D Blog Week: I got the moves like SWAG-ger

Today's prompt asks us to be totally conceded and tell everyone how great we are at something in regards to our children's diabetes care.

How am I supposed to spout out how great I am at something?

I mean, really?  For someone like me it seems close to impossible...

Because I'm really not great at something...

...

I'm AH-MAZ-ING at something!

Great doesn't even begin to cover it.

(lol!  I made a funny!)

Today I am going to talk about one of my super powers.  SWAGing.

For the newbies out there, SWAG is a acronym for Sientific Wild A** Guess.

I do this "SWAGING" thing when I am counting carbs. 

Which honestly, I think I do more than anything else in life.

I'm so good at it, I've got my kids convinced that I am magic.  They will often eat a plate of food in one room, and then come into the other room where I am and say, "How many carbs?"

"ummmm...let me look in my crystal ball.  Seriously?"

Just as outrageous is the phone calls I get every day at lunch.  My two littles call me before lunch to get their lunch insulin.  This means I have to GUESS what they are going to eat.  Luckily, I pack their lunches and learned the oh so smart trick to give them VERY little lunches.  1/2 sandwich.  1 yogurt or 1 cheese stick.  Crackers or pretzels or chips.  They eat the fruit I pack them for snack.  This means they eat what I give them.  Then, when they get home they have a big snack.  

Calling from school for me to count birthday treat carbs is another example.

"It's so and so's birthday...we are having cupcakes...how many carbs?"

"How big?  How much frosting?  Is there candy on top?   Is it homemade or from a store?"  (Sadly, this conversation is the story of my life since it is the last days of school and party-pa-looza.)

Now I know what you are thinking.

"Meri, why don't you create a website where we can download pictures, and you can SWAG for everybody all the live long day!"

Alas, I cannot.  Because sadly, there is a caveat to my super power. 

It only works for my boys.  No one else.

When I meet up with other T1 families, I'll often get asked the question, "How many carbs do you think?"

But I've found that carb counting is very individually specific.   My boys are true examples of that.

Subconsciously, and within milliseconds of seeing a plate of food,  I'll adjust carbs to the situation, taking into account past highs or lows at certain times of day, past effects of food on blood sugars, and activity of the day...so on and so forth.  Case and point.  All three of my boys get different carb counts for the same bowl of cereal in the morning.

My endo and nurse hate that I do that.  (Waving our diabetes team in SF right now!  HI GUYS!)  They hate it because it provides more work for me...but honestly there are like 50 variables that go into how I SWAG a meal, and I can do it in seconds of calculating.  No other human can do it for my boys like I can.  (Except my SIL and my husband. They are almost as good as me, but they are good at everything, so it isn't fair to compare.  My husband wants to me to add here that they are my Scottie Pippen to my Michael Jordan, but this is my blog, and no sports analogies are allowed....wait... )

Anyway, my system works for us.  I can SWAG in the most unlikely of conditions in just a glance. 

It's been 14 years.  It is part of me now.

But there is a humbling factor to all of this.  J has been SWAGing for himself for a good two years now,

and he is better than I am.

Poo.

I don't know how that little sucker does it, but he gives me a run for my money.  I think he was sent here to keep my ego in check.

So yeah, my head won't blow up from swagging self adulation.

 It is probably for the best...my brain is swelly enough as it is.

This concludes day 2 of D Blog Week, masterminded by the incomparable Karen at Bitter Sweet.  Want to see who else posted on this topic?  Check it out HERE.

D Blog Week: Call of the Wild...card.

This is day one of D Blog week...

SQUEE!!!

All my favorite peeps throughout the blogosphere are coming together and posting the entire week on a chosen set of topics.

Today is:  Find a friend.  Introduce us to a blog you love!

But I can't do it.  I can't choose just one person, (or 2 or 3 or 4.) That would require making a decision, and I am really sucky making these "decision" things these days.  Maybe it's my inner don't-want-to-disappoint-anyone copping out...but every blog is amazing, and has so much value!  Above is a tab that says, "More Sweet Peeps."  Click it and transport yourself into blogger heaven baby!

I'm going for the wild card today!  'Cause I'm super rebellious WILD like that!!  The Wildcard is: Something Good to Eat.  Share a favorite recipe with us.

Yesterday was Mothers Day.  I was spoiled.  Not shockaprising to say the least.

I got an ipad, because yeah...I'm not online enough.  I got beautiful homemade cards and pictures, and even a box full of love and adoration from my 14 year old J.

But the bestest part...was breakfast.

Ryan always cooks the most amazing breakfasts.  This is what mine looked like yesterday:

Eggs Benedict!

I know...WOWZA!  And it tasted even better, if you can imagine.

So today I'm going to share Ryan's secret, on how to poach an egg. 

1) Get a big pot, like about a 10"-12" pot and fill it up with 4 to 5 inches of water.

2)  Add about 1 Tablespoon of White Vinegar into the water.

3) Bring it to a light boil.

4)  Crack an egg in a small bowl or cup.  Crack another one in another small bowl or cup.

5)  Take a spoon and make a whirlpool in the water.  Going around in circles with the spoon.

6)  As soon as you pull the spoon out, gently pour/drop in one egg in at a time, try to leave space between the two.  Ideally the eggs will turn around and the whites will fold over the yolks.

7) Set the timer for three minutes.  No more stirring.  Just wait.

8)  When the timer goes off, scoop them out with a slotted spoon.

Viola!

An English Muffin.  A poached egg.  A little hollandaise sauce.  A slice of Canadian bacon that has been fried.  And if you are like us...maybe a little avocado or asparagus on top.   All topped with a sprinkle of paprika.

YUM!

I have to admit, it tastes even better when you have someone else doing the clean up! 

(Told you it was a rockin' Mothers Day!)

This wraps up day 1 of D Blog Week!  PHEW!  Just under the wire!  Thank you Karen for all your hard work making this happen!  Want to sign up?  It isn't too late!  Sign up HERE.

We are the D Mothers

We are called D Moms.  D Mamas.   Even Type 3's.

Sometimes we get a bad rap.

~We're too "intense."

~We worry too much.

~We are overbearing.

~We over think.

~We over react.

~We over manage.

And I only have one thing to say about all of that...

You are probably right.

I want to tell you that if you are a parent, you can understand.

But that is not true.

I want to tell you that if you have diabetes yourself, you can understand.

But that is not true either...just as I will never fully understand your diabetic life,

you will never fully understand mine.

The only way you would understand what goes on in the swelly brain of a D Mama,

is if you were a D Mama yourself.

We are special.  Chosen for our story, as you were chosen for yours.

We are fighters, and we will fight until our last breath to keep our children safe.

New technologies like fast acting insulin and insulin pumps provide keys for better management, but they also provide a clear and present danger at all times.

We have to be vigilant.

We look into the eyes of our children and we love them with a bright tenderness.  We want more than anything for them to live a life free from restrictions, free from prejudice, free from complications, free from emergency rooms and hospitals.

We feel a responsibility well beyond any bounds of normalcy.  We do not want to live a life of regrets.  One day we will need to look into the eyes of our adult Type 1 Children and we want more than anything to say...

"I did my best."

The mothers of Type 1's spend every day racked with guilt.   Every blood sugar number pierces our heart.  We feel responsible for every high and every low.

An argument can be made that diabetes is responsible for every one of those numbers, but in our eyes...whether a reasonable notion or not, we feel they are a reflection of our efforts.

We may not always admit it to you, or to ourselves...but we take those numbers personally.

The A1C isn't called the mommy report card for nothing.

We do not sleep.  That is a choice.  We choose to keep a close eye on the numbers while the world takes a break.  We don't take breaks.  We know that waking up with a off number can domino to the rest of the day. 

We know that pancreases sputter.

We know the soccer game from 5 hours earlier can affect the nighttime numbers.

(Yet we urge them to play.)

We know that Pizza can wreak havoc hours after consumption, and we know that Chinese food for dinner means a sleepless night for us.

(Yet we delight in serving them their favorites anyway.)

We know that diabetes never sleeps.  That is why we don't either.

We know that a 200 can turn into a 52 in 30 minutes flat.

We know that on field trip days our children may spike with excitement, or bottom out from activity.

We know nothing is for sure.

So we check, and constantly ask our children how they are feeling...and we hover...watching every move...looking for changes in our children's faces...changes in their gait...tiny beads of sweat on the back of their necks...we know the signs of lows.  We know our children better than anyone else.

We love hard.

We try hard.

We cry hard.

We hug hard.

We hope hard.

We stress hard.

We are hard on ourselves.

We are D mamas.   

Don't judge us because we fret over the details.  To us...Our Diabetic Life is all about the details.

