Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Look at That!
"The lady with the Omnipod is still at the pool with her kids most days," my daughter reported the other night.
"And there was another woman there. She had a pump clipped to her bikini top but the tubing was connected to her hip. It would make sense if the site was in her arm maybe. It looked uncomfortable to me. Or like you could accidentally yank it out with your own arm somehow- but whatever I guess...it's up to her."
It's summer again, which is prime pump-sighting season, especially at the pool and the beach.
Last years' beach vacation tally was 2 dexcoms and an Omnipod. Our town pool tally was 2 omnipods and a tubed pump a little too far way to identify the brand of. Walking around various cities and towns added 3 more pumps that I can remember.
We've never spoken to any of these people about their devices.
But we always speak to each other about them. "That guy has something on his stomach...over there by the purple striped umbrella...is it a Dexcom or an Omnipod?" Or "That lady's making me nervous standing knee deep in the water- over there near the jetty- I think that's a Medtronic pump, right- those aren't waterproof are they? The tide's coming in fast." We discuss where the devices are worn, attempts to disguise them or not, and how far down the beach the people with diabetes walk without bringing a meter or a container of glucose tabs with them.
It's fascinating to watch other people with diabetes in the wild. It's also comforting since every sighting-spurred conversation boils down to this: "Hey- look- there's another person with diabetes just living life," and especially at the beach or the pool, "and having fun."
A Little Fear Can Be A Good Thing
I usually drop my daughter at her summer music program after helping make her lunch and gather her belongings for the day.
Last Friday I had to leave the house early and so she chose to walk the few blocks to the program rather than arriving half an hour before her first class and having to wait around. No big deal, I thought, and a great opportunity to be independent. When I left, she was eating breakfast, and her lunch was made. She had half an hour until she had to leave, plenty of time to get her stuff together and get out of the house.
She texted me before 9 to let me know she'd arrived at her destination and we continued on with our busy days.
Then at 11, my phone buzzed. Surreptitiously taking it out of my pocket for a glance, I saw this:
'I'm such an idiot I don't have the meter.'
Meanwhile the Dexcom sensor had breathed its last at 9 the night before and we'd decided a free day would be okay before replacing it.
The next text read: 'I felt low so I drank my one juice and now I'm eating and I'm gonna do like half my lunch and then I'm going to the store to buy a coke or something in case I'm low again.'
Fifteen minutes away and responsible for a group of 7 children until 12:15, and then expected to stay where I was until at least 1:30, I texted back,
'Sounds good.'
As it tuned out, she did absolutely the right thing with the lack of tools at hand. The low or low-ish she treated was likely real. When she bolused for lunch she factored in the amount of dancing she expected to do during the show rehearsal. As the afternoon wore on she thought often about how she was feeling. She realized, should she need it, that in addition to the soda she had purchased she had access to candy usually awarded as prizes for the daily trivia contest. When she got home her blood sugar was 79.
With some significant inconvenience to myself and others I could have left what I was doing to get a meter to her. Instead I let her wing it until her program was over for the day. Was it the safest plan? No. If I had it to do over again would I bail her out? I don't know. But when she got home, she said this:
'That was scary being without the meter. I don't think I'll forget it again.'
Sometimes a little fear can teach a very important lesson.
An Audience
My daughter and I spent a week this summer on a church youth group trip. We stayed in a little white church, sharing a room with 5 middle and high school aged girls (the boys had their own space). It was an experience in communal living in many ways, including sharing more about my daughter's diabetes than we usually do.
We're not embarrassed about diabetes, but at the same time we tend to keep it undercover when possible. Ordinarily when there's a low in public or the need to check before a communal meal, only the most diabetes-savvy eye would know what was going on. We weren't even to our destination yet when this way of doing things became impossible. The caravan of cars stopped for dinner on the way there, and we ended up at different tables, yelling blood sugar numbers and estimated carb counts over the heads of our fellow travelers.
On the first night, Dexi was on high alert for a borderline low blood sugar. The kind where she thinks it's hovering at 65 and the finger sticks all say 85 and she can't be convinced she's wrong. Except this was happening in a room with 6 other people who were trying to sleep, all right next to each other. I'd never realized how incredibly loud the vibrate mode on the Dexcom is, or how loud the faint little beep is when then the blood sugar reads out on the meter. And when I gave up and opened a juice box so that Dexi and I could both just get some sleep? That straw wrapper was deafening.
