Friday, February 25, 2011

Passed Out on the Bathroom Floor

I've made jokes about being passed out on the bathroom floor...I've been there a few times in the past. Mostly in the past when I could drink enough to get drunk. And it's a funny little anecdote or embarrassing story to tell when I've run out of stories about how I forget shit that I really should know, like fifty percent of the things my best friend tells me. I'm starting to think I should keep notes.

But I digress. (How unusual for me, right?)

Today I had the scariest fucking moment of my life. I thought it was last year when the midget was diagnosed, but I was totally fucking wrong. Today, when the midget passed out on the bathroom floor because of a nasty low blood sugar, that was pretty much it.

I've read about diabetic lows that result in black outs and seizures. I knew it would happen one day. It's impossible for a Type 1 diabetic with reasonable control of blood sugars to not experience a low blood sugar. Because no matter how precisely I count carbs and calculate insulin dosages, shit happens. Hormones play their fucked up little games, illness plays a part, exercise, rest, even temperature screws with insulin. I am not a machine, and I am not perfect. Unlike you and me, my daughter doesn't have a pancreas that does what it's supposed to do. I am her pancreas.

Let me repeat that for you: I am my daughter's pancreas.

Me...the woman who literally cannot remember ANYTHING! And I'm in charge of something as complex as regulating a hormone in my kid's body. Through math. This is a fucking joke, right? I have to keep my kid alive using math? Me? Seriously? This is someone's idea of a joke right?

I talked to her doctor...we went over what happened today, the carbs eaten and the insulin dispensed...and there's no clear mistake. There isn't something I can point to and say "Aha! Fucked up there, and I won't do it again." I spoke to some other Type 1 parents on an online group I'm a member of, and they each told me their story of how it happened to their kid, how bad they felt, and assured me that it wasn't my fault. The doctor assured me it wasn't my fault.

But I'm my kid's pancreas. My pancreas doesn't land me on the bathroom floor. Neither does yours.

I'm a shit pancreas.

It took hours tonight to convince the midget that she could sleep, that she would be safe, and that she shouldn't be afraid of the insulin shot I had to give her. She's finally sleeping now, and slept through the last blood sugar check...the blood sugar that told me I had to give more insulin, which means I won't sleep until we pass the three hour mark, the moment when the insulin peaks, and I can test her to make sure that the insulin didn't send her too low.

Fuck you, diabetes...fuck you...


Archaeogoddess said...

OH MY GOD!! Are you okay?? Of course you aren't okay... what kind of stupid question is that! I was half way through dialing your number just now when I remembered:
1) I don't have your number memorized
2) I can't remember where I've saved it
3) Oh, yeah, in the ADDRESS BOOK on my computer so that I don't have to keep looking for that scrap of paper or that email you sent like ages ago
4) It's like 5 in the morning there and I'm thinking the midget needs sleep
5) You also need sleep, but I doubt you're getting it

It sounds like the midget is okay, which is good and which I'm currently focusing on (take deep breaths woman, do *not* go into labor, you have shit to do) and I'm going to agree with the doc and unknown internet persons and say, you aren't a shit pancreas, DIABETES IS SHIT. Let's put the blame right where it belongs. Especially since you were right on with the food and the insulin (so yay to your math skills) and it's the DIABETES which got crafty caused the blip. Normally the midget's diabetes seems to ride high, at least I'm always hearing about too-high numbers with y'all, so SHITTY DIABETES went and pulled a quick and nasty one on you both.

Sweet Jesus I could really beat the shit out of diabetes right now. Or at least pee on it.

Right, I'm going to try to call you in a few hours, I have people coming over and that sucks, but so is sitting here watching the clock, so with luck they won't stay for dinner and I can get the DB to cook and I'll dial you up and you'll see some random number on your caller ID and it's probably me. Only if it's not and instead some asshole trying to sell you something you can TOTALLY TELL THEM TO EAT DIABETES.

Big big big hugs!

LouAnn said...

My sweet darling Laura - the Archaeogoddess is right - YOU RE NOT SHIT PANCREAS! You were correct (I know that doesn't help your nerves or doesn't make you feel better) FUCKING DIABETES!!! When I called you that night, you sounded so very raw...and there wasn't anything I could do being so far away...there isn't anything I can say or do to make you feel any better, I know and there isn't anything I can do about that horrible evil dis-ease....except send you both my love and energies - how lame is that? FUCK YOU DIABETES!!!