We are 100% responsible for the well being of children we love more than anything on this blessed green earth.

No, we will not back off.

No, we will not calm down.

No, we will not stop making noise.

As mothers, we know that our children are special.  Diabetes makes them stronger.  It makes them resilient, responsible, amazing.  It gives them a sense of humor.  It makes them grow up too fast, and let's them spread their wings too slow.

We wish we could take away the pain. 

We wish it were us.


We are warriors.


We are D Moms.

Hear.   Us.   Roar.

My life: The million piece jigsaw puzzle

My life is a puzzle.

It's sitting in front of me in a million different pieces.

I want more than anything to put all the pieces in their place.  I don't like clutter. 

But the pieces shift and situations change.  Just when I have all the edges picked out of the pile...the edges morph into center pieces.  Their smooth lines change to curves and pointy 45 degree angles.

I spend my days mentally trying to put it all together.  Trying to make sense of the big picture.

I sort out my thoughts into separate color piles.  Organizing my feelings in each situation.  Are these feelings here because of the cancer?  Am I angry right now because of diabetes?  Am I scared or am I just a human being feeling what should be felt?

The biggest problem lays in the fact that I'm not in full control of the puzzle.

People, problems, life...they walk into my swelly brain and mess with my progress.

These days, the puzzle doesn't seem to be any more closer to completion than it was a month ago. 

I just want to make progress.

But it is blaringly obvious to me that I'm not completely in charge of that.

Ryan's cancer decides on its own whether many of the pieces work or they don't.

The boys blood sugars have power far beyond my organization skills to mix up all my pieces again and again.

Looking at it sometimes...all I see is a big fat mess.

I put one foot in front of the other...one piece connecting with another and I keep going because I have faith that the full picture will emerge one day.  Imagining the successful future of our picture gets me through.  I'll work on this puzzle forever because I know we can eventually make it a piece of art.

The pieces are a big chaotic mess right now, but on the other hand I realize there are enough pieces at my disposal to make something out of them...smaller sections of beautiful.   And that is something. 

A very big something.

Maybe not everything fits right now...but my children are here.  My husband is here.  He is alive, and smiling.  I have my home, my family, my friends, and my faith.

All the pieces are there to make an amazing future.  Well...most of them.  Cancer is holding a few pieces hostage at the moment...but we'll get them back.  I have to believe that. 

Believing that is what keeps me moving.

Puzzles aren't meant to be put together in a single moment.

Puzzles take time.  Patience.  Faith that we can do it. 

And above all, the belief that there is a worthwhile  final picture.

Sure, the final picture I imagine for our family requires a miracle... 

But I believe the man upstairs is sorting those pieces into cohesive piles as we speak.

After all, he created the puzzle in the first place.  I need to stop scrambling and have faith that he'll guide our family to the finished product.

One prayer at a time.

One piece at a time.

 

Atypical ranting soapbox mama

I'm in a mood.  I'm wagging my finger and double air snapping all over the place.

Oh look!  A soapbox!  Looks inviting... 

Listen up!

It is real.

Diabetes is not a joke.

People honestly think that fat people just need to eat less and diabetes will disappear.

Diabetes is not a fat person's disease.  It is an everyone disease.

Type 1, Type 2, Lada, Gestational, all of it...everyone is a target no matter what your waist size.

My boys have a type of diabetes called Type 1.  It thrives in the otherwise healthy population.  This particular type is autoimmune...it is serious...it is not a joke.

Diet won't make it go away.  Diet won't make them "better."
 
Their pancreases do not make insulin.  NO INSULIN.  Too bad every one's bodies need a constant stream of insulin to survive.  If insulin was only kinda important it wouldn't be a big deal.  But insulin is very important...so important that just a few hours without it is an emergency...a life threatening emergency.

But the world turns a blind eye and doesn't want to see what a serious thing it is. 
Story time.  TRUE story time.
 
Grab a blanket and some cocoa 'cause it's gonna get all kinds of real up in this blog...

Today I was picking up my boys from school.   My nephew attends my littles school and I was chatting with my sis.  We said goodbye and within minutes she doubled back to find me again.

"Meri!  Did you know L is laying down on the ground...in the middle of the playground?"

I ran over to him and found him face up laying flat on the ground. 

"What's up L?  Are you low?"

"No...I'm just so super tired.  My body doesn't want to work.  I just want to sleep."

"Are you sure you aren't low?"