We had a few moments when we had to step aside from work or play to treat lows. Our brightly colored meter case was visible at all times from wherever we were working or playing. Math was done out loud at meals and my daughter hoisted the cookie package over her head nightly to check the carbs.
The experience made me contemplate why we tend to keep diabetes out of sight when we're not with our closest friends and family. For me it has to do with not wanting diabetes to get in other people's way. We don't want everyone to stop what they're doing because my kid has a low blood sugar. We don't want people to wait to eat because my kid still has to check or read the label for the taco shells. We don't want everyone in the room to worry when they hear the Dexcom buzz.
It turns out, that two things happened over the course of the week, neither of which had to do with diabetes causing an undue burden on our fellow travelers. Primarily, despite having to deal with diabetes out in the open, people rarely noticed. There were plenty of other people there, doing plenty of other things, and my child stepping aside to check her blood sugar, or even the buzzes and beeps of the first night went, for the most part, unnoticed. And secondarily, when people did notice, they wanted nothing more than to help. It turns out that taking a break from the evening basketball game and chatting with my daughter while her blood sugar came up, or running back to the kitchen to grab the nutrition label were not deemed onerous tasks.
Anyone who knows me knows I'm not too good at accepting help. For anything. But people with diabetes sometimes need help. This was a great experience in reminding my daughter that sharing a little of her diabetes with others isn't a bad thing, though she was already better about it than I was. It's a lesson we both needed to learn, but which will serve her particularly well as she continues to grow up and to be out and about in the world without me.
Baring It All
I'm incredibly proud that my daughter is willing to bare it all at the pool.
Said no mother ever.
Except me.
She's not really baring it all all, of course. But she decided this spring that she really wanted a bikini.
Many sentences uttered at our house now start with, "All of my friends are...," and I was informed this spring that all of her friends would be wearing only bikinis at the pool this summer. This was a big step for two reasons:
While some girls wear bikinis from the beginning, my daughter never had, so this was a milestone in terms of growing up. Despite our concerns about finding bikinis appropriate for a tween/young teen, we found two very cute ones. Ruffly tops and bottoms with plenty of coverage are out there if you look long enough.
The second concern, of course, was the increased obviousness of the diabetes paraphernalia. About this, my daughter decided she simply didn't care. Wearing a bikini trumped any concern about the dexcom sensor taped to her belly and the insulin pump clipped to her bathing suit.
My daughter has so far had more people ask her about the dexcom and pump at her morning summer music program (where it's generally in her pocket or clipped to her waistband under a t-shirt) than at the pool. Perhaps we'll keep a running tally. When asked, she has a couple of short answers prepared, and is able to move on without much fanfare.
The only comment I've heard so far was from a mom I know tangentially, a friend of a friend, who came up to me and said, "I just wanted to tell you I'm so impressed with her wearing a bikini and not caring what anyone thinks. I think that's just great."
At 13, it's an impressive decision to make. As a rule, these are the years of trying to fit in, the years of "all my friends are." So I'm proud of my daughter for baring it all at the pool. I'm proud that she's comfortable with what she looks like, taped on contraptions and all. I'm proud that she's willing to answer the inevitable questions. I'm proud that she's not going to let diabetes stop her from doing something she wants to do, however relatively trivial this particular decision may be.
I still have mixed feelings about this. Watching my little girl walk past me at the pool in her bikini makes me do a double-take every time. But it has nothing to do with the dexcom sensor.
An Ice Cream-Free Heat Wave
It's been HOT here for a week and we're reaching the end of our list of coping mechanisms. The town pool has gone from refreshing to soupy. The mall was fun once. We finished the jigsaw puzzle. We read entire books during our visit to the library.
Food-wise, we've grilled and crock-potted. We've enjoyed salads, partly from our little garden, and we've consumed lots of summer fruits. The slushie magic I picked up at a steep discount as a site change prize incentive has seen a lot of action.
Frozen fruit bars and even mediocre popsicles made from low-carb gatorade have made refreshing treats. Yet what would really taste good is a nice cone of ice cream.
Sadly, that's where we've hit a dead end. My daughter's lactose intolerance has chosen now to flare up.
