Miracles accomplished.

There was no humidity in the air that day, just the sweet scent of summer’s end and a cool breeze brushing the hair from my forehead. I was walking briskly; chin up, my eyes scanning the trees and the skyline. In my ears played the familiar tunes that I walked to hundreds of times before. Songs that I'd sent to my new husband while we were dating, and songs he had sent to me. Each one bringing back a memory and causing me to smile wide.

I took a deep breath and reveled in my happiness. How am I here?

It seems like just yesterday I was back in California, eyeball deep in textbooks and sneaking as many walks in as I could so I could talk to Doug. My entire life was in California. I was born there. I grew up there. I died there. I was reborn there.

And I marvel on how I found the courage to be here in Indiana today. I am a creature of habit. I like things my way, and once they are that way, I like them to stay that way…forever. Giving up everything seems like it should be so daunting, but it was never so. It never felt courageous to choose Doug. He was an easy decision to make.

This coming from a woman that has nervous breakdowns just deciding what to make for dinner. Making decisions is never easy for me as I marinate in the fear that I’ll make the wrong one, or let someone down.

I remember after Ryan passed, trying to decide what to do with my life. A daunting decision to say the least. I prayed harder and truer and with more faith than I ever had. What should I do? Should I go back to school? Should I go to a temp agency and try to find a career right out of the gate? Should I continue working at the dentist office? What? I prayed and pondered and listened for my answer.

And I got my answer:

It didn’t matter.

And I was angry at that answer. Surly one decision is better than another! Surely one decision would be better for my family and lead to greater security and happiness!

But the same answer came again and again.

It didn’t matter.

(((Rage!)))

So one day I decided to bring it up with God in the car. I told him how I felt. Tears streaming down my face, I asked him to at least turn me in the right direction. Turn me in that direction and I will run. I have faith in you! Begging for help the words rang in my ears, “This is what free agency is all about. Whatever you do will be ok, every path leads to a successful end.”

So I decided if it didn’t matter, I would go in the direction I’m interested in. So I signed up for school. 

And in between signing up for school and beginning school…I met Doug.

And now, despite my finishing my program with a 4.0 grade point average, I’m here in Indiana living the roll as a stay at home mom.

Is that why it didn’t matter?

I mean, I’ll be going to work eventually. But I really don’t have to work. And maybe the story hasn’t completely unfolded and I’m being totally premature putting it all out there…but…there is something happening here.

Over the past few years I’ve always had this deep abiding feeling that everything was going to be ok. Like there was this future rolled out for me, waiting, and God already knew what it was. I had dreams of angels telling me I was going to be happier than I ever imagined I could be. I had moments of clarity that told me of my future whose details I confided in friends to leave as proof when the miracle occurred.

And sure enough, those miracles did occur. And many many more.

Was it my hope and positivity that brought those miracles to pass, or was it a loving Heavenly Father who knew/knows my needs?

I know the answer. I’ll let you glean from it what you will. But something I will tell you is that my walking in the Indiana sunlight and feeling at home isn’t a miracle accomplished on my own power, although I give myself some credit for tenacity…

No…being transported into a new world so seamlessly can only be an act of God.

Or an act of love.

Though I suspect they are one in the same.

So many miracles, but the biggest one is looking back and seeing the grief and the intense pain, and seeing that I still moved forward.  I can’t see how I did that on my own. There is no way that I made it from September 2, 2012 to today without being lifted by the armpits and carried here.

And now that I’m here, I can feel that I’m no longer carried, cradled in the arms of those that helped me, but rather I’m left to learn how to walk again. “We got you here, now fly.”

It’s time to jump into the next chapter of my life and make new decisions. Again I’m in the position where the directions I go will be of my own choosing…only this time I have Doug walking next to me.

And thankfully, decisions are so much easier to make when you’re holding the hand of someone you love.

High/Low

beep BEEP beep.

The second beep is a higher pitch than the first and the last.

beep BEEP beep.

It’s what the pump says when it has an announcement.

- Low reservoir.

- No delivery.

- Low battery.

Last night J was rudely awoken by the beep BEEP beep.

