Live Everyday Amid Purpose

Taking a great leap of faith forward

I am just pretentious enough to think people out there actually read these things and will “get” the cleverness of this title. Ha. Amuse me. Please! I am desperately attempting to find ways of balancing the constant background drone and content of the Disney Channel.  

Because of my (previous) hatred of the month I’d never given much thought to the uniqueness of Feb. 29^th. It’s always been just a day I’ve lived through (well lived through every four years that is). Today, however, is different. Today I find myself pondering the significance that one day can have.

Life is changed not in years but in small increments of time. minutes- hours- days.

“You have cancer.”

“I do!”

“He’s gone…..”

“It’s a girl!!”

Sure I’d like to believe that given recent circumstances I could tell everyone that I’m going to spend the rest of my life appreciating these minutes… the small things… enjoying life… living each day to its fullest… but come on- I know myself too well. 

No doubt I go through periods of proclaiming change… but like most folks… while sincere, it’s short-lived. Cliché and tired yet still true… I rarely take time to “stop and smell the flowers.” I’m too busy… bills to pay, kids to feed, meetings to make…. I’m too busy…. We’re all too busy….. “leaping” not “living.”

This Feb 29^th I challenge myself and you as well to “live” not “leap.” Live today… if only just today… doing something. fun. amazing. inspiring. Do something for someone else…. someone you love… or better yet… someone you don’t…..  Hey, this day won’t happen again for another 4 years- might as well make it count.

Kill you or make you stronger?

That which does not…. *YEAH RIGHT!*

I gotta say… it’s getting down right ridiculous up in this joint.  While my “coping” skills have vastly improved in the near 1 month post verdict (in large part thanks to "Kangaroo Juice" (EH's name for my nightly "wine dose" of cheap Yellow Tail)…. Saul’s BG levels in fact, have not. Unfortunately to put his levels in modern-everyday slang “they suck.”

Our first outing since diagnosis, which I decided to expose to the world via Face book was… well… umm… not good. Thank God Jeff and I managed in our 20 minute stay to order long-awaited, deliciously hot and steaming, over-priced Starbucks beverages before all hell broke loose… otherwise… those in the Lexington area might have ended up watching me later on Lex 18.

 *!*!*! Breaking News*!*!*!*! Crazy lady armed with BD syringes and lancing device holds up Hamburg Barnes & Noble Starbucks chick... embarrassed husband waits patiently with lethargic toddler strung across his back. 

I won’t lie… it was a little scary (not the aforementioned hypothetical) but Saul’s actual hypoglycemic episode. Looking back (though I’m sure it will sound ridiculous to some) – I wish I’d videoed the whole thing. I think I may start doing this - less for dramatic “show” and more for medical documentation. 

Needless to say, my confidence in returning to work has been slightly shaken these past few days.  The wee teeny tiny bit of self-assurance I developed the previous week (in my ability to care for him) has also been crushed.  I spent hours this morning while Saul was napping analyzing his data… When are his highs? When are his lows? Is he playing too hard after dinner? Did I forget a nighttime snack? Did I give him too many carbs? Is there something wrong with his Humalog? Am I not administering the shots right? What’s the best injection site… arm? leg? butt?

I have become obsessed with finding an answer to an ever changing question. Death by diabetic obsession… not the way I thought I’d leave this world.

<Meanwhile>

In the midst of my "strength training” this morning while phoning UK, texting our Ped, researching Lantus and problem solving how to use our latest ketone monitor.... I got a phone call from Mom.

It pretty much went like this.

 Mom: “Hey”

Me: “Hey”

Mom: “How is everything”

Me: “.......Sigh…... Umm… we’re okay… I’m trying to get in touch with UK.”

Mom: “.......Weeeellllll…...... I was in the bathroom and Harper was playing in the living room…... and…...... weeeeeeelllllllll…..... we’ve been playing with beads…..... and....….w-”

*Interruption by Me*

Me: “Yeah.... what's wrong?”

Mom: “Well… I think I’m going to have to take her somewhere… like to a Dr...... cause she just came in and told me she's got one stuck up her nose.... A red one.... She says she only has a red one.... I’ve tried to find it but it’s up there preeettttty far….... She swears there’s only one.”

Me: “Is she breathing?”

Mom: “Oh yeah”

Me: “Ahhhh… let’s just leave it there. Tell her to put another one in the other nostril to even out her breathing.”

Okay… Okay you’re right…. that last part was added for dramatic effect…. for audience appreciation... ya'll need a little humor.