With good reason, I guess. We were traveling the weekend before last, and didn't put the pieces together until it was too late. The day started with cereal with regular milk. Lunch was a bowl of new england clam chowder (her favorite). Dinner was pizza. Despite the little lactaid tablets, this was too much for her system. It was way more than the one or two small servings per day she was used to.
The dairy binge was followed by several days of feeling decidedly awful and subsequent days worrying about whether the discomfort had gone away for good.
She went at least a week completely dairy free. She's since had a sprinkle of cheese on a taco and a couple of other negligible bits of dairy products. Yet she's (understandably) nervous about trying anything more yet.
So we're sampling treats like sorbet in ice cream cones (really, really sticky), and almond milk smoothies ("whatever you put almond milk in, the whole thing just tastes like almond milk").
I'm not much of a complainer, or dweller on negative things. But a heat wave without an ice cream cone outing is making me a little sad.
Since I feel compelled to find a bright side, not dealing with ice-cream's all night blood sugar revenge is a huge plus. While a sweet sorbet will cause a spike, it gets itself out of the way pretty quickly.
Upping The Ante
It's summer music time again. This nurse-free program offers music activities every morning through July, with instrumental and choral fun. I've come a long way since the first year she went. I've even accepted the chaos which is the last day's honestly advertised 'Junk Food Fest.'
This year my daughter asked to add on the musical theater part of the program. We've seen these musicals each year and they're amazing, and particularly so considering they're put together over the course of only 4 weeks. She really enjoyed her theater experience at school this year. The only reason to say 'no' was diabetes anxiety, but our household's policy states that diabetes is not a good enough reason to say 'no' to anything. So I signed her up.
Here's the thing: she's now at this program from 8:30-2:30 with nobody to help her with diabetes stuff. The staff know she has diabetes, as do a couple of friends there, but the responsibility for checking, treating, and bolusing is on her. It's a big responsibility.
We've set up a system, of course. She texts me when she checks mid-morning, and again at lunchtime. I text back any advice. Her lunch carbs are written down for her. I can be at the school where the program is held within 5 minutes if I need to be.
This situation seems, at times, perfectly reasonable. I'm not asking her to do anything that she doesn't ordinarly do on her own at home. I am always but a call or a text away if she needs help. She's proven herself responsible in the past, so I trust that she will do what she needs to do.
Yet somehow in the back of my mind (or in the pit of my stomach), I can't help feeling like I've bet it all on black.
Fast Forward
The end of the school year chaos sneaks up on me every year. Hence the lack of blog content this week. At some point every May, weeks become a blur of school, softball games, day trips, school parties, after school parties, pool parties, field days, recitals, concerts, carnivals, field trips, impromptu after dinner walks, backyard games, gardening and so much more. It feels as though the fast forward button has been pressed.
Life takes on a regular rhythm during the school year and then a different, but similarly predictable pattern in the summer. We're not opposed to the occasional early dinner or spur-of-the-moment scooter ride, but there remains a comforting regularity to our days. A loose schedule of meals and activity is helpful. In the absence of schedule we must keep a closer eye on diabetes. If we don't, it can easily get lost in the shuffle or stage an untimely outburst, derailing our plans.
Each of these spring days requires a different game plan, both logistics-wise, and diabetes-wise. Some mornings, I can look at the calendar and map out an approach. On other days, spontaneity wins.
On the day of the 9 a.m. class party, we'll negotiate a lighter breakfast and lunch attempting to account for the carb-heavy treats in between.
Before the day-long field trip, we'll try to find out the lunch schedule, but will be aware it's not set in stone. I'll send plenty of test strips and glucose tabs and sound like a broken record with reminders to check often throughout the day.
Then there will be days like this: 'PLEASE can we go to the carnival today? EVERYONE is going this afternoon!!!" Suddenly, there will be unplanned walking, ride-induced adrenaline, and a bag of powdered-sugar covered zeppoles will appear 'for everyone to share.'
Or we'll decide to take a walk to the park in the afternoon, run into a friend, and dinner time will arrive with nothing on the table.
It's all fun, don't get me wrong. I love the longer evenings. It feels good to come out of hibernation and become reacquainted with nature and neighbors. The concerts, softball games, parties and carnivals are all the stuff that makes childhood particularly wonderful.
So we do it all, the best we can, while all the time dragging diabetes behind us like a disagreeable toddler, determined not to let it have its way.
