Our Hand with Diabetes

On January 22, 2016, I took Morrison to his pediatrician to get checked out, just two weeks after his two year old well-check. Everything went great at his well-check and at that time, I had no inclination that we would be back in the office just two weeks later. More than anything, I set up this appointment to confirm that it wasn't what the signs and symptoms pointed to. I didn't think it possibly could be, but I just wanted to put my own mind at ease. After all, Morrison is a happy, healthy, always-on-the-move, doesn't sit down, little guy.

After arriving to our appointment and reviewing the symptoms and family history with the Doctor, he decided there were some obvious reasons to be concerned and we would do some blood work to get some answers. He sent in the lab tech to test Morrison's blood sugar and urine.

As far as the symptoms that Morrison had, there weren't a lot. The big changes I noticed in him were increased thirst ("Wat-a, wat-er, wat-errr, Ma-ma. Mama, Wattt-er")and increased wet diapers, but more water equal more diapers. His sleep also has been less than ideal through the night. However, he is two. Those things easily could be chalked up as coincidences--except when you have a dad, uncle, and grandpa who have type 1 diabetes.

The lab tech came in with her big, bright red tool kit that Morrison couldn't wait to get his hands on. At that point, I had no idea that this was the beginning of what would become finger pricking at a minimum of 5 times a day (right now) on the littlest fingers that I love so much. The first reading for his blood sugar came back 'out of range,' so she tried again. Another finger prick. Another reading 'out of range.' At this time, I was thinking that is one junk machine , lady. It doesn't even work.  She checked with the doctors and was told to collect more blood for an A1C test. Another finger prick. By this time, Morrison and I were ready to go. Our next stop of the day was supposed to be the Children's Museum.

We waited, for what seemed like an eternity, especially because we were heading into Morrison's nap time. The doctor came back in and explained the results. Out of range blood sugar meant numbers over 600. Normal for someone like Morrison is 80-180. His A1C was 9.2 percent. Normal for a non-diabetic child is between 4-6 percent.

Yeah, that is interesting. Guess you need a new machine, huh? It didn't quite register at that point. And I'm completely knowledgeable and have even worked with children with diabetes. I just couldn't believe it was possible for my own son.

Our doctor had called Riley Hospital and we were instructed to go immediately to the ER at Riley, where the Pediatric Diabetes Doctor on staff would meet us. Our doctor explained that we would be there for two days at least, getting situated with what our new 'normal' would be. They had to do more labs on Morrison at Riley to determine if he needed to be in the ICU or if he could be admitted onto the "floor" or just general admission.

 The doctor explained all of this information and I still asked, "So, you do think he has diabetes then? The chances are pretty high that Morrison is diabetic? He's getting ready for a nap. Maybe we can go to the ER after that?" Thinking about it now, I must have sounded like an idiot. At least I didn't ask if we could still swing by the Children's Museum. In my mind, though, there was still some hope that everything they just told me was wrong, and that lady really did have a junk machine.

 It wasn't until I was waiting, in what seemed like the longest checkout line ever, with a very worn out Morrison to leave the doctor that it hit me. I have to drive my baby to Riley. Why are all these people in front of me in line? Why am I even waiting in this line? Riley is for sick children. Morrison doesn't even appear sick on the outside. He is two. The dog needs to go out. My phone is dead. Where are my keys? Where's Morrison's hat? Amongst many other things. 

In all my years of imagining what my life would end up like with my own family, this was not what I envisioned.  When I  think back on how I envisioned myself (with my crown on, in my castle, and saving the world from hunger; yes, I am still missing some of those. That's a different story for a different day, though) I assure you that the children I envisioned  next to me were the healthiest things you ever saw. Definitely diabetes-free. Then again, I never imagined having so much love for one little person or that my life could be so much more wonderful than it was ever before Morrison was born or that I'd learn so much from him. This was just another opportunity to grow and I'm sure it holds the same element of surprise.

As dumb as my questions were to the doctors, I got the message loud and clear: go straight to the ER, as we did.  We got to Riley and were shuffled back into a room. Morrison had to get an IV in, there were urine bags, and more blood draws. I will tell you what though--Morrison is a brave little guy and although tears happened, there were more instances of smiles than tears. He is tough beyond his years. 

Dr. Eugster, the pediatric diabetes doctor on staff at the time and now our Doctor, came in soon after we arrived.  She looked at me, after looking at Morrison, and grabbed my hand in both of hers with tears in her eyes and said, "We are going to find a cure. We are right there. Even right here on this campus." I still get goosebumps thinking about it and I know she is right, but unfortunately, we have to deal with it now, and right now, there is no cure....yet.

