Diabetes is no day at the beach

Pre-kid, I loved going to the beach. It was so easy--pack up a chair, a towel, some sunscreen and a good book, and I was good to go for the whole day.

I still love going to the beach, as does Mark. It just takes a lot more planning now. Diabetes isn't the problem; it's Mark's insulin pump.

I love that pump. It's a modern-day miracle, an example of how technology improves our lives. It makes Mark's life easier, more discreet, and it freaks people out a lot less (diabetes quickly shows you who your squeamish, needle-phobic friends are).

It's also a sensitive, incredibly expensive medical device that does not play nicely with things such as, oh, say, large bodies of water or acres of sand.

A trip to the shore now requires careful planning. I learned the hard way to bring extra pump supplies, insulin, and even needles to the beach. When my mom wanted to take Mark, I taught her to remove his pump and cap the infusion site so sand wouldn't get in and jam it. She did exactly that, but sand still got in and jammed it--then she couldn't remove the cap OR plug the pump back in. Poor Mark suffered silently as my mom and brother Brad poured water down Mark's backside, trying to wash the sand out. They finally just removed the set, and I left work early to go put in a new one.

Now, we just unplug Mark and cover his site with medical tape. I bring needles and insulin and give him shots whenever he eats, or needs basal insulin. And I accept the fact that Mark will most certainly lose his set, and require a new one when we get home. I chalk it up as a small sacrifice to the beach gods, a minor price to pay for my sun-loving son's happiness.

However...all that careful preparation goes out the window on field trips. While a day at the beach with me is...um, a day at the beach...it's a different story when I'm not there. Instead, I have to trust that my 11-year-old son will:

• Remove his $6,000 insulin pump before burying himself in a hole or frolicking in the heavy surf (the first time Mark wore his pump in a pool, it fell out and sank to the bottom. I've had nightmares about water vs. the pump ever since).
• Tape up his site before even one grain of sand jams it.
• Put the pump in his beach bag after he removes it.
• Give that bag to a responsible adult.
• Plug the pump back in when he leaves.

And this year, I added a new task: Give himself a shot for lunch.

That one has me biting what's left of my finger nails. Kids on needles (instead of pumps) take both short-acting and long-acting insulin, so their blood sugar won't go super high if they miss a shot or two. But Mark's pump uses only short-acting insulin--so even a few hours without insulin is really dangerous, as we were reminded a few weeks back when his pump malfunctioned. (His blood sugar shot well over 600--three hours later, he was only down to 585!)

In previous summers, I spent my lunch hour driving to whatever beach Mark was at, and giving him the shot. But Mark wants to be like every other kid, and nobody else's mom shows up at the beach wearing jeans and shouting "Did you eat yet??" as she plows through the sand.

So I'm trying to give him independence. I'm trying to let him manage without me today. I'm telling myself he did remove his pump, he did put it back on, and he did give himself his shot. I say it over and over again, so that it sounds real, and plausible. I say it like a mantra, so it will seem comforting, and I say it in my head, in my most soothing, calm internal voice.

But it's not working. I'm still a mess, and I will worry until the moment I pick him up from summer camp and blurt out, "What's your number?" before I even ask him how his day was. When he gets mad that's the first question out of my mouth, I will get mad, too, even though I'm not really angry at all, it's just my worry and fear being projected as anger.

The honest truth is that Mark is responsible, much more than most kids his age, because he has to be. But it's too much; it's too much to ask an 11-year-old to guard his health rigorously, religiously, even for half a day. That's my job, and even though I know I'm giving him life skills, experience, the confidence of knowing he can take care of himself, it's killing me.

Because even as responsible as he is, as I ask him to be, he's just a little kid who wants to dig in the sand, eat his lunch without mom, and be like every other kid on the beach.

Which, really, is all I want for him, too.

A+ for effort

One nice thing about my mom watching Mark is that she's become quite the diabetes expert. She's an awesome carb counter, can recognize and treat lows, and is even a little competitive when it comes to his blood sugar numbers vs. hers. Other than changing his infusion sets, there aren't a whole lot of situations she can't handle.