Travel Trouble
A couple of weeks ago, we took our final trip of the summer. It began with a familiar journey of four and a half hours to grandma and grandpa's house. We would spend a night there and then travel another hour and a half with them to a cabin on a pond in the woods. We make this trip once or twice each summer, and I mistakenly believed I could easily pack what we needed without the extra concentration required for, say, our trip to Florida earlier in the year.
The bad omen came three quarters of the way there, when there was a thunk and a subsequent dragging sound. Sadly it was not from a nearby vehicle, but from our own. The muffler had come loose and was dragging down the highway. My husband heroically secured the muffler to the car with a bungee cord and we traveled slowly but steadily to our destination.
We enjoyed a pleasant supper and researched the hours of nearby muffler places for what we hoped would be a quick fix before continuing on our way in the morning. The only other piece of business for the evening was a site change. Which would require insulin. Which I realized, with a sinking feeling, was at home, four and a half hours away.
Hoping against hope, I peered into my in-laws' fridge. Because we visit often, we leave vials of lantus and novalog there for just such a circumstance. Sadly, my memory was correct that the last time we visited, we discovered the insulin to be near its expiration date and brought it home to use and to replace upon our next visit.
It was 7:45 p.m. If we wanted to enjoy the rest of our vacation, we needed a source of insulin by the time the muffler was fixed in the morning. Our other options were heading home, or visiting the local hospital by evening.
As much as I'm a supporter of small local businesses, this night is why we use a national pharmacy chain. The pharmacist found my daughter's name quickly in the computer system and submitted the request for a refill. Their pharmacy would be open until 10.
Then, "Did you just refill this prescription last week?"
"Yes, but I'm visiting family here and am 250 miles from home. I left the insulin at home."
"I'm sorry, but it's not going through on your insurance."
"Ok...well...how much would it be out of pocket?"
"Let me see...Oh WOW...it's a lot. It's $169."
"Hmm...that is a lot."
Funny how fast your mind can work in these moments. I was considering the obviously higher value of my daughter's life, but also the comparative cost of traveling back home to get the insulin and the immeasurable cost of losing out on a vacation when the pharmacist offered, "Let me call your insurance for you. I see they're still open. Sometimes they will override the cost in an emergency. I'll call you back within the hour to let you know."
Twenty long minutes later, the phone rang. Our insurance would pay for it, and it would be waiting for me to pick up in a few minutes.
Site change waited until morning, but was easily done while my husband went to the muffler shop. We very carefully packed the rest of the insulin vial into our significantly quieter car and hit the road. The subsequent discovery of the forgotten water toys, and the need to re-wear the same shorts a few times were issues which seemed trivial compared to the trip's beginning.
Too many people pay $169 every time they need a vial of insulin. Lots of people end up at the hospital because they cannot afford that $169. Countless people have advocated for insurance companies to cover the cost of insulin, even for people dense enough to leave it at home on vacation.
While it was a stressful start to a vacation, the experience made me grateful for what our family has, and for those who make sure we have it. It was a reminder that there's more to do out there to ensure everyone has access to basic diabetes care.
The bad omen came three quarters of the way there, when there was a thunk and a subsequent dragging sound. Sadly it was not from a nearby vehicle, but from our own. The muffler had come loose and was dragging down the highway. My husband heroically secured the muffler to the car with a bungee cord and we traveled slowly but steadily to our destination.
We enjoyed a pleasant supper and researched the hours of nearby muffler places for what we hoped would be a quick fix before continuing on our way in the morning. The only other piece of business for the evening was a site change. Which would require insulin. Which I realized, with a sinking feeling, was at home, four and a half hours away.
Hoping against hope, I peered into my in-laws' fridge. Because we visit often, we leave vials of lantus and novalog there for just such a circumstance. Sadly, my memory was correct that the last time we visited, we discovered the insulin to be near its expiration date and brought it home to use and to replace upon our next visit.
It was 7:45 p.m. If we wanted to enjoy the rest of our vacation, we needed a source of insulin by the time the muffler was fixed in the morning. Our other options were heading home, or visiting the local hospital by evening.
As much as I'm a supporter of small local businesses, this night is why we use a national pharmacy chain. The pharmacist found my daughter's name quickly in the computer system and submitted the request for a refill. Their pharmacy would be open until 10.
Then, "Did you just refill this prescription last week?"
"Yes, but I'm visiting family here and am 250 miles from home. I left the insulin at home."
