Monday, July 22, 2013

On her own

M attended the local public school for her freshman year, and it seemed to go well. The nurse was very thorough, sometimes to the point of being invasive. M enjoyed the nurse and her assistant, however, and the relationship was fine, even if the nurse would seem to want to give a little too much input about M's care.

Because the nurse was at a public school, she needed to be sure that all of the "t"s were crossed and the "i"s were dotted, which often left me looking like an incompetent parent.

You see, since my kids spent most of their lives in private schools, the mountain of paperwork I was required to fill each year for the public school seemed ridiculous.

I think I had a little subconscious rebellion against it too, because I would unwittingly submit incomplete paperwork. There would be a signature missing on one form, the double sided form had only one side filled out...you get the idea.

Anyhow, halfway through her sophomore year, M decided that she might meet with better success at the same private school attended by her brother.

The nurse at the public school diligently forwarded her forms to the private school, only to be met with indifference.

There is no nurse a M's new school.

There is a designated adult to deal with the storage and administration of medicines for those students who have chronic health problems, or perhaps those on medication for their ADHD (Is that considered a chronic health problem? I wonder.)

So my attitude had to shift again, toward taking on more responsibility as a family.

Honestly, it was kind of a relief.

I wrote my standard "Greetings! This is what diabetes is, and how it will likely affect you and your classroom" letter. Shortly afterwards, I received a letter from the dean of students, letting me know that all of M's teachers had met to go over my letter, and had been instructed to contact me with any questions.

I was never contacted.

Weirdly enough, when M's parent/teacher conferences came up, no one even mentioned her diabetes, because she was doing fine. Her blood sugar had been pretty even, and her grades were pretty steady. He behavior was good ( you know, for a teenaged girl), and she was making friends.

But I guess it didn't surprise me that much.

What I have learned about my daughter is that she will rise and sink to suit the occasion. In this case, she was treated like a responsible young adult, who is able to monitor and control her disease independently.

And guess what?

She is.




Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Broke (or How to Replace Your Pump)

So a few months ago we had a little problem.

M's pump broke.

That's right, it broke. It started scrolling numbers independently and did not deliver insulin or anything else.

Now, I have to say that Medtronic makes a pretty tough insulin pump. M drops it on the floor from the chair in which she watches television on a fairly regular basis. It is often unprotected at the bottom of field hockey and lacrosse equipment bags, and she shoves it in the map pocket of my car when she goes for a swim on hot days.

So I can't complain. And neither can she.

We made this terminal discovery on the way home from a lacrosse game.

Typically I attend M's games so as to relieve pressure on the coaches as far as looking out for M's diabetic needs. She has not had a problem during a game since high school, but I think the girls on the team also kind of like the idea of that crazy mom coming to every game, even if it's two hours away. Bonus: I get to see her play every time. On a few occasions I have been the only "away" parent in attendance. Unfortunately for the team, I am not a yeller. I am an urgent whisperer, which means they don't really hear my cheers of support. But I digress.

Although I encourage M to take the bus back from the game as part of the team bonding experience, she has thus far declined my offer and rides with me in the car, usually chowing down on a sandwich and a bag of chips, while beating herself up over the goals that the opposing team scored.

This is how it went down:

M: (fiddling with the device) "What the....?"
Me: "What's the matter?"
M: "This stupid pump! It did this this morning, but I got it to work. Now it just won't stop scrolling numbers!"
Me: (slowing down and taking my eyes off the road), "What? It was doing it this morning?"
M: (Smacking the device with the palm of her hand) "Yeah, I thought it was the battery. But I changed the battery at school, so that's not it."
Me: "Did you try....?"

Needless to say, voices continued to rise in tension and anxiety. I had M check her bg levels.

Fortunately they were pretty even, buying us some time until we could give her an injection at home. But we soon realized that we would have to do something to solve this problem more long-term.

Since we were in the car and the pharmacy was closed, we decided to use modern technology to help solve our problem. M looked on the back of the pump and found a toll free number to call. After a brief argument in which she tried to convince ME to call, I, as the driver of the car, convinced her to dial the number.

She did. And she did an amazing job.

She talked to the representative from the company, explained who she was and what was happening. After about 10 minutes, the rep determined that M's pump was beyond repair and needed to be replaced immediately. M gave the rep all of the necessary information, and then did something very smart: she asked if it was under warranty.

Now I can truly say that my baby was growing up!

It was, indeed, under warranty, which meant that a "free" purple replacement was on its way.

M concluded the phone call with her pump company, who recommended that she contact her DNE.

With a heavy sigh, M dialed her new DNE at Dartmouth Hitchcock, knowing that it was after hours and that she would need to talk to the answering service and wait for a call back.

The DNE returned her call right away, told her to take an injection of Levemir; the long-lasting insulin that typically goes wasted in our fridge, and asked when the pump was due to arrive.

It was due to arrive in two days, which I found incredible, but the DNE found disappointing. She told M that they are typically shipped to arrive within 24 hours. Then she and M had to figure out her carb ratios and correction factors for the next couple of days of injections. The phone call concluded mere minutes before we landed in our driveway.

M moaned that she had forgotten how much more work it was to calculate, draw up insulin and inject oneself several times each day. But she also felt really proud about handling her own care, and was pleased to have a plan, even if it was less than ideal.

I was also proud. And relieved. She moved one step closer toward independence by handling an equipment malfunction without any interference from me. And I was around to witness it and see that she did it well.

When we arrived home after lacrosse practice the next day, there was a sticky note from UPS on our door. We had missed them, and our package needed a signature. The pump had arrived within 24 hours after all!

I called the number on the note, and learned that we could pick up our package in person between 8:00 pm and 9:00 pm that night. Even though the center was a 45 minute drive from our house, M and I eagerly jumped in the car to do just that.

We tore open the box in the car. Pump in hand, M gleefully looked forward to getting away from her injections yet again.

We carefully read everything in the package, and learned that we had two weeks to return the broken pump via a pre-paid envelope. Failure to do so would cause us to be billed for the entire cost of a new pump (about $6500!). Needless to say, that sucker was in the mail before I went to bed that night!

Medtronic made it pretty easy. It was brilliant that their customer service number is right next to the serial number on the pump itself. Their service was excellent, and saved M a lot of inconvenience. And M, up for the challenge, enjoyed the sweet relief of knowing that she could handle it.