Something like a Duck

If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's not a cat

Sounds Souper

on May 16, 2012


Now that I have tooted my horn, prepare to hear the sirens… My assignment for Operation 2012 Diabetes Blog Week was easy cheesy yesterday. My mission? Share our quack-a-lastic diabetes life with the world.  Today’s mission? Show the ‘uh-oh’ poopie side of it. Sometimes I can suck the air out of a black hole. I can drain the last bit of patience by proving impossibly impatient. Hard to believe, but I have reeeeediculous expectations. Everyone – from the patient-registry nurse to the hospital valet, the innocent pharmacist behind the counter (standing a paranoid’s length from me…well played), to my husband and children –  they must keep pace! There is an exorbitant amount of pressure straddled on these poor folks. My visions of sugar (free)plum fairies and choreographed unicorns must be executed to perfection. It’s a damn hard thing to contend with…on my part to delegate so much scrutiny; on the world’s part to not maim me with it. Try to apply that special “talent” to a disease who bothers little with the rules. I am so hyper-vigilant about the blood sugars charting across that Dexcom screen that I stalk them like a lioness hunting ravioli on the Serengeti . It is a wee-bit of a joke around these parts (because if humor can’t fix it, neither will therapy), but if you happen to say my son’s name aloud he will scream a number back at you. Doesn’t matter if you were actually just hollering his name, this kid will squeal a reading it t-minus 5 seconds flat. It has become like diabetic tourettes.

“Hey, Zach…”  “149!

“Pick up your toys, Zach” “121

“Who wants to go to the z-” “59

It hasn’t even been a year that he has been diagnosed, but I have brain-washed my boy. Sure, it could be a good thing if it wasn’t a bad one. Neither he nor the world should be so constantly harassed. My most serious fault with this disease? Breaking myself (and others) with impossible goals. I am trying to accept that even if I cannot control diabetes, that does not mean it controls my son. I think that is the snag in the fabric…the fear of losing my child (physically or emotionally) to such a beast.

When my oldest, Josh, was in preschool he was assigned the task of drawing a picture of someone truly super in his life. He brought home a picture of the loveliest stick-figure girl I’d ever seen. In her two hands she held a bowl and a spoon. My son had drawn his mother because “she is the best person in the whole world. and she loves to eat soup. She is really SOUPER!!”

I have to remember that our best efforts are what matter, even if they cannot guarantee the best results. Being right is only a matter of perspective. Josh was right…I love soup. I am souper. I need to stop and recognize the right kind of wrongs I have been misunderstanding.

I can’t say I won’t fight, because I can never imagine making peace with this disease. I do, however, promise to try and play nice with others while I kick the crap out of the glucose goblins.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: