Like brushing your teeth

I am feeling like a bad mother again. I sometimes feel like I can't do what I need to do to get M to independently follow her diabetes regimen. I mean, I have to get her to do this independently BEFORE she heads off to college in a few years, right? I can't be her helicopter mom for all eternity, can I? It goes against all of my Montessori training.

I am reading a book suggested by Jaqui, Think Like a Pancreas (God, how I miss reading fiction!). The author mentioned that to maintain tight bg control, one must test his bg at least four times per day.

Now I know this, and we ask M to do it, ask her what her bg levels were at breakfast, lunch, after school, etc. We think that she should test her bg at least 5 times per day, and we try to be sure that she does it.

But something about the way it was phrased in the book made me look over at the meter that M had left on the dining room table, and check her last 5 bg test results. I mean, she had already told me that her bg was 196 at breakfast and 209 at lunch. I had just had her check it at dinner, and it was 67, which I saw for myself.

Of course, any reader of this blog is unlikely to be surprised that I discovered that the 67 was the only time that M had checked her bg in the last 24 hours.

I shared my new found knowledge with Bill. He took off his glasses, sighed, and asked which one of us should talk to her about it. It was clear that neither of us did. When confronted with her own lack of discipline in this area, M tends to get ugly. High-pitched whining and angry spitting are common. Less common, but also to be anticipated, are the spinning head and the pea-soup vomit.

Rock smashed scissors and off I went to the lair of the diabetic beast.

Producing the meter, I asked M in a gentle voice why she thinks she should make up bg numbers (The voice really was gentle, I am not being sarcastic).

Her response: "I don't know. It's just easier."

Clearly my darling is a short-term thinker. Instant gratification is the name of the game, and if "I don't think about it now, it might just go away."

Except it doesn't.

I tell her that we try allowing her more independence, and try not bugging her about her diabetes all the time. We try to allow her to step up and take care of herself, but she hasn't once demonstrated the success level that would make us comfortable. I tell her that I really need her to be trained to care for herself properly, so that she will stay healthy when she goes off to college in the future. Then I ask her how we can do that.

Remembering how long it took her to brush her teeth on a regular basis, I asked if we would need to check her meter every night and sit on her for the next two years until it became a habit. I was half joking, but her answer surprised me.

"I don't know. Maybe."

Then she told me that she was really sorry that she was worrying us, and that she means to check her bg, but she just forgets. She really means it. And I know it.

I know that she is not doing this to upset us. I know that she just forgets.

I think that's what worries me the most.

So, for now, we will check her meter at 8:00 pm every night for the next two years. And hopefully testing her bg will go the way of brushing her teeth, and become a real habit.

After this, I will do everything in my power to control by bg levels!

Result 77

So, I checked my blood sugar the other day with one of M's old meters (not the one connected to her insulin pump).

I had never done it before.

Here is what I learned:

1) Those lancets sting like nobody's business, and the holes they make in your finger sting for a while after you think they should be over it by now. I've had bad paper cuts that have stopped hurting before these pricked holes did.

2) Squeezing out enough blood to satisfy your thirsty test strip takes talent. I had to make four, FOUR different holes in my finger and throw away two test strips before I could finally get a reading.

3) Even though the holes won't bleed enough to give you enough blood before the test strip times out, it won't stop bleeding for a couple of minutes. M simply licks her finger and wipes it on her jeans after a stabbing. I don't know what she does if it keeps bleeding, but I found myself sucking on my finger for a few minutes to both alleviate the sting and avoid having to put on a Band Aid.

4) The sides of your fingers are your preferred target for a lancing, because it won't interfere with the use of your finger pads. After all, we type, dial, text, and play instruments with those fingers. If they sting, it will make life a little less convenient. But the problem is that the pad is the easiest place from which to procure blood.

5) If your lancing hole isn't deep enough, no amount of squeezing and rolling your skin around will force out the appropriate amount of blood in time.

6) Get your big drop of blood out and sitting on your finger before inserting the test strip. Then there is not stress about timing.

7) I have a deeper respect for my daughter, who has clearly mastered this skill and endures the discomfort 5-7 times per day in order to better maintain her health. She almost never gets error messages on her meter! When she has trouble squeezing out blood, I will endeavor to be more patient, even if we are waiting for critical information from her meter.

I feel like a complete wimp.

Even so, like any parent of a child with diabetes, I would trade places with her if I could.

You look deceivingly small, but you don't fool me any more!

Not that, mom!

M has a problem with her pants (trousers for you Brits).

She likes to wear skinny jeans and pants with funky pockets on the side of the leg.

While this might not be a problem for most teens, neither of these styles is conducive to carrying an insulin pump.

But M tries anyway.

So about three times a week I hear that hissing "Ouch" that many of us use when we break our nails or stub our toes: the "ouch" that lets me know that the pump has fallen from a pocket and is now dangling from her infusion site. If I hear an accompanying "thud" then I know that the infusion set has been ripped out of her skin and is now delivering insulin to my floor.

Her clip broke, so she can't simply clip the pump to her pants. I recommended that she tuck it in her underwear, her bra, anything that might hold it securely into position.

She says it looks stupid and/or is uncomfortable.

So, instead of ordering a new clip like a normal mother, I take a look at tummietoes, which have been mentioned by multiple D-bloggers as great solutions for pump storage when exercising or going out in fancy clothes.

I mention tummietotes to M, and am immediately reminded of an episode of The Simpsons in which the whole family visits an IKEA-like store. In the episode, Marge offers to buy Lisa a new pencil holder called a Pupli (with two dots over the "u"). Lisa looks at her mother and says, "Mom! Not a Pupli! Even I make fun of the Pupli kids!"

M informs me that really only the dorky girls wear the tummietotes at D-camp.

I point out that if she wears it under her clothes, no one will even know that she is wearing it. And it is comfortable and convenient

M indicates that I just don't get it.

I look at the website again. And you know what, they do look dorky. But I don't care. They are available in black and white and other colors suitable for under the clothes. And they are supposed to be comfortable.

I make M look.

She relents.

"All right, Mom. If you want to spend your money on that, I will try it."

Victory!

Now if I can just scrape up the $25.....