Anyway… what was I saying?  "That which does not kill you…"

Half an hour after phoning Humana to find out the closest in-network Urgent Treatment Center in the Huntington WV-Tri-state area..... and.... interrupting Jeff at work..... while....... adding a new tab to my 500 existing Google search tabs... (this time Googling) “what to do when kid shoves crap up their nose”............................. I get a pic from Mom.

With a message.

“Got it out”

 If I’d had more than 2 hours of sleep last night I might have slightly been concerned about the primitive tools blatantly lying by that bad bead…. Alas… I figured if Mom had to carve a bit of the nostril out with a butter knife or poke the bead down the back of her throat with that ball point pen... we'd at least have a pretty good story to share at the next family reunion.

Post script.

No. worries. Mom got her to sneeze it out... no nostrils were hurt in the production of the event.

P.S.S.

I asked Mom to put Harper on the phone after all of the shenanigans. I asked “Why?!?!?! … Why did you stick that bead up your nose!?!?!?” Her reply: “Cause I wanted too.” I asked... “Harper WHY?!?!?! Why would you do that?!?!?!” The response I got in a tone I'm not sure I appreciated..... “MOOOOMMM!!!!! I WAS TRYING TO DO AN EXPERIMENT!!!!”

"That which does not kill you.... Right?"

Living a life in increments of minutes

I guess Jeff said it best the other day.  “We are living in increments of minutes” “It’s like our life revolves around 15 minutes.”

So many people have called/text/messaged/FB’d/asking “How is Saul?” and “Is Saul feeling better?” I reply with the same exact response every time “We had a few really rough weeks… but he seems to be doing better.”

The truth is… when most folks see him or see the most recent pictures of him they say “Saul looks great” or “Looks like he’s feeling a whole lot better” and it’s true. He is starting to “look” and “act” like our old Saul the problem… and what I don’t say… is that it’s a full time, 24 hour, non-stop mission to keep him “looking and feeling good.”

We literally are living minute by minute.  In a matter of what seems like seconds his blood sugar will spike or plummet by the hundreds… and when it does… it’s bad.  If he runs too much… it drops… if he doesn’t eat all of a snack… it drops… if we give him one too many carbs… it spikes. 

It is a constant chore of monitoring behavior, environment, food intake, activities and most importantly his glucose levels.  It’s a job I’m not sure anyone is qualified to do… yet… someone has too. Right now that someone is me... well (lest I not give credit where credit is due… Mom and Jeff… especially Mom) have had equal share in the responsibilities.

Last night I went out to eat with some good friends…. It was a breath of fresh air getting out of the house and away from everything for just a little while. It really made me miss work, long to see folks and chat about “stuff.” As Kim was driving me home I thought to myself… It won’t be long before I’m back in the groove… back to the same ole same ole routine of planning, and meetings, ordering… books and kids… and then…  in a matter of minutes…  I left the bliss of “fresh air” and walked back into reality… back to living a life in increments of minutes… facing a stressed Mom, frustrated Jeff… wild Harper and sick Saul… BG levels… spiking… 418.

*sigh* “It was fun while it lasted.”

Both Jeff and Mom will read this then confront me with “you don’t think we can take care of him the way you can or you think it was our fault” and that’s not what I’m saying… I observe the daily struggle of handling his ups and downs… but I’m not sure the rest of the world does… or that they understand what we’ve been doing every minute of every day since January 28^th.

The hardest part of diabetes is not the continuous insulin injections or glucose checks- it’s the monotonous day to day - night to night battle of “monitoring.” Life is now a regimented routine of checks, counts, scales and data analysis- any and all factors can affect the ultimate outcome… including me going out for a few hours with friends.

“Prayed for” A Love Story: Part I

What’s in a name?

I dreamt about you long before you ever made your presence known… before you were a speck, a blob, a wiggly squiggle, my baby boy, my little buddy… my little man. I prayed for you. I wanted you. I asked God for you… (hence the explanation of your name).

When I saw you there for the first time on the ultrasound monitor I crossed both sets of fingers and quietly rubbed my belly under the white paper smock for good luck… for both of us. This same ritualistic routine was performed in the exact same way.  at the exact same time. each.  and. every. time they waved the “magic wand” across my stomach for you to appear on the screen before me.

