Why is it that JUST when I feel like we’re seeing a solid streak of decent blood sugars, a random 400mg/dL shows up on the meter? Seriously...like, THE very second I think to myself that things quite possibly may have been going fairly well, there’s some sort of cosmic explosion, and everything changes.
The troubleshooting begins: Miscounted carbs? Site problem? Missed bolus? Spoiled insulin? Getting sick? Growth?
Round and round and round we go…where we’ll stop, nobody knows.
I wonder if standing on my head while balancing her meter on my big toe would make a difference. I mean, when nothing else makes sense it could be worth a try, no? Lucky rabbit’s foot, shamrocks, horseshoes…whatever it takes!
Sometimes I’m willing to try anything to make sense of those random cosmic blood sugars. “No apparent reason” doesn’t satisfy my insatiable need to answer the WHY so I can figure out HOW to avoid such shenanigans in the future.
That being said, I don’t have the energy or mental capacity to obsess over…Every. Single. Blood. Sugar. There was a time when I would take each number personally – as if the reading that flashed before my eyes was somehow, a reflection of me as a mother. There were times I could hear the meter screaming things that weren’t true…telling me that I wasn’t smart enough to figure this out; or strong enough to handle the pressure; or confident enough to trust my instincts. I could hear imaginary laughter mocking my best efforts to manage this precious child, whom I love so much.
If I’m honest, there are moments when I still hear those voices of discouragement. The past several years have taught me to see her numbers as a blueprint, mapping out the big picture of her overall diabetes management, but sometimes it feels that the weight of a difficult number has the power to make me or break me.
And so it goes.
One fingerprick into the next, day into night, night into day. At times, I begin to wonder if there’s a storm of frustrating numbers pouring from the sky. Inevitably, my brain starts to spin, as I work through the unspoken algorithms in my mind.
And then she smiles. Her laughter is contagious, and her eyes sparkle. The silly awkwardness, as she discovers her place in the world…the way she reads to her sisters while I’m fixing dinner…her ability to make friends with everyone around her. She’s quick to help anyone in need, and willing to try anything once.
She’s a strong, vibrant, and happy child. It’s the unspoken words…the truth that exists between the numbers…the memories that you wouldn’t trade for a million dollars: this is the proof that You Can Do This.