But yesterday she took on the trickiest situation of all -- a trip to the beach. It's tricky for a number of reasons: Mark disconnects his pump because all the swimming sends him low; sand and sea pose a HUGE threat to the pump (damage or loss); the sun ruins the insulin if the pump's not properly stored; Mark tends to lose his site at the beach, which means he can't re-connect the pump. Basically, the number of things that could go wrong triples at the beach.

But that didn't stop my mom and brother Smed. They piled everyone into the car and headed off to the beach. I gave my mom a detailed list of procedures on when to bolus and when to disconnect/reconnect the pump. I warned her to put the little cap in the infusion site when she removed the pump, as it's just big enough for a few grains of sand. We both felt pretty confident.

Right up until lunch...when Mom and Smed couldn't remove the cap from his site. They'd done everything right, but some sand was trapped in the site, and prevented them from removing the cap to plug in the pump.

I told them to pour a little water into the site, and keep jiggling the cap (yes, diabetes has a lot of high-tech solutions). They did, and worked on it for about 40 minutes, with no luck. I could tell they were becoming worried and frustrated, and I kicked myself for sending them on the toughest field trip possible. (This is why I stress when Mark goes to the beach with his camp!)

I also kicked myself because no one else knows how to change Mark's set. I hate to burden anyone else with these tasks (it's easy to do, but has a lot of steps), so I just do it myself. But I've realized that's actually shortchanging my mom, who's always nervous about sites falling off, and not being able to replace them. It's also shortchanging Mark, who's dependent on me being around to change it.

So I went home at lunch to change the set. I walked my mom through the process, and she followed along really well. She's still nervous, but a little less so. I told her if his site falls off, to just replace that part, which is pretty easy -- not to worry about changing the insulin cartridge or messing with the pump. She breathed a lot easier hearing that.

She is definitely not one to shy away from a challenge. In fact, she's already planning their next beach outing -- tomorrow!

I'm so proud of her, and of my brother. Most people would just say, "Well, I'm not going to the beach again!" But instead of freaking out, they simply changed the game plan -- tomorrow, they'll take extra sets, needles, and a bottle of insulin, so that if they can't get the pump re-connected, they can still give Mark insulin. They will not let diabetes ruin their good time at the beach.

So when I say I have the best family ever...this is why! :-)

More fun than a boogey board to the head

Yesterday was Father's Day, and we decided to spend it with the family, at the beach.

So we packed up no less than 25 pounds of food, a giant cooler of margaritas, 17 beach chairs, 13 sweatshirts, five kids, three towels, and one boogie board decorated with sharks. We took everything but the dog, and loaded it into a wagon which Tim (Kathleen's boyfriend) then pulled to the beach.

The weather was great as we started out on our adventure. Warm and sunny, not too hot or too cold. It was going to be a lovely sunset dinner, and the kids were all giddy with excitement. (And by "giddy," I really mean "whiny" about carrying the assorted beach gear half a mile to the beach.)

However, as we turned right and headed onto the sand, we realized somebody forgot to tell the wind about our party. The sun remained, but the warmth dissipated immediately, replaced by an arctic 85-knot gale force wind storm.

But we Dinsdales are a stubborn bunch, and we like our parties. We weren't gonna let a little wind slow us down.

Sand, however, was another story. The sand definitely slowed us down, particularly Tim and the loaded-down wagon. He dragged that wagon across the sand without complaint, until Mary tried to help him. She grabbed the back of the wagon and pushed with all her might, remarking, "I don't know if I'm helping or making it worse!" And that was Tim's cue to save face -- he said it might be making it worse (he's so polite!). Mary then grabbed half the handle and helped Tim pull the wagon, which would've helped if my niece Nathalie hadn't taken up Mary's post behind the wagon. Now it was her turn to weigh down the back.

We finally reached a spot near the water. The kids proceeded to run around us in a circle, kicking up sand and getting in the way. Scott ordered them to stop, then gave them tasks to set up camp. Chairs were set up, small wooden tables were assembled, and food was set out. Everyone helped except my brother Brad, who insisted, "It's Father's Day, and I'm a father, so I don't have to help. And on Veteran's Day, I'm a veteran, so I don't have to do anything that day, either."