His pump screen brightly flashed “No delivery.”

He rolled out of bed, tripping his way up the basement stairs to the cabinet full of fresh supplies. (He says it was more of a waddle, but I digress…)Nimbly he changed his set, like he’s done thousands of times before. 

And then he went back to bed.

And slept seven hours with a new pump site that was bent in half inside his body.

Insulin can’t flow through a bent pump site.  J’s body needs insulin to metabolize sugar, as you can’t live if you can’t metabolize sugar. So since his body couldn’t get sugar from the blood cells, it starting eating his fat for energy…which produces ketones…which causes vomiting…which leads to a miserable state of being.

Fresh set.

Fresh insulin.

Extra liquids.

A seven hour nap.

You would think he would feel better.

But that wasn’t the case at all, as he woke up from that nap 53.

“Why didn’t you check him while he slept?” You may ask.

I did.

Twice.

But he woke up low anyway. It was the kind of low you feel all over. He was lightheaded, and famished.

He wolfed down an entire plate of food in record time.

Currently, He’s staring at his second plate of food, “The feeling of the low has left my stomach, but it hasn’t left my arms and legs.”

He stares blankly in front of himself, like the air is full of dancing fairies. 

“I have a dilemma,” he says. “I don’t think I need to eat. My stomach wants me to stop. But my arms and legs do not want me to stop. They still feel the low.”

“Burp.”

He continues to take bites as if he was suspended in air. Slow motion. Focusing intently on his fork. His eyebrows furrowed. “I’m full,” he says as he takes another bite, and then another.

His blood sugar is safe now.  The ketones are gone.  But now he needs to recover from the effects of the low.

There is something about August. Maybe it’s back to school…yes, it’s probably because it’s back to school…but diabetes always sucks in August.

Well, it sucks all the other months too, though especially so in August.

If it seems like I’m punching at the wind, it’s because I am.

I need something to blame for the suckage that is Diabetes.

Today that blame and all my anger goes to August.

Diabetes follows

We live in a new state.

Diabetes followed us.

We bought a new house.

Diabetes lives here.

The boys go to new schools.

Diabetes attends there.

We sleep in new beds.

Diabetes sleeps with us.

Diabetes makes sure that we can’t have a completely new start. It acts as though part of the family. Deserving of our attention, needing to be nurtured and fed.

Diabetes hasn’t been acting up, but it’s been quietly defiant.  The boys pretend it didn’t move with us, it’s been up to me to constantly remind them it is there.

“Have you checked your sugar?”

“Have you bolused?”

“Have you checked your sugar?”

“How many carbs are you going to bolus for that?”

“Did you have a snack before PE?”

“Have you bolused?”

“Bring a snack in your backpack.”

“Have you checked your sugar?”

“Have you checked your sugar?”

“Have you checked your sugar?”

“Check your sugar!”

My writing is limited as they marinate in their teenage years. But let this be known: Teenagers need more reminding than children.  Ok. To be fair: MY teenagers need more reminding than children.

Riddle: Three boys began eating their breakfasts this morning…did they check their sugar before?

No.

Why?

Because I didn’t tell them to.

Diabetes is this monkey on their back that “ooo-ooo-ooo’s” in their ears all day, but they are able to tune it out.

Somehow they can tune it out.

Diabetes lives here. It sleeps here, and I make sure it doesn’t go off the deep end.

I quiet it.

I acknowledge its existence. 

I sing it lullabies at the 1am check.

I make sure it doesn’t feel neglected. That it’s still part of the family even though it isn’t wanted.

I’m its friend.

My boys give it enough attention to stay alive. I give it enough attention so they can thrive.

At this very moment the boys are at school, but somehow diabetes has found a way to go with them and stay here with me too.

Empty juice boxes from last nights check.

Sharps on B’s desk that need to be disposed of.

Test strips on J’s nightstand.

A bag of L’s emergency school supplies waiting to be delivered on the counter.

We live in a new state.

Diabetes followed us.

We bought a new house.

Diabetes lives here.

The boys go to new schools.

Diabetes attends there.

We sleep in new beds.
Diabetes sleeps with us.