It was almost this time two years ago that I made a pact with you and with God. I silently prayed … or maybe I promised…  “please God please give me this child. Give me this child as he is - and I promise God I will love him, take care of him and watch over him.” It was the same contract I agreed to two years prior when your sister was still growing in my belly.

Our first 16 months together have sometimes been tough.   During the first few months you didn’t always feel good.  Sometimes I would get frustrated and your Dad would come home to find us both crying … I would be discouraged because I couldn’t help you… but despite my frustration I would always remind myself of our silent pact and my promise.

A few weeks ago you got really sick at Mimi’s house. You were only 15 months old.  We ended up staying at a hospital that is just for kids. You really liked the toys and all the buttons on the bed- but that was about it. Your Dad and I were very sad.  Joey your nurse came into our room and held my hands. She told me it was okay to cry and that I would be sad then mad and that it would be okay. I pretended like everything was fine but when Daddy went out for coffee  and you were taking a nap I locked myself in the bathroom and cried in a towel because I didn’t want anyone to see me upset… especially you.  

If and when you ever decide to finally start talking you’ll get a time out for saying “stupid”… unless it’s in reference to your pancreas. He quit working which is why you got sick… I’m still pretty angry about it. But when I get mad I remind myself of our silent pact and my promise.

You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. You have diabetes and will have it for the rest of your life. It will be a description for you, but it will not define you. It will make life very difficult at times and provide unique challenges for you to overcome. You will succeed and always rise to the occasion. You will not use your “stupid” pancreas or diabetes as a crutch or an excuse.

We will be frustrated, angry, and upset together… and it will be during these times that I remind myself of the silent pact and my promise. I will tell you “your story” the story of how I wanted you… how I prayed for you… asked God for you… the story of why your name is Saul.

Sheeew. Enough of that depressing crap already. I mean... seriously.

Okay where did Courtney Grimes go? And who has been writing these god-awful depressing posts?

Seriously.

Okay… I think I’m back. Maybe. At least for now.  Minus the melancholy.  Because…. *drum roll* we’ve had 2 great days of prrreettttyy good numbers (a little too high here… a little too low there) but overall Saul is starting to “act” like typical Saul again - which makes me breathe a deep, deep sigh of relief (at least for the time being)…. Nights are still... "a little rough"- I’m not gonna lie. But hey…  let’s deal with one issue at a time.

Valentine’s Day was a huge hit at our house. It seems as if my new changed attitude has allowed me to enjoy not just one day of “lovin” but I do believe we’re going on three days of “surprises and treats” from special friends and family.

Our good friend Avery sent Saul a totally awesome fireman’s coat along with a pretty cool firetruck book. She sent Harper two of MY favorite books (Ladybug girl) which are now EH's fave's. Mrs. Nancy sent some rockin stickers (a huge HIT with Harper) “How DID SHE KNOW these are my FAVORITE CANDIES TOOOOOOO!!!!!” Grandma surprised us with a big ole package of V day goodies including a “BALL BALL BALL BALL” (Saul’s new favorite toy). Then today the world’s largest edible arrangement arrived packed with fruit, fruit and more fruit topped with balloons, and even had a box of “special chocolate dipped & covered fruits.” Thanks Papaw!

As if all that weren’t enough! The mother-load of goodness hit around 2:30 pm with a nearly 3 tub drop off of the absolute most adorable kids clothes ever.  I am still a bit overwhelmed and awe-struck by the cuteness of these clothes- nothing like my kiddos getting hand-me-downs to pull me out of the ultimate depressive slump.

Dare I say at the moment... maybe Dr. Irene was right after all....

Instead of some long winded saga full of drama and despair-  I leave you today with a few photographic takes of “normalcy."

Insomnia, FEAR and twitter. a random post.

What do insomnia, fear and twitter have in common? I’m not really sure but here’s my post for the day.

Insomnia and I are best friends. We just met about two weeks ago. He comes around 11 pm and refuses to leave my side till waking hours- say around 6-7 a.m. I guess I’m thankful for the company especially during Saul’s “night checks” but I’d much rather be hanging around my old friend sleep…. She was a much better influence on me and I liked her a whole lot better.

I guess really it’s my own fault. I know that I’m summoning him each night as I lie in bed and allow my mind to drift to “fears.” I’ve only got two but they consume every single ounce of me. Insomnia brings them out… makes them worse… won’t allow me to let go of them. During the day I’m usually okay because my attention is pulled in 50 directions.  At night, however… in silence… when insomnia comes… when there’s no one asking me to fill Sippy cups or play dress up or turn on Mickey… I lay there thinking, worrying, dreading… fearing.