"I'm sorry, but it's not going through on your insurance."
"Ok...well...how much would it be out of pocket?"
"Let me see...Oh WOW...it's a lot. It's $169."
"Hmm...that is a lot."
Funny how fast your mind can work in these moments. I was considering the obviously higher value of my daughter's life, but also the comparative cost of traveling back home to get the insulin and the immeasurable cost of losing out on a vacation when the pharmacist offered, "Let me call your insurance for you. I see they're still open. Sometimes they will override the cost in an emergency. I'll call you back within the hour to let you know."
Twenty long minutes later, the phone rang. Our insurance would pay for it, and it would be waiting for me to pick up in a few minutes.
Site change waited until morning, but was easily done while my husband went to the muffler shop. We very carefully packed the rest of the insulin vial into our significantly quieter car and hit the road. The subsequent discovery of the forgotten water toys, and the need to re-wear the same shorts a few times were issues which seemed trivial compared to the trip's beginning.
Too many people pay $169 every time they need a vial of insulin. Lots of people end up at the hospital because they cannot afford that $169. Countless people have advocated for insurance companies to cover the cost of insulin, even for people dense enough to leave it at home on vacation.
While it was a stressful start to a vacation, the experience made me grateful for what our family has, and for those who make sure we have it. It was a reminder that there's more to do out there to ensure everyone has access to basic diabetes care.
Swimming
It gets us every summer, this swimming thing. The afternoon goes like this:
Arrive at pool (or if on vacation - beach) around 2. Immediately disconnect and run into water.
Become hungry around 3:30. Test, reconnect, snack on crackers and/or fruit.
Disconnect to swim again by 4.
Reconnect between 5 and 6.
What I have learned is that, for my child trying to give the missing basal insulin before-hand can and usually does backfire. Two thirds of the time, she'll come out low by 3:30. Deciding this is dangerous anytime, but particularly when waves or water slides are in the picture, we've abandoned that tactic.
We do bolus snack, tacking on any needed correction and just a smidge more to that bolus.
That combination yields an acceptable number by the time she reconnects.
It's after that when the whole thing begins to catch up with her. Unless there's a brisk after-dinner walk or some other unusual evening activity, there's an inevitable high by 9:00.
Yes, a tubeless pump or the 'untethered regimen' could help with this problem, but neither option is on our table at the moment, so we continue our quest for the next best answer.
If only I were a more 'scientific-method' type of thinker. I'd make some charts and create a well-planned experiment.
In reality, though, using the scientific method requires accounting for all possible variables before you can claim you've proven a hypothesis. I can see us at the pool with a stopwatch, timing the connecting and disconnecting windows. She'd also have to engage in the same types of pool activities each day. Practicing her swimming strokes for an hour is different from repeatedly jumping off the edge. Eating the same dinner every night would get old too. That impromptu after dinner walk could skew a whole day's results.
Instead I hapahazardly try a variety of tactics, figuratively closing my eyes and hoping one of them will work (and that I remember what I did so I can do it again tomorrow). If I figure it out, I'll be sure to blog about it here so I can refer back to it next summer.
Arrive at pool (or if on vacation - beach) around 2. Immediately disconnect and run into water.
Become hungry around 3:30. Test, reconnect, snack on crackers and/or fruit.
Disconnect to swim again by 4.
Reconnect between 5 and 6.
What I have learned is that, for my child trying to give the missing basal insulin before-hand can and usually does backfire. Two thirds of the time, she'll come out low by 3:30. Deciding this is dangerous anytime, but particularly when waves or water slides are in the picture, we've abandoned that tactic.
We do bolus snack, tacking on any needed correction and just a smidge more to that bolus.
That combination yields an acceptable number by the time she reconnects.
It's after that when the whole thing begins to catch up with her. Unless there's a brisk after-dinner walk or some other unusual evening activity, there's an inevitable high by 9:00.
Yes, a tubeless pump or the 'untethered regimen' could help with this problem, but neither option is on our table at the moment, so we continue our quest for the next best answer.
If only I were a more 'scientific-method' type of thinker. I'd make some charts and create a well-planned experiment.
In reality, though, using the scientific method requires accounting for all possible variables before you can claim you've proven a hypothesis. I can see us at the pool with a stopwatch, timing the connecting and disconnecting windows. She'd also have to engage in the same types of pool activities each day. Practicing her swimming strokes for an hour is different from repeatedly jumping off the edge. Eating the same dinner every night would get old too. That impromptu after dinner walk could skew a whole day's results.
