad if you need info for your call.

Reality: 35 minutes spent in a queue. You do not have lunch as you didn’t think to bring your sandwich to the phone. You did not fit in a quick loo stop before you got on the phone and you are teaching for the full afternoon. A miracle occurs: you make it to the front of the queue and your call is answered.

Main characters

1) aforementioned high school teacher, starving hungry, in need of a wee and slightly on edge in case the Blood Glucose Meter her son took to school stops working.

2) extremely patronising lady who has clearly done a training module on how to talk with empathy to harassed customers.

Dialogue:(assume we have run through five minutes of privacy statement, details of child, various other details which we go through each and every time we call, serial numbers on the back of each meter in the tiniest font have been supplied, as you were smart enough in the middle of your son’s hypo that morning to remember to take a picture of the back of his 2nd meter and you even manage to simultaneously hold down two buttons on the meter on the tiniest ledge imaginable so as to be able to give the details of the error codes.)

Teacher: ‘Yay, finally a human! You are a human right? Great! My son has two of your meters and both appear to be playing up. On one meter, he repeatedly gets a message that the drop of blood is not big enough when it very clearly is whereas the other emits a strange squeaking noise when the cassette rotates.’

Lady – ‘Let me run through the method you and your son are using. No, please don’t stop me even if you think you know what you are doing, it’s amazing how often people are doing the wrong thing and your son has gone through a large number of meters which really does make me wonder.’

Slightly narky teacher– ‘We have been through this so many times that I could do your speech for you and I now only have 5 minutes left so can you please just put through the order for two new meters and I promise I will send back the old meters. Yes, my son is a teenage boy and so may not be the most precise and careful creature but he does care about his diabetes and having correct results. No, putting his meter in a little tub would not be an option as he carries it in his pocket when he goes from class to class. Yes, I will suggest that he treats his meters with great care and does not launch his school bag across rooms or sit on his bag if his meter is in it. Now about those new meters, are you going to send them?

Accusatory Lady: ‘Have you been following the correct procedure for inserting new cassettes and also do you follow our cleaning instructions from the back page of the manual ? Let me talk you through exactly what that is and you can follow on the meter you have with you. 

Defensive teacher: ‘For the love of God, can I have two new meters or not? I now have one minute left, I have nothing left to say to you. Are you understanding how stressful this is? I would love it if my son changed to another type of meter as I think there are better models than yours for him but he wants this type as he is comfortable with how it works. He has diabetes, not me, so I am respecting his wishes but, tell me now, are you going to send me two replacement meters as I need to go?’

Placatory Lady in a voice dripping with syrup : ‘I totally understand what you are saying and I will be sending you out two new meters with the understanding that you follow the correct procedure when changing the cassette and you promise me that you will frequently utilise the cleaning method using the cotton bud which we discussed earlier.’

Sarcastic teacher: ‘Thank you so much for your help, I look forward to receiving the meters and will ensure all protocols in relation to cassette changing and cleaning will be followed with the utmost care and attention. There’s the bell. I have to go!’

If there had been a concrete wall in front of me at that moment, I swear I would have found great comfort in repeatedly head butting it until I drew blood but instead, I picked up my bag and headed to my class, ignoring my rumbling stomach. I keep reliving that conversation and wondering if I should have done it differently.

OK, NOW FOR THE FUN PART! LET’S TURN THIS CONVERSATION ON ITS HEAD!

Set the scene: 2 unreliable BGL meters, one teacher, one service centre lady.

Phone rings three times and is answered by a lady with a calm, understanding voice who simultaneously manages not to sound patronising. 

Lady: Hi, how can I help you?

Teacher: Hello, my son’s two BGL meters are unreliable and I’m worried about his using them. Would you be able to sent me two replacements please?

Lovely Lady: Sure, please give me the code on the meters….. ok, that’s great, I’ve got all his info here. Is there any feedback that you would like to give me about why these meters might be unreliable? We are always striving to improve and it must be very stressful for you to feel like your son isn’t safe.

Grateful teacher: Look, it’s hard to say. He is a teenager and this is a delicate piece of equipment. I don’t want to blame anyone. I just need two replacements.

Wonderful Lady: Not a problem. I will get them both sent off to you tomorrow. I can see your son has had diabetes for a few years so I’m sure you both know what you are doing. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you?

Ecstatic teacher: That’s perfect, unless you happen to have three teenage girls who may be looking for a life partner in a few years. You sound like a great woman!

Future mother in law of my sons: Sadly not! I too am the mother of three teenage boys. The struggle is real!

THAT WAS FUN! IT’S GREAT TO DREAM!

Celebrating being average!


I am average, my kids are average, most of my life is fairly average and I commit to celebrating this! We need to celebrate the average! Why is being average frowned upon and overlooked when that is what most of us are? This is my own personal protest cry for common humanity! 

I have three fantastic kids who are average and I am not ashamed of that. I hold my head up high and I love them with every ounce of my being. They go to school and do all their work, they play multiple sports, they have friends and people tell me they are lovely, polite boys. Why should I be made to feel that this is not enough? 

There is such pressure on our children to excel at everything or at the very least at something. Why are we not content to be what we are?  I see friends putting their primary school aged kids into tutoring to try and pull up their grades. These kids do their regular homework, then plough through the revision sheets issued by tutors. Their haunted little faces pain me as they are drilled to within an inch of their lives and have such high expectations put upon them to always do better. What skill set do they need to have for their future lives? Are they going to be astrophysicists or elite athletes? Why do we always seem to demand more and more of our children when they are already giving us their best effort but the results are ‘only’ average?

I certainly do not mean that kids should not excel. If your kid is in the gifted and talented category, good on them but for the love of God, please stop dropping that into the conversation! I get it you are proud and so you should be but I am equally as proud of my three children. I have tried to help each of my boys find something they can be passionate about. For them it is sport, in various shapes and sizes. 

I have decided to withdraw from this pressure! It feels so liberating but it is hard and I do need to keep myself in constant check. 

What caused me to rethink? 

Three years ago, my middle boy was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. His life and our lives changed and numbers took on a far more significant role. Every day, my son checks his blood glucose levels multiple times, we calculate the number of carbs he is going to eat and from that the insulin dose he injects is calculated. He is growing and is very sporty so these calculations are constantly changed and modified in order to try to keep his levels in the sweet 4 to 8 mmol (72mg-144mg) range. Every three months an average is taken and we find out the results of the all important HbA1c. I’m sure many people (and/or their parents) with Type 1 Diabetes would acknowledge a certain nervousness when they are about to get this magic number. 

The night before this result is given, I feel sick and cannnot help but think back over the previous three months. We try so hard to keep those blood glucose levels in range, but real life gets in the way. Sport, illness and being human all interfere and I lie in bed picturing a big  zig zag with high highs and low lows. My son tries his hardest and so do we as his support team. It doesn’t matter what that number is, there is nothing we could have done differently.

When school reports arrive in the middle of a life full of numbers, it really makes me think. Don’t the same things, sport, illness and being human, impact on these school results? Yes they do and so I commit to stressing less about grades and results and as long as we are all trying as hard as we can most of the time then that is absolutely good enough!

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!