2 things.

1.       Every single time I see those dreaded numbers. Those numbers below 70. Those numbers like… 65… 59… My adrenaline starts pumping, I want to throw up. I want to cry. I am so angry. I start freaking out.  There he lies lethargic, shaking, refusing to be held, touched, consoled and all I can do is wait… and pray that they go above 70 in 15 min. The wait is agony.  It’s 15 of the longest minutes of my life each and every time. And… each time his numbers drop I know it’ll be “this time.”  I watch for any possible signs- eyes fluttering, shallow breathing… I know that any second he’ll go unconscious... won't be able to swallow… It’ll be this time I have to use the glucagon… this time that I call 911… this time that I’ll have to hold him and wait… wait for the ambulance to come while he slowly slips away.

2.       In a thousand years I never would have put Type 1 diabetes and “neurodevelopmental  disorder” together in the same sentence. Sure I immediately worried about his eyes, kidneys and nerves… I have seen firsthand the damage that diabetes can do to a body.  But diabetes effecting brain development? His cognitive ability? Whoever stops to think about the relationship their stupid pancreas has on their ability to learn.

I can’t escape seeing the connection everywhere … in everything I read… every medical research article “The relationship between hypoglycemia and possible neuropsychologic impairment is of far greater concern for the very young child than for older children and adolescents. Many reports describe subtle neuropsychologic or intellectual impairments.”  I’m constantly inundated with the fear and frustration that I’ll have no control over a disease that will greatly impede his future opportunities. I want to scream at someone... I"M TRYING TO CONTROL HIS LEVELS.... BUT... BUT... BUT... NOTHING I DO SEEMS TO HELP... AND... AND.... AND... HE'S LOSING PRECIOUS BRAIN CELLS........ *sigh*slump*

On a lighter note… after reading  thisiscaleb.wordpress.com I feel so much better about turning to social media for assistance throughout this whole process. I was going through old posts on this blog and found a story from Lorraine who was recounting a trip with her 3 kids (one of which is diabetic) to the ballpark. She got there gave him a hotdog and couldn’t find the carb count in Calorie King… after a somewhat unsuccessful Google attempt she turned to twitter…. And was instantaneously hit with a thousand replies but even more important perhaps… she had the feeling of support that she wasn’t doing “this” alone.  

Mount Saint Harper

Saul’s diagnosis has been hard on everyone in the family… and for different reasons. Jeff has overcome a lifelong fear of needles. I have quickly relearned basic math skills.  I’m still not sure how Mom is handling the day to day…  it appears she’s channeling her stress, aggression, fear and frustration into cleaning every inch of my house… which for me is turning out to be pretty sweet.

Harper on the other hand… is having a really difficult time.

It was easy when Saul first came home because she had missed him while he was in the hospital.  Once he was home however, she quickly realized life had changed. In many ways her small three year old world has been turned upside down.

We used to let both kids wander the house with Sippy cups drinking at their leisure, till their hearts (or bladders) were content- we no longer do this.

We used to allow both kids to “graze” typical toddler/preschool eating behaviors- we’re trying to stop this.

We used to let Harper to eat at her “special table” while the rest of us sat at the dining room table- she can’t do this anymore.

We used allow Harper to “be excused” before the rest of us were finished eating- she has to stay at the table now.  

On weekend mornings we used to get up, hang out, cuddle in bed, cuddle on the couch. On regular school days we used to get up watch Mickey, get dressed… now it’s a rushed, regimented routine of glucose checks, weighing food, feeding Saul, giving insulin.

Last night was the catalyst… Mount Saint Harper erupted… it was disruptive. violent. and damaging. She took most of it out on me screaming that she didn’t like me. that she wanted to throw me in the trash.  she wanted me to just leave. Mom tried talking to her. Jeff tried talking to her- nothing seemed to work. Fed up and stressed out I eventually forced her to bed… tears and all. As I attempted to tuck in flying arms and legs she said “Mommy I just wish you loved me like you love Saul.”

The past two weeks for me has been nothing but pure survival. In all my frantic rushing, and fixing, and checking, and stressing I totally forgot about Harper. Sure I tried to talk to her and explain what was happening, and sure she could repeat everything back to me.… but what I hadn’t allowed her to do was vent… to express her emotions… to talk about her feelings, fears, and frustrations with all this.

Thank goodness we as parents are allowed to make mistakes and fix the errors of our ways. Thank goodness today was a new day.

