Pump Visit Number Six: Don't Worry, Be Happy

The day after her NYC trip, M has to go in for another pump visit.

We arrive in a timely manner this time, and our DNE looks over M's numbers.

To her, they look fine, even though they range from 45 to 389 mg/dl. The DNE speculates aloud that perhaps I don't like the feeling of losing control of M or the management of her diabetes. I am "worrying too much."

I think to myself, that once M demonstrates consistency, I will be more than happy to completely hand over responsibility for her care. As it is, she is very much in charge. I simply remind her to check her bg before going to bed, and ask her what her results are maybe three times per day, to make sure we are staying on top of any body changes. All changes we make in her dosing are discussions in which we compromise and agree on a course of action.

However, I find that when dealing with medical professionals with whom one disagrees, it is easier to let him or her think that you agree with them.

For example, when my son was an infant, he was nursed (aka breastfed) exclusively for six months. Then he moved straight to solid food. I think he ate two jars of baby food, and then started grabbing food out of my hand at dinner time.

The doctor wanted me to start him on whole milk right away, because "babies need fat." While I agree that babies need fat, it doesn't mean that a 30 pound 6 month old needs fat when he is still nursing 4-6 times per day.

Also, she said, he would need iron supplements.

I am a "good girl", a rule follower. So I tried to give our baby the iron supplements. He gagged on them, cried, and spit them out. They irreparably stained his shirts. I found the exercise to be futile, as his blood iron levels were healthy prior to my attempts to administer the supplements.

Logic, sometimes, must rule over whatever the doctor said.

I explained my objections about whole milk to the doctor. I said, "The baby's nursing 4-6 times per day, and eating a pint of Ben and Jerry's every week. I think he is getting enough fat for now. I don't enjoy drinking whole milk, so he's getting 2% like the rest of us."

The doctor grew alarmed, thinking that I was putting my son "on a diet", and cautioned against doing something so dangerous as giving him 2% milk.

Exasperated, I didn't even broach the subject of the iron supplements.

So, the next time we went in to visit the doctor, I lied.
Dr: "Is he drinking plenty of whole milk?"
Me: "Yes, he is."
Dr: "Does he like his iron supplements?"
Me: "He loves them."

See? That was easy!

Fast forward to this month, with the DNE, when she told me that I worried about M's bg levels too much, and suggested that I was some sort of control freak. I did not cite the research that I had read about those who had survived diabetes for 75 years or more. I did not say that the evidence shows that long-lived survivors all had tight control over their bg levels, exercised more often, ate more healthfully, and did not waver from 48 to 315 mg/dl in one day.

Instead I said, "Maybe I am."

She gets to be right, and I get left alone. Everybody wins.

And, of course, since I want M to be in that club of people who survive for years and years with this disease, I will continue to ask questions about her bg levels, what she ate, and how she is feeling.

After all, that's my job.

wooo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoowooooh-ooh, oohoohooh...