Instead I hapahazardly try a variety of tactics, figuratively closing my eyes and hoping one of them will work (and that I remember what I did so I can do it again tomorrow). If I figure it out, I'll be sure to blog about it here so I can refer back to it next summer.
Cooked Insulin
The patient information sheet which comes with my daughter's Novalog reads, "keep in the refrigerator or at room temperature below 86 F for up to 28 days."
We do just that with vials of insulin at home. They are in the fridge (butter compartment, of course) until they're needed. Then they're in a finished room in our basement which is 'site change central' in addition to being part library, part office, part media-room and occasional guest room. Because it's downstairs, the temperature is pleasant on even the hottest days.
Once the insulin is in the pump, though, it's a whole different story. Any outdoor time in recent memory has been above 90 degrees. When she's in the pool, I've brought a cooler to drop the pump into. Yet I encourage her to plug back in whenever she's out of the water, so again it's hot. The high school, where my daughter spends each morning at her summer music program, is at least 90 degrees at this point.
It took me a while to figure out what was going on, but it's now pretty obvious that by 36-48 hours after each site change, for the past couple of weeks, those numbers have crept up. The more frequent site changes are not terribly popular here, but it's been the only solution. Fortunately, it appears that this stretch of heat is over for a few days at least.
The insulin won't be the only one happy about that.
We do just that with vials of insulin at home. They are in the fridge (butter compartment, of course) until they're needed. Then they're in a finished room in our basement which is 'site change central' in addition to being part library, part office, part media-room and occasional guest room. Because it's downstairs, the temperature is pleasant on even the hottest days.
Once the insulin is in the pump, though, it's a whole different story. Any outdoor time in recent memory has been above 90 degrees. When she's in the pool, I've brought a cooler to drop the pump into. Yet I encourage her to plug back in whenever she's out of the water, so again it's hot. The high school, where my daughter spends each morning at her summer music program, is at least 90 degrees at this point.
It took me a while to figure out what was going on, but it's now pretty obvious that by 36-48 hours after each site change, for the past couple of weeks, those numbers have crept up. The more frequent site changes are not terribly popular here, but it's been the only solution. Fortunately, it appears that this stretch of heat is over for a few days at least.
The insulin won't be the only one happy about that.
Counting
Don't forget to count as you eat those goldfish crackers.
There were 20 pretzel sticks in there. How many are left?
If you eat more than 12 cherries, come back.
People on diets count their calories and track how much of everything they consume.
Children, generally, do not.
It must stink to be sitting at the pool with friends, chatting about important things (or about nothing at all) while simultaneously having to keep a running tally of one's wheat thin consumption.
Where we lunched on Wednesday has the best thin, crispy french fries anywhere, and a generous portion came with my daughter's grilled cheese. I have no idea how many I picked off of her plate. I do know she ate 26 of them.
It takes a bit of the joy out of eating, this counting does. Especially in the summer when there's nothing nicer than sitting in the shade eating cold grapes or berries. Or sitting on the beach grabbing handfuls of goldfish crackers between hermit crab races. Or sitting on a pier with a fresh-from-the-water basket of clam strips and fries.
It's part and parcel of this whole diabetes thing though. And the glass-half-full part of me says 'well at least she can eat what she wants as long as she keeps track of it...it wasn't long ago when there were tons of restrictions on what people with diabetes were allowed to eat to begin with.'
And that's true.
But wouldn't it be fun to dive into that tray of chips and salsa at the next cookout without enumerating each one?
It's Summer Music Time Again
Our town's summer music started this morning. So it seemed appropriate to revisit this post from last year:
This is the first week of my daughter’s summer music program. She’ll be at our town’s high school five mornings a week, beginning to learn the clarinet. The program is run by a couple of our town’s music teachers. Kids receive a daily group instrument lesson, sing in a chorus, and take a music theory class. As they get older, they can also participate in band, jazz band, and a musical theater production.
My daughter began participating in the program last summer. She had started piano lessons during the school year, and was developing a real interest in music. It seemed only logical to give her this opportunity to immerse herself in music for the first month of her summer. She loved every minute of it, as I’m sure she will this year too.