I heart Saul's guts.

Hey... If you don't have the real thing.... settle for the next best. Thanks Uncle Jay. We heart your guts!

"P" instead of "D"

I need to change this blog to my “P” days instead of “D” days.

"P’s" in the form of pee, poop and puke. I mean come on… bodily excrement’s are far more entertaining than diabetes.

Some days I feel like wrapping all the continents of my house in plastic. Do they make tarp wall paper? Cellophane curtains perhaps? Would it be so bad to have bubble wrap carpet? I seriously looked into the Rubbermaid flooring options about a year ago… the “garage/tire change store/oil change station look” just didn’t seem to fit with our existing attire.

It's not just the two kids that are slowly destroying our house one inch at a time. I told you about one of our “dysfunctional animals” I’ve yet to tell you about the other. You know I’m not even sure you want to know. I’ll give you a hint… her name starts with “D” but her issue involves “P.” Technically… Her diagnosis… “submissive urination.” Yes. I admit we've got issues around here. We have one totally blind dog and one that is a “submissive urinater (according to Word Dictionary “urinater” is not a word) I will however continue to use it for blogging purposes.

With Daisy it was love at first sight… I watched her bravely cross 152 to nibble on a dead deer carcass while dodging cars and trucks in a frogger like manner and I knew this was the dog for me. She was “living” outside Mom and Dad’s neighbor’s house at the time. No doubt she was being abused. It was evident she had a real fear of men. It took her 6 months to just get comfortable with Jeff- even today she cowers and pees when he goes to hook her up to take her for a walk. When I rescued her she was covered in fleas, ticks and had 3 kinds of worms… she also had mange. Her ears were scabbed over and crusty with dried blood. She was (and now I’m channeling Tim Gunn) One. Hot. Mess. And in typical “Courtney Grimes fashion” I got a hair… and loaded that beast in the back of my little Subaru at Mom and Dad’s and took her home to KY.

She’s still a mess… minus the worms, mange and ticks… okay we forgot to put her flea medicine on last month… so I’m not so confident that she’s not transporting around 1 or 2. And even though she’s been a part of the family for 6 years she still has the “tinkles” when someone new comes to our house, or it thunders, or when Jeff hooks her up, or when there's a loud noise... or ….. you get my point.

Like everything else, I’ve learned to look past her shortcomings and always have paper towels on hand. Harper learned at an early age to use Daisy's deficiency to her advantage.  We once walked in to find a puddle of pee on our kitchen floor. There was Harper standing diaper less, straddling the mess she was only 2, but quick to point a finger at Daisy… “umm… She did it… not me.”

After this week of getting puked on, pooped on and peed on by both kids … cleaning up Daisy’s occasional daily dribble seems like nothing.

I’m not sure what point this entry has… except for those who are keeping count… you might add this to your mental list of “one more reason” to avoid the Grimes-Sebulsky house…  “I mean… come on… she expects us to step over pee and try not to trip on her blind dog while dodging Trains and Barbies? Geesh.”  

The dreaded post... coming clean about things.

The dreaded post. The post I’ve had in my head since the day we came home from the hospital. The post I’ve held off writing because…

A.      I’ve been up to my eyeballs in puke and poop the past 48 hours.

B.      I’ve made no definite decision.

C.      I’m actually somewhat embarrassed to complain about my 1^st world problem to the internet - especially when I know I’ll have folks comment things like “so sorry” and “understand” when really they want to type things like “suck it up” and “just deal.”

Honestly, the thought of staying home with Saul never crossed my mind. Naively, I assumed I’d be back to work, “back in the swing of things” and *ahem* “back to normal” by this point and time. I’m not really sure what I expected… I guess that everything would be the same as before with the exception of a few glucose checks and insulin shots.  

Except. Here. I. Am.  

I vastly underestimated the amount of work this whole process was/is going to be. Currently it’s a full time job. Sadly… it’s a job I’m sharing with Mom right now because she has selflessly offered to “do whatever” “for “however long.”

I am using all of my sick and emergency days to get me to Feb. 22^nd at which point and time I will have to decide whether or not to take FMLA … and how much… 2 weeks?… 4 weeks?… 12 weeks?