He was so proud and smug, I asked, "Oh, and do you get Jackass Day off too?" He replied, "No, but I think you do!" (We aren't your typical loving family.)

Mark was running across the beach, pulling the attached boogie board over the sand. Two-year-old Johnny thought that was great fun, and hopped on, which slowed Mark down a bit.

I set my red cup on the cooler to help Mary, and it immediately flew at me with alarming force, splashing my margarita everywhere. The good thing about the beach is that you don't have to clean up your mess -- I simply covered the spill with wet sand.

Mark and Nathalie decided to brave the water. I thought they were crazy (that water was COLD!), but as I stood on the beach watching over them, I realized it was much colder standing there in the wind.

I watched Mark and Nathalie get beat up by the waves for about half an hour. My cousin Kathleen was hilarious -- she chased Mark into the water, then grabbed up Nathalie and tossed her into the waves. She was laughing so hard about it, she didn't notice that she'd gotten herself all wet as well.

Mark and Nat did their best in the pounding surf. At one point, they turned toward us and waved their arms triumphantly, as if to say no waves could slow them down. Right behind them, a HUGE wave rose about about six feet in the air, and crashed down upon them. I'm not proud to say that Kathleen and I erupted into laughter.

Finally, I could take the wind no more. We headed back toward the family, where Mark refused to change clothes and insisted he wanted to eat first. He helped himself to a giant plate of pineapple, which the wind immediately sent flying. That put him off. He fixed another plate and brought it, shivering, to the table, where he covered it protectively. Between his teeth chattering and his cold body shaking, I don't know how he got any of it down.

I watched the family eat, guarding their plates, and occasionally chasing rogue parts of dinner across the windy sand. I watched Grant, who had leashed himself to the boogie board, run across the sand. The wind sent the board airborne, like a kite, and I wondered if Grant might go flying. I turned away just briefly, during which time Grant ran past me, whipping me in the head with his flying boogie board.

Mary made Mark a steak sandwich, and I made myself a chicken one. We each got approximately three bites down before -- you guessed it, our plates and food went flying.

At this point, we were all just laughing. It had become so outrageous, almost dangerous, that it was truly comical. Our Father's Day picnic was becoming hazardous, with plates, food, and other shrapnel regularly flying at us.

"When's dessert?" the kids asked, eying the pies Tim and Kathleen brought. At that point, Mary said, "Let's have dessert at home instead." And then, in less than two minutes, the picnic was broken down, and the wagon fully loaded.

And so began the reverse trip, similar to the trip there, but uphill. Mary was loaded down with chairs and backpacks, and Grant was running around. Mary gave him a backpack to carry, which made him unhappy. However, we Dinsdales are a hardworking bunch that insists on fairly dividing any and all work. We are also a compassionate group, so as 4-year-old Grant started crying about the backpack, no less than three family members admonished him to "suck it up."

Somehow, a few minutes later, he managed to give away his backpack and loudly announced, "Hey, now I don't have anything to carry!" I tossed him a giant towel and said, "Now you do!" His sister Gabi shook her head at him -- she knows that if you aren't gonna help, you don't announce it!

And so we arrived at Casa Dinsdale, our entourage of sandy, windblown family members. The air was completely still, balmy but not an ounce of wind in sight. It was like we'd returned to a completely different country.

We broke out the pies and alcohol (beer for the men, champagne for the women), and everyone retired to a safe place by gender or age (the kids to the playroom, the women to the front porch, the men up on the roof deck). We ate our dessert in peace, and laughed at our crazy picnic adventure.

At one point, I looked over at Mary, whose hair was windswept and just...well, crazy. It looked exactly the same as mine, and I couldn't stop laughing. It just reminded me that in my family, there's no such thing as a quiet, peaceful, uneventful family picnic.

It may not have been the most serene family outing, but then again, I don't have the most serene family, either.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.