Why I love to pump

Adam Henrique, #14 in white, about to shoot the series-winning goal
after 83 minutes and 47 seconds of hockey, early Friday morning.
Image credit: TSN

One of the benefits of pumping is that, when a playoff game goes into double-overtime, I can stay awake ’til the wee hours of the morning watching and waiting for a game-winning goal, and not worry about waking up for my regularly scheduled breakfast.

Because when there’s no long-acting insulin, there’s no set meal times.  I can modify my regular routine on a whim, with no prior planning.  And that’s worth a lot.

Because It’s The Cup.

Wanting to save, wanting to be saved

To my dear generous, selfless cousin: Oh, how I wish I could
Source: Facebook (names and faces hidden)

A year ago today, my cousin donated a kidney to her younger brother.  When doctors determined that his kidneys were failing and he’d need a transplant, the entire family (brother, sister, mother, father) were tested, and the sister was found to be the best match.

Without giving it a second thought, she jumped at the opportunity.  Keep in mind that, while the rest of the family lived rather close to one another (with an hour’s drive), she was about four hours and a few states away.  She also had three kids living at home, and her husband had been out of work for quite some time.  Life was difficult.  Hectic.  Stressful.

But blood is thicker than water.  She instinctively signed up to take time off of work, transfer her parental responsibilities to others, and undergo invasive surgery to help save her brother.

(Almost) Wordless: Door

"Beep-beep-beep"

 

This door drives me crazy.

Every time it closes, it squeaks.  To anyone else’s ear, the ordinary squeak just means the hinges need some grease.  But my trained ears hear three distinct high-pitched, descending notes, curiously identical to the tones my pump/CGM plays when it detects a low blood sugar.

Finding Dr. Right

Dr. Frederick Banting, the Godfather of Diabetes Specialists
Image credit: Wikimedia Commons

It’s tough to find a good doctor to help manage diabetes.  It’s also tough to know if the doctor you have is a good one.

As of some time earlier this month (I don’t know the exact date) I’ve had Type diabetes for 31 years.  In those years, I’ve had many different doctors care for my diabetes.  Looking back at them, I realize how different each one is from the next.  Some are good at telling you that you’re not doing well (or kicking you in the pants when you don’t).   Others are good at maintaining the status quo: writing prescriptions and keeping track of various metrics (A1C, height, weight) without ever really knowing you.  And every once in a while, you come across a real gem – someone who really can make a difference – who can surprise an old dog by teaching him new tricks.  (Yes, sadly, I now consider myself an “old dog”.)

“Real people sick” is easy

No matter what, he keeps on smiling!

My little boy is sick.  Real people sick.  (Of course he’s “real people sick.”  That’s the only kind of sick that most people, people without D, get.)

I got the call to pick him up from day-care yesterday and take him to the pediatrician.  It seems his right ear was clogged up with wax and some stuff was oozing from his eyes.  I thought it was just a cool trick, but his teacher was worried and asked me to bring him home.  The doctor said it’s a pretty normal infection, prescribed some antibiotics, and said he’d be fine tomorrow.

This didn’t surprise me.   Baby Z spends hours in day-care putting everything he can reach in his mouth.  Everything.  I’m sure other kids in the same room probably do the same thing.  It’s the environment and it happens.  This doesn’t bother me, though.  I’m all in favor of my kids getting sick when they’re young.  My wife and I believe it builds up their immune system and makes them more resilient.  The children we’ve seen whose mothers isolate them from the world and bathe in Purell every 15 minutes are the ones who catch colds the most.  But for my own kids, as long as their immune system doesn’t get so out-of-control that it starts Fighting Islets, I see nothing wrong with giving it a workout every now and then.  (By the way, If I ever release a rock CD filled with diabetes-related music, I’m going to call it Fighting Islets).