"I am sure.  I checked my sugar before school was out and I was a little high.  I gave myself insulin"

We get the car and pick up his brothers at the Junior high and High School.  We run to the outlet mall...I need a baby shower present and L needs shoes.  Like...his shoes are 2 sizes too small...

But as we are walking into the mall L says he is going to throw up.

Blood sugar:  592.

I check his pump.  His reservoir is full of insulin.  I check his history.  Yes, he gave himself lunch insulin.
 
I have him bolus himself insulin to correct his sugar and send another child to the drink machine to buy L a bottle of water.

But my gut tells me something is wronger than it seems, so after the insulin is injected, I take off his set and prime out a unit of insulin...just to make sure it is working. 

I hold his set up to the sun so I can see more clearly...

Nothing is coming out.  

I try again.  A tiny speck appears. 

"What do you think J?"

"That isn't a unit." Says J.

Then I feel it.  Insulin on my hand.  The tubing cracked and L wasn't getting any insulin at all.  I look at B with my mouth agape.  B returns my stunned gaze and says, "dot dot dot."  Which is his way of saying  "..." which is his way of articulating an uncomfortable pause or heavy moment.  Probably a sign that he plays too much Mindcraft, but I digress...

L is about to lose it.  We run to the bathroom and he composes himself.

So then I order B to take his pump off and give it to L.  I give L the proper amount of insulin through the prime so it doesn't show up on B's IOB.  And I leave the pump on L...he needs the insulin more than B right now.  

What kind of choice is that?  Not cool fates.  Not cool.

So we get home and this is what I find.

And checking ketones takes a lot of extra blood...more than a normal blood sugar test.  And blood spurts all over me...

And my baby looks like this.

And so I throw on new tubing and a fresh reservoir with fresh insulin for good measure.

I insert the needle into my boy, and pull it out leaving the tubing inside.

I spend the next two hours monitoring ketones and blood sugars and finally realize...

Meri...you can breathe.  He is going to be okay.

But here is the kicker...

What if I didn't test his sugar?  What if I left him and figured he had the flu?  What if I didn't test him at all the rest of the day? 

I'll tell you what would have happened...He would have gone into a coma...or even worse.

Now I know you are all rolling your eyes and thinking:
"MERI!  That would never happen!  You are a rockin' pancreas.  You always are vigilant about checking your boys.  You would never ignore symptoms and not check him."

And you are right.  I never would.  But it happens around the world...ALL THE TIME.

Maybe a family can't afford the test strips.  They are a dollar a piece.  Some families can only afford to test their child one time a day...if at all.  Some families can't even afford insulin for crying out loud!  And they have to CHOOSE to let their child die.

There are teens out there, adults even, that don't test for days.  Maybe they weren't educated about the importance of it.  Maybe they are just so darn sick of CONSTANTLY CHECKING ALL THE TIME.

There are people out there misdiagnosed as Type 2...when they really have Type 1.  I can't even properly relate how dangerous this is.  Most Type 2's can go without insulin...there isn't a Type 1 in the world that can go without it.  (Most type 2's make insulin...it is slow and sometimes insufficient...but it is present.)

It's serious. 

I'm pretty okay with that.  On hard days, like today, it is hard to be okay with it.  But for the most part I accept our story.  We can do this.

But so so many are misinformed.  Even by doctors.  Misinformation is just as much an epidemic as diabetes is.

And those on the outside looking in think it is a dietary issue.   That's just cruel.

Our life is REAL, and SERIOUS every day.
 
And lest you want to gag...I want you to know I am honestly not complaining...

I'm just seriously gobsmacked with the misrepresentation diabetes has in the media.

I'm getting off my soapbox now...and going to bed.

For a couple hours anyway...

Because at 2am I will be checking blood sugars and ketones again.  Because diabetes never sleeps and not checking is a gamble.

Sure, the odds are in their favor that they will wake up alive even if I don't check.  But I don't play the odds when it comes to my boys. 

I don't gamble with my children's lives.

Because as I said before...Diabetes is serious.

How can we get the world to see?

(Wow. How did this soapbox get into my bed?)

Lights out on my rant.

Good night.

Ruh Roh.........Hacker Alert

First I would like to apologize to all the people who receive emails automatically from, and the group of readers who check in to OUR Diabetic Life.  This is not the usual witty, well crafted, insightful post that generally comes from this blog.  Grammar? Whose the Hells needs Grammar? This is not even the person who writes the blog, it is her husband, Ryan.