Our weekend stay at Riley was an overload of information from carb counting, insulin dosing, hypoglycemia, hyperglycemia, ketones, etc. It was such a whirlwind, but the staff was wonderful and helpful. Morrison was a happy camper and we took full advantage of the wagons and playroom. Up and down the halls, up and down the halls. Sometimes I'd pull the wagon with Morrison riding or sometimes Morrison insisted that he be the puller and I was simply there to redirect after he crashed into somthing every couple feet. Honestly, I think he thoroughly enjoyed his stay, despite the blood pressure cuffs, temperature taking, finger pricks, and shots of insulin. After all, it wasn't like he was sick, per se. We practiced all our carb counting, insulin dosing, etc etc. and I could not wait to get home! We were going to do this. Diabetes is not going to beat us! 

So, Sunday happened and we were discharged. It felt great to get out of there and leave diabetes behind and get some fresh air. I swung by the drive-thru at CVS to pick up our new prescriptions. The pharmacist (who, might I add, is a gem) looked at me and said it was Sunday, so no truck comes until tomorrow and he's a little short on things we need. It's not everyday he gets a two-year old with diabetes, so he just didn't have all the tiny needles and such.  That got me worried, seeing as though we weren't discharged with any insulin. However, he scrambled to pull things together (like I said, he is a gem) which just so happened to be an entire brown paper bag full of meters, strips, insulin, syringes, pens, etc....which barely fit through his drive-through window. Gulp. This is intense.  This is some serious and expensive gear.

Everything was going smooth, though. We made up (out of tune) songs about taking insulin, we have had fun picking out fingers to prick, and we talk about being strong and healthy. Morrison has been adjusting so well. He's such an easygoing guy and has taken it all in stride. As far as me, I decided, first and foremost, that this is something that I am going to make as positive as I possibly can for Morrison. We are doing this. We can do this. 

A few days into this whole debacle and diabetes was still here. No, I didn't think it was going anywhere, but I think the reality of the situation hit me. I got sad, not in front of Morrison, of course, but in my thoughts.

Granted, there may have been a few other contributing factors. I was worried about work. Sleep was few and far between, between 2am blood sugar checks and sleeping with one eye open, especially if we changed any of his insulin doses. (Sidenote: Morrison's sleep has improved tremendously!) Not to mention scrolling through massive amounts of research and research and research about diabetes, because that's just how I'm wired. I'm a fixer. I live for solutions. There has to be a cure. What are we missing?

 Or when I could finally pry my fingers away from my laptop and turn my phone off, my mind would really get going with calulations: So, at 5 finger pricks a day, 7 days a week..that would be 35 finger pricks a week. He has 10 fingers, but we never use pinkies or thumbs, so we really have 6 right now. That's almost 6 pricks on each finger a week. There's 52 weeks in a year. Holy.... I almost called the on-call Doctor to let them know that this cure better happen sooner than later or we won't have any finger tips to test blood sugar with. Do they know the surface area of his fingers? They are tiny. I pulled myself together and talked myself off that ledge and opted to think some more. I thought about insulin shots instead. Great idea: They can go in different areas: arms, thighs, butt (our favorite), and belly which isn't recommended for Morrison's age. Morrison gets 4 shots, at minimum a day, which is 28 shots a week. Uh..Say what? Have I had 28 shots in my 28 years on this Earth? I don't think I have. How can a two year old take all of this in a week? Multiply that by 52...

You get it. Not the easiest way to fall asleep. Besides my irrational thoughts, also came self-blame rearing its ugly head: Maybe if I was a better Mom, he wouldn't even have diabetes. Morrison's numbers were still pretty high at that point and still are working there way down (which is completely normal, by the way) but I started thinking I must be doing something wrong. Maybe I'm doing the corrective dose wrong, maybe I'm not counting carbs right, maybe it's the pen delivery and he's not getting the insulin, or maybe...I just ....and I stopped. I think I almost said, can't.  That word is not even in my vocabulary. It hit me like a ton of bricks:

We are doing this. This is our hand. We play with the cards we are dealt. We make the best of it. 

"..when obstacles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy. You know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow…"(James 1:2&3)

Whether you are a person of faith or not, it doesn't matter. This is more about the attitude in which you face the obstacles that are presented to you. You play with the hand you are dealt. 

And if you are as passionate and determined and a fixer-of-all-things like myself, you don't really settle for that either. You don't stop. You're relentless in your pursuit. You find the cure. You won't let your son spend the next 30 years pricking his baby fingers (they will always be baby fingers to me) or any of the other children and families who are living through this, prick their fingers 1,820 times a year, give or take, or take approximately 1,420 shots of insulin in one year. And don't even get me started on the calculations I've come up with beyond the first year. 

In the meantime, though, we play the hand we have been dealt. We sing (our out of tune insulin songs), we laugh (as much as possible), we cry (because this stuff hurts), but we choose joy everyday. There are going to be days when joy is hard to find, yet I know we still will find it, because that is what we have chosen.

We play with the cards we've been dealt, friends. And in our case, work like hell to keep improving our hand, while we still have the tips of our fingers.