95.
89.
90.
At 11:00am in the morning, these numbers are money.
At 11:00pm at night, these numbers are no bueno.
I was hoping to dream of something other than numbers last
night, but the fates had other ideas.
My dilemma? I was
exhausted. Lately I’ve been priding myself
on how much energy I have. I wake up
alert. I go through my day alert. I go to bed alert.
Not last night. Last
night at 10:00pm I fell asleep hunched over my keyboard. I woke up in a haze at 11:00, completely
discombobulated. Innately, I knew it was
time to check the boys…but as I stood up my body continued to slumber. Like a robot on autopilot I stumbled into the
boys rooms saying a little prayer, hoping that all would be well.
Everything was a little too well.
Fifteen minutes later I was in bed, wide awake. Keeping children alive does that to a
person. I pondered the perfect
numbers. What would be the perfect
number for my boys to fall asleep at?
The one number that would allow me not to worry and in turn result in a good
nights sleep.
After grappling with my conscience for a good half hour I
came to the conclusion that there is no perfect number. And there never will be.
Because in a perfect world, the 95, 89 and 90 would be
exactly where my boys need to be. In a real
world though, those numbers just aren’t a realistic for the night. Hormones, exercise and food dictate that
those numbers could easily fall dangerously low. They are way too risky.
In the real world, I need the numbers to be in the high
100’s for me to sleep. Which often means
they’ll wake up in the 200’s. In a
perfectly healthy world, that isn’t ideal.
Ideal: (adj.) existing only in the imagination; desirable or perfect but
not likely to become a reality.
Higher numbers for my boys to ensure sleep for myself is sometimes
a necessary trade off, but never a comfortable one.
Our last Endo appointment was months ago. Our Endo insisted
on raising my youngests' target numbers to 175 at night. Every bone in my body ached thinking about
the selfishness of that choice. But I
knew at this time in my life, it needed to be so. Their A1C's were plenty low enough to accommodate
this change…it’s just I’ve always felt a deep responsibility for the nighttime
numbers. It is the time with the least variables. It is a time where I have the most
control. It is half the battle.
And if I lessened my fight, would that be the opening the
door to diabetes, allowing it to wreak havoc on my family? Would everything fall apart? In my experiences, small changes have a tendency to do just that.
It took time to adjust. Some mornings they would wake in the high
200’s, and my heart would rip in half.
I’d spend the morning sewing it together with reason, repeating my
mantra over and over in my head:
“It is ok to let my boys have higher numbers at night
sometimes so I can get a restful, full nights sleep.”
I pretty much had to brainwash myself into believing
that.
But when I have to, I let it happen, and shockaprisingly enough, I’m beginning to believe it.
At 11:00pm last night I wrote the boys’ numbers on the
whiteboard, staring pensively at the two digit figures, trying to decide what to do. Should I treat gently and wake in a couple
hours to see where they are going…or…should I treat in such a way that I know
they will be safe…so I can sleep.
For a mother, the answer isn’t easy.
In the end I allowed myself some leniency, repeated my mantra,
and adopted some faith. I went to bed
last night with all three boys on Temp Basals, and 10 grams of carbs in their
bellies.
They woke up 92, 144 and 153.
I’m not fooling myself…I know that a lot of what made up those numbers is just plain luck. Sure, I had a little
bit to do with it, but let’s be honest…diabetes does what it wants to do when
it wants to do it.
Playing the lottery with my boys’ lives is not fun. In a perfect world, I’d never have to.
But in the real world?
I do it every day and every night.
When I SWAG a treat.
When I send them to bed. When I
send them to school not seeing the amount of cereal they poured for themselves,
but giving them a carb amount anyway.
When I bolus for popcorn before a movie not knowing exactly how much of
the bag they are going to eat. When they
run the track. When they are going to
play at a friend’s house.
It’s always guessing.
It’s always weighing what the safe option is vs. what the ideal option
is.
A lot of give and take.
Sometimes I give my sleep away. Sometimes I grab my sleep and hold on to it
for dear life.
Because the truth is, I don’t live in a perfect world. There is no such thing. Also, there is no such thing as a perfect pseudo-pancreas.
I’m real. My
decisions are real. And so far, every
time, it’s always worked out in the end.
I have to lean on that.
And know that in most cases…my best is good enough.