I do have a swelly brain, not the original one but I do have pictures to prove mine.  In this post I will add some things I like……I like to call them “flairs.”  I may throw in one of these !!! Just to add a little spice. I even plan on posting a picture and adding a song.  Now don’t think I’m an amateur at this, I have my own blog! Oh ya, it’s called “Welcome to My World, a husband’s feeble attempt to enter his wife’s world in order to get closer to her.”  Started it a year and a half ago, I belted out 6 posts...believe me they were epic.

Now Meri has asked me in years past why I never comment or guest post or even read her blog.  She talks about other male bloggers and awesome observers like Fred Cunha, Manny Hernandez, and Mike Hoskins.  That’s when my blog idea came about, but I started thinking about all the pressure of having everyone know that I was Meri’s husband and my posts and comments be….. dare I say at times inappropriate or not politically correct. What also came to thought was I didn’t want to ride the coattails of my famous wife.  So conflicted, I thought of Emilio Estevez, he not wanting to ride his dad’s fame, changed his name.  So I came up with this idea of creating an alter ego, someone that wouldn’t be tied to Meri and she would know it was me……..I called him Enrique Ferrell (I was thinking of someone sexy, everyone name Enrique is sexy, and funny, Ferrell, cause I think Will Ferrell KILLS!) I know what you’re thinking………this guy is either making this up or he’s crazy………it’s the latter, this is a true story.  It’s CRAZY love.

OK so on to my list of things I want you, Meri to know, and a few things I want the blogosphere world to know.  I want you to know it tears me up inside that I’m putting you through this.  I also want you to know I thank God it’s me and not you.  I don’t think I could be as strong as you watching your soul mate go through this, you are MY hero!!!  I want you to know that is the most twisted 3 sentences I have ever put together, they contradict each other and almost don’t make sense.  I want you to know that “spoiling” you make me feel like I’m doing something of worth.  You are the most important person in my life and that’s where all my efforts should go.  I want you to know that I don’t “think” you’re beautiful, you light up my life and any room you walk into.  I smile at you after a disagreement because you are so damn cute and it’s not worth a second of our time to be cross with each other.  I want you to know that as years of our marriage continue to grow they only get sweeter.  I can’t believe how blessed we are. I give you all the credit for the boys, they are so awesome. So much better than I was and that’s on you.  Without you I would still be stuck in the bakery, thank you for believing and seeing something in me I could have never comprehended on my own.  We have been married 6941 days and I’ve loved you every single one.  I want to add something that will “B LOW YOUR MIND“ (in the words of Jack Black,) but I tell you everything :P   I want your friends to know I appreciate all of you and the support, prayers, and love we receive from you each day. We feel these physically every day.  I will dedicate hours at Friends for Life just for hugs (I’m a hugger). I had a hard time realizing you all were real people but did get that realization before all chaos came into our life.  I see the support Meri gives and takes and it’s a beautiful thing.  I want you to know my family and I will make every effort to pay forward all the acts of kindness offered to our family.

Meri you are my best friend and I love you with all my heart and I know you feel the same way. I look so forward to a bright future walking hand in hand in love forever and always.

I said I’d post a picture and a video…..I lied. Just a video if I can get it on :) I think this song was written for Meri and I..

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pG1pG47XStA&feature=player_detailpage
 
 
Ryan

Ryan, I want you to know something...

Ryan reads my blog.

He subscribes to it and receives emails on an account that I thought he never visited.  (The other day when he said, "Run, Ryan Run!" as he looked at me sheepishly with one eyebrow raised and a smirk, I realized this wasn't the case.  He reads every post.)

Hi Babe!

So today in honor of our nineteenth anniversary, I thought I'd write him a little note, spoofing off another blog/love letter I sent to all of you a year or two ago...

Dear Ryan,

I want you to know something...

I want you to know that when you tell me you love me,
I know that you mean it.  I know that you mean it forever.

I want you to know that I've loved you from the first day I saw you in Mike's window.

I want you to know that I fully realize how lucky I am to have you.

I want you to know that I KNOW you are my greatest blessing.

I want you to know that I'm proud of every day of our history.

I want you to know that when you smile at me after a disagreement, really...everything is made better instantly.

I want you to know that after years of you taking care of me...spoiling me...I'm glad to take care of you.  You've done so much more for me than I've ever done, or will do, for you.

