M was given a menu, and was told that she could select whatever she wanted from it. She chose bacon, for sure, but I don't remember what other foods she chose. She also got to drink water.
Her color was better. I hadn't noticed how pale she had been until she wasn't anymore. The nurse told us that M would be moved to another room before the end of the day. One that required less monitoring. This, I perceived, was good news.
While M ate breakfast, B went to call his office to tell them he would not be in. His very sensitive manager said, "So, this is two vacation days, then?" What a tool.
The head of pediatric diabetes came into the room: an attractive woman of 55 or so. After talking to M, she revealed that, like M, she is a horsey girl. She was impressed by M's attitude. I was too. Her whole response to the disease was "Oh, crap!" which pretty much sums it up. It's deadly, but manageable. I knew a couple of people with diabetes when I was a kid. They both seemed normal. Even though I was sad, I knew we could handle this.
A short time later, the doctors came for their rounds. We were invited to listen in. "Okay," I thought. "This might be interesting." The head of the department discussed M, her attitude, her bg (blood glucose) levels, and our family history, which included no Type 1 diabetes, and no Type 2 in our immediate families. She did, however, say "Mom presents strongly with Graves' disease." Which I figured I would have to ask her about later.
I had Graves' disease about a year after my son was born. It is a form of hyperthyroidism. I was hot all the time, I had no energy, and I ate like I had a tape worm, but lost weight ( hmmm... just like M had). The symptoms were similar, but what did that have to do with anything? Did I give her diabetes?
When I did ask the doctor about her statement, she explained to me that clinical trials are making links between thyroid disorders and diabetes. They are both auto-immune diseases, and families with a history of one, tend to crop up with the other on occasion. My family has a history of thyroid problems, but M is the only one in our giant Catholic family with Type 1 besides one of my father's cousin's grandkids.
M was taken off the insulin dispenser, and was told that she would have injections from here on out. Her port had done its duty, but she either needed a new one, or would have to have regular blood draws and injections. Her IV was still in place.
I looked at her. Then I did a double-take: she was plumping up. Her fingers didn't look like they belonged to ET anymore. When I pointed this out to her, M giggled. She was smiling easily again. I am sure it was more to do with the bacon than anything else, but it was a most welcome sight. I hadn't seen her smile in days. If you knew M, you would know just how tragic that was.
The move to the room was uneventful. She had to stay in a bed with IVs and stuff attached to her. Once settled in her new room, however, the quiet of the ICU was over. All kinds of people began to visit us. Counselors, Dieticians, Endocrinologists, Diabetes Nurse Educators, Regular Nurses. It was a miracle that M could get any sleep, but she did. There was a pull-out chair, that could serve as a bed for napping parents. It would have to do. I dozed while B watched some brain candy on TV. When I woke, M and B were watching cartoons.
I wandered into the hallway to get a sugar free pudding from the parent kitchen.
If you have ever been in a hospital ward with children in it, you realize that all of the adults there are walking around with the same glazed look. They are troubled. Burdened. Weary. I talked to a few in the hall, at the nurses station, and in the lounge area. I don't remember their names. There was one woman whose teen daughter had knee surgery and would be ready to go home soon. Another had a 7-year-old who was having a bone marrow transplant. A man with a very young son told me that his child had crohnes disease. I knew personally that was a nasty one. He asked me what I was in for.
"My daughter has diabetes."
"Ooh. Type 3, I hope."
Type THREE? Was there a type I didn't know about?
It turns out that there is, but I am sure the man with whom I was speaking wouldn't wish it on anyone's child.
I looked down at my name tag. It was the photo ID that allowed me access to the patient wings of the hospital. I signaled that I belonged there. In the photo, I wasn't smiling. I looked weary. Burdened. Troubled. I wondered if my face would ever look the same again. I hoped that someday my smiles would not just be the brave ones I mustered up to cheer my daughter.
"We can do this," I had told her just a few moments ago. "We are all in this together; and together we can make this work." In my heart I believed it, but the woman in the ID picture didn't seem to think so. I wasn't even sure if she could see beyond the next day.
We were all in this together. M, my family, the doctors, nutritionists, counselors, and the parents wandering the hallways. We all had to keep fighting so that life might one day be normal again.
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| Back: B, C#1, dietician, counselor, grandparent Front: M, grandparent, Nurse, doctor |
I worked to shake off this train of thought. "Remember what M said? 'Oh, crap!' She just has diabetes! It's manageable! It could be so much worse!" I rattled off lists in my head of what I thought of as 'worse than diabetes' as I drank from a paper cup filled with ice water. I looked at the parent/zombies in the hallway, and decided I didn't want to one of them anymore. I took action.
I went to run M's brush through my hair and prepared for the arrival of my parents and our son. As was normal for the parents I had seen in this ward, I hadn't showered since yesterday morning. I would have to fit that in later.
By 5:30 pm, M's room was filled with love. Grandparents and C#1 had arrived. As I had predicted, just seeing M and her plumped, enthusiastic, colorized face was enough to make everyone feel better. She felt great! To me, it was a miracle that she could look so much more healthy than she did less than twenty-four hours before. There was hugging, smiling, and gift-giving. There was also a delivery of fresh clothes for me and B. In my haste to make it to the hospital, it never occurred to me to pack supplies for the adults who would, necessarily, be staying over 75 miles from home.
A pleasant visit was had, and we said our good-byes promising to keep the grandparents informed of any changes. With two fewer people in the room, and fresh clothes into which he could change, B took a shower in the large bathroom accompanying our semi-private room. M and her brother just sat on the bed grinning at each other. I know I was tired, but the sight of them expressing such relief and loving each other so openly brought the prick of tears to my eyes.
Tomorrow would prove to be busy. B and C#1 would go look at a college in the morning, and B and I would have diabetes classes in the afternoon. We were given a checklist of skills and knowledge that we would need in order to bring our patient home. It was time to start chipping away at it.
Look out diabetes. You have met your match.
Type three is often used to refer to caregivers to people with type one diabetes.
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