My old Endocrinologist knew I used to be awesome.

That title is ridiculous, but I’m not changing it, because it’s true.

The reason I’ve gotten through the last year without totally losing my mind is my endocrinologist threw me a ton of slack because she knows I used to be a rockstar and I have just been…busy? Overwhelmed? On a break?

Whatever the reason, my D-Moming skills have sucked bananas this year. Though the sting has been soothed a bit by the balm of my past awesomeness.

“I wasn’t always terrible” has gotten me through.

And now, in a couple weeks, I’ll be face to face with a new Endocrinologist who doesn’t know me, or my past.  All she’ll know are the numbers flashing before her. And If I’m going to be judged solely on those numbers? KILL ME NOW.

Seriously.

Kill me.

I honestly don’t think she’s going to be interested in the fact that I used to be awesome. I think all she’s going to care about is the fact that I’m not awesome now.

I know! Right?!

She won’t know awesome me.

She’ll only know suck me.

(I have a super sad face right now just typing that.)

Here’s the thing…

When school started this year, I stopped doing nighttime checks.

WHOA!!! WHOA!!! Put your hands down.

Before you start your nighttime-checks-aren’t-mandatory diatribe, let me fill you in on the last four weeks.

We’ve had:

2 no delivery alarms.

3 pumps falling off (being ripped off?)

1 pump running out of insulin

1 pump kinked after a 10pm set change

That’s a lot of nighttime incidences for one month. Unusually a lot. Obviously my nighttime check sabbatical is causing the diabetes cosmos to implode.

“I used to be awesome” isn’t cutting it anymore.

The other night I checked L at 11:00pm and found him to be 465. He had six units left in his pump and I used the bulk of it to correct the high number. A pump set change was obviously imminent.

I changed his set, folded some laundry and collapsed facedown in bed without setting an alarm. When my husband stirred in the morning I immediately bolted up. WHAT WAS I THINKING! I gave L  a huge amount of insulin and then didn't recheck to make sure he was going down, or maybe even going down too fast.

Complacency: A feeling of smug satisfaction with oneself over ones past achievements that puts one in a place of comfort, whether reasonable or not.

He’s woken up alive for ten years, right?

That’s how I went to bed. Complacent.

That isn’t how I woke up.

I rolled out of bed and walked to our bedroom door, when my husband asked where I was going.

I closed my eyes, leaned my forehead on the doorjamb and said, “I’m just going to make sure L is still alive.”

I took a deep breath, opened the door and began to walk down the hallway, only to be immediately comforted by the whisk of air I felt behind me as Doug joined me on my walk of shame.

I opened L’s door and looked to his bed.

He was gone.

“Well at least we know he’s ok,” said my sweet husband.

I nodded to him reassuringly, but that nod was a big fat lie. I knew L could have woken up low, gone downstairs and collapsed before he got what he needed.

(Come on guys. It could have happened. Work with me here!)

But, you’re right, I also knew he was probably ok.

Probably. It’s the story of my life.

I paused to watch B’s chest. Thankfully the familiar rise came quickly, and then I hopped as casually as I could downstairs to find L.

He was on the couch watching cartoons. He had already checked his blood sugar and clocked in at 211.

Yes, all was well.

But still, there’s been a lot more diabetes drama around here than there needs to be.

Nighttime checks are back on the table.

My alarm will be set tonight. 

I just hope my ASTA is in remission.

  

PS: ASTA is a real condition. I've suffered from it for a couple years now. It stands for Always Sleeping Through Alarms.