I want you to know that I LOVE that you loved picking up the boys from school.  You are a great father, and I know it meant a lot to them.

I want you to know that you will be able to pick them up again. 

You make the best breakfasts.  I don't take them for granted.

I want you to know that even though the steroids make you look different on the outside, you are still my Ryan on the inside, and still every bit the man I married...plus every bit the man I am madly in love with.

Your smiling eyes and bear hugs are two of the things I love most...but you know that.

I want you to know I wouldn't take back one day of our life together.  I look back and don't see any bad times.  I see hard times.  Times when we had babies, and diagnoses, and times when working 15 hour days was normal for you.  Those hard times have brought our love to where it is today.  It was all SO worth it.

I want you to know I want to be better, I try to be better...for you, because of you.

I want you to know that this is just a bump in the road.  We can do this.  You are the strongest most wonderful person I know.  Don't be hard on yourself.  Fighting cancer is HARD...and exhausting.

You can do this!  I want you to know I truly believe that.

I want you to know I love you more every day...still.  It seems impossible that I could love you more tomorrow than today, but experience tells me I will.

Thank you for loving me Ryan....for seeing past all my imperfections.  Thank you for telling me every day that you love me.  Thank you for thinking I am beautiful.  Thank you for nineteen years, and thank you for fighting for nineteen more.

I want you to know you're my hero.

Forever yours,

Letting out the belt loop on my brain

Here's some shockaprising news:

I was up worrying all last night.

I did the 2:00am check and didn't go back to sleep. 
('Cause nighttime is the best time to worry...you totally know it.)

You probably think I was up worrying about my sweet husband
and all of the scans and appointments he has today.

That would totally make sense. 

But no.

I was worrying about my 10 year old son and the epic field trip he is going on today.

I'm sure when the fourth grade teachers got together they were over the moon that they were going to take these kids a few hours away to Old Sacramento and let them experience the rich history of California.  I'm sure they spoke of all the educational applications within the trip, and the advantage of seeing history in action.

They are good teachers.  I'm sure they talked about all of that.

But what I'm sure they didn't do, was talk about B, and my capacity to handle the worry associated with this trip.  Not that they should have discussed such things...but I'm selfish, so I'm going there.

If they did discuss B and my brain, I'm sure they would have come to the obvious revelation that Meri has a lot on her plate and doesn't need the extra worry of her son leaving on an EXTENDED day, 8:30am to 6:00pm field trip.  (And yes, I do realize that this field trip has probably been planned for months and months.  But it was nighttime, and nothing makes sense in the nighttime, remember?)

Over the years my brain has been muscled up with worry.  It can hold a lot of it, that's for sure.  It was many years of conditioning and adding bits of worry day after day.  My ability to worry is quite impressive, my swelly brain is living proof of that.

But I'm at capacity people.  A hint more of worry and I might blow.

So I spent the night putting out fires in my head and quieting the tempests of my swelly brain with meal plans and diabetes supply precautions.

He's gone on field trips before.  B is a super capable kid.  B's teacher is on it, he is a great guy. 

But factor in the nighttime crazies, a mother who's brain is in flux, and my uncanny ability to worry about such things little things as having enough mayonnaise in the fridge and such big things as my husband's scan results ...well, you get the picture...no sleep.

Lucky for me the morning sunrise brings hope and a new day. 

Though, as wonderful as that hope is...I'm pretty sure I'm going to spend this day looking forward to the sunset, when my family will all be together again.

Because being together as a family is even cooler than learning about this great state we live in.

Family trumps field trips.

B may not know that yet.  But one day when he has his own littles, he definitely will.

And as for my brain?  Well, it has another hole in its belt loop I am sure.  It always finds a way to cope...and  since Ryan's friend offered last minute to drive Ryan around this morning, I think that coping will come in the form of scrubbing my bathroom.  (Or a pedicure...Terra?  Call me!)

Sharing A1C's? It's complicated.

I read a great post over at The 'Mine today about A1C's andthe efficacy of sharing them.  I began a comment on their blog and after the second paragraph realized I should probably take it over here.

What is an A1C?  Ehow.com says this:  Hemoglobin A1C is the amount of the protein hemoglobin that has combined with glucose in a person's body. Diabetics test their hemoglobin A1C levels to monitor the average amount of glycosylated hemoglobin (glucose attached to hemoglobin) that has been in their blood over a two- to three-month period.

