Slimed!

D i a b e t e s is such an everyday part of our lives now that sometimes Mark and I don't even think about it. And sometimes not thinking about it has dire consequences, which aren't always related to his health.

Friday was one of those days. The camp counselors had warned us that is was super digusting messy food day, and encouraged Mark to wear his oldest, dingiest clothes. Mark dressed appropriately.

However, I didn't realize just how dirty the kids would get. I physically recoiled from my own son when I picked him up; he had dried green goo caked in his hair, his shorts were soaked, his shoes were black, and his face was filthy.

"You didn't pack any extra clothes for me!" he said, accusingly. All I could muster was a feeble, "Sorry..."

Mark climbed into the car, and sat on a garbage bag we found in the back seat. He recalled the day's activities, starting with a slip n' slide through chocolate syrup (with his mouth open!), the Iron Chef competition, and the food fight.

"Oh!" he cried, excitedly. "And I have a pocket full of slime!"

Of course he did. I winced, but realized a warm shower would fix all this, and return my son to his usually adorable state.

He stopped in the garage to peel off his disgusting clothes. His clothes were so filthy, they could literally stand up on their own.

"Look, Mom," he told me. "Look at all the slime in my pocket!"

And that is when my disgust turned to shock. I watched his brush past the clear plastic tubing leading into his pocket, and watched, in the slow motion of a horror film, as it pulled out his i n s u l i n pump.

Which was completely covered in green gooey slime.

I wish I could say that I smiled, and reacted in a calm, reassuring manner. I wish that I could say I hugged Mark and said, "Wow, that's a lot of slime!" I wish I could say I simply took the pump and dislodged the slime with a smile on my face.

But you know I'd be lying. Instead, I stifled a scream, snatched the life-saving medical device from his hands, and ran off to the kitchen like a mad woman. I heard Mark yell, "Sorry, Mom!" but everything after that is a blur.

The good news is that after a thorough scrubbing, I disloadged most of the slime. I managed to save the pump, if not the i n s u l i n tube and site, and was I ever glad. The manufacturer's warranty on those pumps is pretty good, but I'm sure it doesn't cover slime damage.

My darling son returned after a loooooong shower, and I promptly snapped his pump back into him. I waited anxiously to see if it still worked. After three high blood sugars in a row, I was sweatin' it, but I changed his site, and it worked like a charm again.

And will continue to do so...until the next crazy kid activity!