Here’s the thing: summer music doesn’t have a nurse, or anyone who acts as a nurse. They probably have a stash of band-aids somewhere, but that’s where any interest in medicine ends. So it was with a pit in my stomach that I made the decision to send my child with diabetes to this program last summer.
The first day she went last year, I packed her up with a cell phone, meter, juice box, diabetes bracelet, and a note in her backpack with every contact number I could think of. I walked her in the door, and spoke with the hall monitors. I’d already made sure the director was aware and would tell her teachers. I gave her a kiss, said goodbye, took a deep breath, said a prayer, and went home. For two of the longest hours I’ve ever spent.
The story has a happy ending. When I returned, she was alive, upright, and happy. The rest of the weeks went the same way. She checked her blood sugar as needed, and called me if it was off. She called me more, however, because she’d forgotten things and wanted me to bring them to her.
When she was diagnosed with diabetes at 13 months, my daughter was helpless. She needed an educated adult with her 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It seemed for many years that this would always be so. It is with relief, and pride, that I continue to watch her grow into a responsible child. I realize that not all 9 year olds are capable of taking on this kind of responsibility, nor should they have to be.
The decision to send her last year was a difficult one. There was certainly less of a safety net for the many diabetes “what-if’s” racing through my mind. On the other hand, I knew I would be only a few blocks away. I knew she took on these responsibilities well at friends’ houses. I knew that an extreme diabetes emergency was extraordinarily unlikely. Most importantly, I knew that she really wanted to live and breathe music for a couple of hours a day in July. So the answer had to be “yes.”
This is the first week of my daughter’s summer music program. She’ll be at our town’s high school five mornings a week, beginning to learn the clarinet. The program is run by a couple of our town’s music teachers. Kids receive a daily group instrument lesson, sing in a chorus, and take a music theory class. As they get older, they can also participate in band, jazz band, and a musical theater production.
My daughter began participating in the program last summer. She had started piano lessons during the school year, and was developing a real interest in music. It seemed only logical to give her this opportunity to immerse herself in music for the first month of her summer. She loved every minute of it, as I’m sure she will this year too.
Here’s the thing: summer music doesn’t have a nurse, or anyone who acts as a nurse. They probably have a stash of band-aids somewhere, but that’s where any interest in medicine ends. So it was with a pit in my stomach that I made the decision to send my child with diabetes to this program last summer.
The first day she went last year, I packed her up with a cell phone, meter, juice box, diabetes bracelet, and a note in her backpack with every contact number I could think of. I walked her in the door, and spoke with the hall monitors. I’d already made sure the director was aware and would tell her teachers. I gave her a kiss, said goodbye, took a deep breath, said a prayer, and went home. For two of the longest hours I’ve ever spent.
The story has a happy ending. When I returned, she was alive, upright, and happy. The rest of the weeks went the same way. She checked her blood sugar as needed, and called me if it was off. She called me more, however, because she’d forgotten things and wanted me to bring them to her.
When she was diagnosed with diabetes at 13 months, my daughter was helpless. She needed an educated adult with her 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It seemed for many years that this would always be so. It is with relief, and pride, that I continue to watch her grow into a responsible child. I realize that not all 9 year olds are capable of taking on this kind of responsibility, nor should they have to be.
The decision to send her last year was a difficult one. There was certainly less of a safety net for the many diabetes “what-if’s” racing through my mind. On the other hand, I knew I would be only a few blocks away. I knew she took on these responsibilities well at friends’ houses. I knew that an extreme diabetes emergency was extraordinarily unlikely. Most importantly, I knew that she really wanted to live and breathe music for a couple of hours a day in July. So the answer had to be “yes.”
This year, the decision was easy. Another hurdle has been crossed. Now we'll see how things go with the clarinet!
Each of these steps towards diabetes independence results in a few more grey hairs. It's funny to compare how worried I was the first time she participated in this program to how I felt this morning sending her off with her meter and a snack. Each year brings new situations she must handle independently. I hope she continues to approach them with the same level of responsibility. Meanwhile, any recommendations for my greying hair will be welcomed.
Each of these steps towards diabetes independence results in a few more grey hairs. It's funny to compare how worried I was the first time she participated in this program to how I felt this morning sending her off with her meter and a snack. Each year brings new situations she must handle independently. I hope she continues to approach them with the same level of responsibility. Meanwhile, any recommendations for my greying hair will be welcomed.
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