Basically, the A1C is thought to give you an average blood sugar number from the past three months or so.  It is considered in wider circles to be, "The diabetic's report card." 

Or in my case, "The mommy report card."

The thing about an A1C is you can get a number a couple ways:

By having sugars go up and down in wide swings.

Or by having them vary in smaller swings up and down.

Both can yield the same result.  Both have the same average blood sugar number.  Both have their own story.

One can also achieve a certain A1C from being low most of the time, or by being high most of the time.

I think that is the most important thing to note here:  There is a story behind every A1C number. 

So is it a good idea to share said number without sharing the story too?  Unfortunately, I think there is no hard and fast answer to that one.

There are the amazing A1C's.  (That number varies according to who you are and where you are in your life.)  If one receives the news of an amazing A1C, or even a better than expected A1C...doesn't one want to share this information with the world?  Can we fault them for wanting to?  Absolutely not, but the problem lies behind the story.  The way to that amazing A1C could have been reached in four different ways.  1) They are obsessive about blood sugars and check themselves or their child every hour on the hour.  Their life is completely absorbed in numbers and perfect A1C's.  2)  They have balance.  They or their child is not growing.  The numbers are falling into place like a magic puzzle.  There aren't too many lows, there aren't too many highs.  Nirvana.  3)  They are CONSTANTLY battling lows and spend their life feeding them.  4) Luck. Divine intervention.

Now writing down that your child has an A1C in the 5's or 6's  can get you the adulation you deserve, but it can also give many people the impression that this should be easily attainable.  "If this family can do it, why can't we?"  The fact is every person and child is different.  Every person reacts differently to food.  Every person reacts differently to insulin.  Why does my son B have the higher A1C of all my boys EVERY SINGLE DANG TIME?????  He has the same brilliant doctors, he has the same diet.  He has the same mother telling him what to do.  He is my most conscientious diabetic.  Why must he always be higher?

Because we are not the same.

A1C's.  Blood sugar numbers.  They are not one size fits all.  What works for one person may not work for another.  B can eat pasta ALL DAY LONG and not spike.  L on the other hand goes through the roof.  It's a crapshoot for J.

Comparing is dangerous.

But support is not.   In fact, it is essential.

Some people have spent years fighting to get their blood sugars down to their personal holy grail A1C number, and once they get there, don't they deserve a cheering section?  Some people can't get their or their child's A1C below 10.  Shouldn't they be able to share that heartache and receive the unwavering support they need so terribly? 

There is no easy answer to this one.

Sharing is important.  But it is important to share responsibly. 

 And as with anything in life:

Buyer beware.  There is a story behind every A1C number...and trust me, it isn't a short one.

Flip Flopping.

Something is wrong with me.

Seriously.

The last few weeks Ryan has insisted on doing EVERYTHING.  He wants to work.  He wants to see every customer.  He wants to go to every meeting. 

He wants to make big future plans.  He wants to "normal."

And for the most part I was ok with that.

Except there was a lot of me saying, "Ryan, you need to rest."

And, "Ryan, you just got out of the hospital 12 hours ago.  Why must you work? 
Can't you call your customers?"

And, "Ryan, you need to listen to your body.  You can't over do it!  Slow down!"

And, "Ryan, please go nap.  You've been running around like crazy all day."

Until yesterday Ryan said to me:
"I can't do it all."

"I'm so tired I need to nap."

"I can't see all my customers, I'll call a couple."

"I'm not going to be able to make that meeting next month."

And then I'm all, "WHOA!  What you talkin' bout Willis??!"

Well, I didn't say it out loud.  But now that he is agreeing with me...I'm upset and depressed and scared on so many levels.  I didn't realize at the time how awesome it was that he WANTED to do those other things.  I didn't realize how AWESOME it was that he COULD do those other things.

And I want to scream, "Yes you can!  GO!"

(I told you something is wrong with me.)

He's finally doing all the things I asked him to do and now I've totally flip flopped.

I took a definitive stance on the issue and now like a seasoned politician, I change my mind.
I CHANGE MY MIND!!!

I'm lost.
Are you there God?  It's me Meri.  I am lost.  I think my swelly brain has hit capacity.

I change my mind.  

Run, Ryan.  Ruuuuuuuuuuuuun!

All in.

The other day someone at church asked me how I was doing. (I get a lot of that lately...I'm sure you can imagine.) But as I opened up my mouth to answer his question, I was shocked to hear the following words fall out of my mouth...

