Gross

My daughter is strong. Determined. Beautiful. Awe-inspiring. And she has no idea how to maintain a life without carrying bio hazards around with her.

In other words, she is also kind of gross.

I understand that sometimes we just don't feel like getting off of our butts to throw away the needle that we just used to inject insulin into ourselves. I can even understand not moving it off the dinner table while we eat. I CANNOT understand how it can stay there for more than three days.

Ew. Just ew.

Signs of diabetic slobbery are evidenced all over our house. The syringe next to the computer. The sanitary covers from the pen needle caps on or under the dining room table. The used test strip on the bedroom floor.

Sometimes when M reaches into her kit to give herself a shot, she spends a lot of time digging around in there.

"What are you looking for?" I might ask.

"Nothing. I'll find it," might be the reply.

There is a distinctive sound that emanates from a fanny pack full of used pen needles, their foil protectors, and their safety caps as they are methodically shoved around and pawed as M searches for the one lonely unused item in the bag.

There is a shimmery appeal to the myriad foil wrappers containing used test strips as they cascade from the bg meter case to the floor. Sometimes there are up to thirty of them.

Again, ew.

There is a proper procedure for handling bio hazardous waste. We apply this method when it is brought to our attention that M hasn't been holding up this end of the diabetic bargain.

1)Remove all used needles, lancets, syringes from wherever they are being stored. These, in the medical field, are called "sharps".
2)Put the sharps in a designated "sharps" container. You may purchase official red bio hazard marked plastic containers for this purpose. With all of the perfectly intact plastic containers around, this seems a bit ridiculous. At my dump (no garbage collection in my little New England town), the dump guys tell us to use a sturdy plastic container.
3)Fill up the container, seal it with duct tape, and write "SHARPS" in big letters all over it. In Sharpie, please.

In fact, my dump guys like us to use the new plastic coffee cans with the handles on them. They like us to use them so much, that our dump guys set these canisters aside for us behind the cardboard crushing machine.

Talking to the dump guys is very educational. I learned that some of the residents in our little town just throw their needles in the dump without marking them. Once they had to pick syringes out of a clothing box on site.

While disturbing, I do know that M does a slightly better job than these folks. The sharps do eventually make it to the coffee can. The idea that other people might not be happy to see used medical supplies on their eating surfaces, however, may be forever lost to her. I equate it to the moment I was giving birth. I didn't care who was there, what was going on, or how messy it was, people were just going to have to deal with it.

I wonder if that is how M sees her diabetes. Maybe she figures that if she has to suffer, the rest of the world should have to suck it up and suffer right alongside her.

So yeah, ew.

But maybe also, "you go girl."

Maybe.

What a black shirt has in common with your A1C

I have some great pajamas. They are warm, cozy, and (most importantly) flattering. The bottoms are pink and black plaid flannel, and the top is 100% cotton and all black. And they are tagless. Tagless pjs are the best invention ever, because they are so comfortable.

Frequently, however, I climb into bed late at night and, sometimes in the spirit of conservation, and sometimes because my beloved husband is already asleep, I put on my pajamas in the dark.

The bottoms are no problem. There is a drawstring in the front, which allows me to determine which way I should insert my legs for maximum comfort.

The top, however, presents some challenges. First of all, as I mentioned, it is black. When the light is out, my top sort of blends in with the atmosphere. Secondly, it is tagless, making it far more challenging to face the top the correct way whilst inserting my head into the neck hole.

Yes, I feel around, to see if I can differentiate the slightly rougher surface of the print that replaces the tag.  Or, sometimes I hold it up to my face so that I can try to decipher the white print against the black fabric. Neither of these actually provide me with enough certainty to feel 100% confident that I will put the shirt on correctly.

But, nearly always, I do.

I hadn't thought about how lucky I had been on the shirt front until last night, when I put it on wrong.

I realized that putting on this black tagless shirt in the dark was a lot like trying to get good A1Cs. I know I have mentioned these ethereal numbers in previous posts, but I still feel like I don't understand how M manages to get good numbers regularly.

Like the shirt, I have some clues, but they are not always easy to see or reliable.

Clue number 1: You have bg levels "in range" (aka "good") somewhat regularly
Clue number 2: Your insulin doses have been "reasonable"
Clue number 3: Your carb count has been "in range" (aka "reasonable")

Do you see how vague this is?

I have to confess that there have been months where M's bg levels were more or less all over the place, but her A1C count was 6.5. In diabetesland, this is considered very good, especially for a young person.

Don't get me wrong. We all try very hard to keep her on course. We have her measure her food. We double check her math, and adjust her insulin doses to keep her bg levels "in range", but sometimes I feel like we are just winging it and getting lucky.

I will have to keep you posted about M's A1C results at her next appointment with her DNE. After all, with all the crazy bg levels she's had over the past few weeks, the data would seem to indicate a poor ("out of range") A1C level. But who knows?

I don't know if M feels the same way about her A1C results as I do. She always seems both relieved and proud that her A1Cs are in range. She also takes it very hard when they are any higher than 7.5.

Very hard.

It's not that she is a perfectionist or anything, but sometimes I think that she feels that all of the hard work she does just isn't worth it.

I hope she will always remember what she told me a few days after she was diagnosed:"I hope I will always remember how bad I felt before I was diagnosed, so that I will do everything I need to."