An open letter to diabetes

Dear diabetes,

This was Mark's spring break, and while I knew you'd spend it with him, I hoped you'd be a little more considerate. He's just a little kid -- you could've let him enjoy some of his time off!

I know you like attention, but really, this was ridiculous. You were really a pain in the neck all week! You started Monday morning, when I inserted Mark's new set into his belly, which he hates. You could've just stuck him and got out, but nooooo, you had to make him cry.

It continued Monday at lunch, when Mark wanted to be just like all the other kids, and "forgot" to test his blood sugar before lunch at camp. He overcompensated with his lunch dose, and sent himself low.

Then, Monday night, Mark's set fell out after only 10 hours (they usually last 3 days), and I had to re-stick him on the other side of his belly. Re-cue the crying.

No problem, I thought, at least we're good until Friday night. But you had other plans. Mark called me on the way home Tuesday afternoon to say the SECOND set fell out. Cue set number three.

It's odd to lose two sets in two days, but we went with it. You won't beat us diabetes, I thought, but you took up the challenge. Yesterday, Mark spent the whole day high, and I could almost hear your cackling. Lunch was 357, which I attributed to a freakish high. Dinner was 481, which Mark attributed to s'mores at camp. 10:30 check was 477, which I attributed to onion rings at dinner. I should have replaced the third set right then (and would've if he'd had ketones), but new sets send Mark low, and lows in the middle of the night are SCARY.

So I held off for one more test, and then you really got me. No number this time, just HI. Yes, I know that means Mark was over 500. 500!!! (He should be around 160 at night.) Curse you, diabetes!

Yes, I sent Mark to the bathroom, AGAIN, for the third time since his 9 o'clock bedtime, so his body could get rid of all the extra sugar. And yes, that was me, at 1 a.m., fumbling for the insulin bottle, new set and new cartridge with my eyes half-open, which I then shot into Mark's bum while he slept. I prayed he would go lower (but not too low) in the next four hours.

Yes, that was me, waking in a panic when I heard Mark fumbling around this morning.

"What's your number?" I called out, even before saying good morning, and again I cursed diabetes for robbing me of the most basic social graces.

"I didn't check yet," he answered, but moments later, I heard the familiar beep of the meter, and he called out "75."

Which meant we'd finally hit the other end of the spectrum. "Eat your breakfast RIGHT NOW!" I called out, and through the baby monitor, I heard him sigh and say, "OK."

And so I sent Mark off to camp. He didn't have his meter, because the counselor accidentally brought it home yesterday. (I really hope he brings it back, but I brought my extra meter just in case I have to drive up at lunch.)

Mark wore his favorite hat, his favorite Dodgers jersey, and some dark circles under his eyes courtesy of last night's high sugar roller coaster. I thought he'd be kinda cranky, but instead, he was thrilled to spend his last day at camp with all his new friends.

So, take that, diabetes. You tried, you really did, to steal his week off and make him miserable. But it didn't work, and I'm here to say nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah! I know, not exactly the most mature response, but so what. I'm a little sleep-deprived this morning, and feeling overprotective of my boy.

In closing, diabetes, I just want to say you stink. You made things rougher than necessary for my kid this week, but he still had a blast. He enjoyed his spring break anyway, no matter how many curveballs you threw his way. You tried to shut him down, but only succeeded in slowing him down a bit.

So, nice try diabetes. But you picked the wrong kid to pick on this week.

Heather