"I'm all in."

He looked at me for a moment, brows furrowed, trying to figure out what I said. I returned the look, pausing to figure it all out myself...

"With my faith that is. I'm all in. I've laid it all down at His feet...I trust that He'll take care of us."

And I do.

And I'm functioning.

How am I not certifiably insane?

My head is immersed in the fog of uncertainty. Sometimes, at the end of the day I look back and wonder how I got through it.

And now I think I know...

It is because I am all in.

Going all in has allowed me to cope with all of this in a way that I never thought I could.

Ryan was in the emergency room this morning.  I won't go into the details, but needless to say it was a setback. Once I let the tears out there was no stopping them.
All. Day. Long.

But deep down...seriously...deep down at the bottom of this lake of tears I've cried...there is a peace.

Cancer fog can be so maddening. Diabetes fog can be so maddening. Hormone imbalance fog can be so maddening. The world’s fog can be so maddening.

Maybe in a weird way I am certifiably mad, as in Mad Hatter mad…

But more important than that…right now…I am certifiably coping.

And that is a miracle I cannot deny.

It's all or nothing. I'm pushing in my chips. I'm getting up from the table.

As much as it terrifies me to think we might lose...I feel confident that our needs are known.

No good questioning things now. I have faith or I don't.

Am I scared? You bet your sweet bahookie I am.

But I'm banking on my faith. Banking that my faith will always exceed my fear.

I'm all in.

It's about now.

I've written about it before.  I was always the kind of person who couldn't wait until...you know...until.

I was always looking FORWARD to something.  When we have another baby.  When we get a new house.  When summer comes.  When there is a cure for diabetes.

When.

That changed sometime in my early thirties.  I looked in the blue and amber eyes of my babies and realized that tomorrow doesn't matter as much as today does.  My dreams for tomorrow are gleaned from my actions right at THIS moment.  I realized I needed to take things one  day at a time.  Not one month, one year, or even one decade at a time.  On the hard days, I've learned to take things one hour at a time.  When ketones are present, or a stubborn low is looming...one minute at a time.  I realized it isn't about the cure, or the newer things, or the weekend.  It was about today.

My realization that today is more important than tomorrow didn't come in one moment, but rather many moments of making myself miserable waiting for when...

I thought I had learned that lesson, but now that Ryan has cancer, I'm back to WHEN, again.

When we hear these results...when we get the new meds...when he's off the old meds...when the scan reveals this...when when when.

It isn't a good place for my swelly brain. 
(And don't think I haven't pondered the irony of my swelly brain vs. my husbands.)

I was driving to pick up the kids from school last week.  Usually I listen to mindless semi-rap/pop/semi inappropriate music just to keep my brain in a safe place.  Any music with a message...forget about it.  I'm in a pool of tears.  But on this day...I decided I was sick of stupid music and tuned into a local radio station that is well known for its family friendly music.

Damn you Miley Cyrus.  Damn you.

Hit me like a TON OF BRICKS I tell you.  Like the windows of heaven had opened and angels were singing directly to my heart.  All the "stuff" I had been storing in the attic of my brain was let go, and only one thought permeated to my soul...

It's about the climb.  Damn it.

There will always be another mountain I'll want to move.  It will always be an uphill battle.  I just have to keep my faith and concentrate on the climb. 

When we are in rocky terrain, we don't concentrate on the meadows ahead.  We concentrate on the rocks that are right in front of us and we plan each step we take NOW carefully so that we can eventually get through this rough patch.  If I just stand here and wait for the future, then I'm not progressing.  I need to keep moving.  I need to do something meaningful today.

No more waiting.

No more...when.

Today is when.

We need to kiss our children today.  Have a talk with them today telling them how proud we are.  Approach that person today and have a conversation we have been putting off.  Start those books.  Let go of the anger.  Get those family pictures, don't wait until we are skinnier.  Go back to school.  Start those quilts.  Call our parents, or our sister or our brother.  Clean our rooms.

Today.

Today is what I make of it.  Life isn't going to be less crazy later.  Life is always crazy.  There will always be another mountain.
(I know, blah, she is the last person in the universe I thought I would be getting sage advice from...)

I don't know what the future holds for us.  I have hope that it is wonderful.  But today I will stop thinking about when, and start thinking about...

Now.       <------- Wow.  If you really look at it, THAT is a pretty powerful word.