I hear the clock ticking. I feel the pressure of unfinished jobs at work.  I look at the calendar and realize that March 1^st will be here soon – another book fair, Title 1 night, all the program review work, SBDM meetings…. and then… all together I stop thinking, because that minute of thought is over…  and I’m now dealing with a screaming, inconsolable 16 month old baby… frantically trying to problem solve and “just deal.” “Is he too high? Is he too low? Did I give him too much insulin? Did you measure out the carbs or did I?” “Did you throw away that package??? It had all the information on it!” “Harper did you give that to him? Where did he get that?”…………  And that’s just what a matter of 5 minutes is like…….

I can’t even imagine being capable of functioning at work – had I gone this week. On average I am getting about 2-3 hours of sleep each night, some nights better … other nights (like last) worse than when he was an infant… hanging out on top of the dryer… while I cried my eyeballs out in the other room begging him to PPPLLLEEEEAAAAASSSEEEEEEEE juussstttt gggggooooo ttttoooooo sssssslllllleeeeeepppppp!!!!!!!!!!

I get up at least 2 times a night to do glucose checks. He’s been getting up nearly every hour on the hour to just cry… and cry… and cry some more and his only comfort comes in the form of his arms wrapped around my neck with his head nestled into my shoulder while I… walk, rock, sit or lay. It’s an honor… yet exhausting.

See the thing is… I’m in a state of ultimate guilt. I think nearly every single woman who’s ever had a baby and then gone back to work 6… 12… 18… 150 weeks later… has felt this exact same feeling and asked herself these exact same questions.

Should I stay home?

Should I go back to work?

Isn’t my child my responsibility?

Can a babysitter do it as good as me?

Am I missing the best years of my kids’ lives?

Can I afford to not work?

Are the sacrifices of staying at home… worth it?

Will I miss out on job opportunities?

The thing is… I like my job. The thing is… I like my kids.

I like having (even what little it may be) contact with other adults and professionals, and you know… the whole “getting paid part” isn’t half bad either. Sure I’ve got a couple leads on possible childcare scenarios for Saul. Sure… Mom could theoretically stay until I finish in May… but would those choices be best for Saul? If I were to stay home what about Harper? Would the sacrifices she’d have to make be fair? No more ballet? Forget about pre-school next year. No more weekend trips or spring break vacation… blah and blah and more blah to deal with.

And so my internal war continues to wage, I realize I’m not going to come off the battle field without wounds, injuries and heartbreak.

I seek comfort in knowing, however, that whichever side wins, I’ll at least have other soldiers to help me through… folks who’ve fought the same fight… who are fighting the same fight… and can help me adjust to the aftermath.  

Post Script. 5 minutes before I went to push the publish button for this post- I suffered my first “freak-out” and jumped the gun by calling the Doctor on call. Saul’s numbers kept dropping… even after we did the 15-15 rule… every little choke on a sip of juice freaked me out… any minute I was ready to bust out the glucagon and call 911… luckily we got it up and I settled down and even managed to get a few chuckles out as we watched Saul do a little “happy dance.” Caffeine is the equivalent of crack to a 16 month old.

A Grimes proclamation… or is it declaration? announcement perhaps?

I hereby do proclaim at 10:43 a.m Tuesday, February 7^th 2012 that Jeff Sebulsky has been awarded the distinguished, most honored, highly coveted title “World’s Greatest Father.” While the competition was tough, it was clearly evident that Jeff exceeded all criteria. 

"It ain't no thang"

So by now if you’ve been reading this, you’ve probably figured out we’re dealing with- and will be dealing with - a minor medical obstacle.  What you might not realize, however, is that we in the Grimes-Sebulsky household are no strangers to handling adversity.

Mabel. The-  Most- Annoying- Creature- On- The- Planet.  Anyone who’s ever been around her can attest to this description. Don’t try to top me with a comment about a pet you have or once had. You won’t win. Her smell, her howls, her bays… her farts, Mabel truly fits that saying “only a mother could love.”

She is our second child. Our first, Broni (the cat) was rescued from the pound. Mabel, on the other hand, was bought from a breeder- 100%, AKC, purebred basset lovin. A year of researching on the internet, scouring over books at Borders, taking hundred’s of those “perfect pet for you quizzes” I deducted then convinced Jeff that “Yes. I’m sure” a basset hound will be an ideal addition to our family.

When my kiddos come to the library they love to hear “Mabel stories” “Tell us another one Mrs. Grimes….. ppplllleeeeeaaaasssee!!!!” “What did she do this time?!?!” “When are you going to bring her to the library?" "Come on Mrs. Grimes… we wanna meet her!!!" 

I’ve promised myself and many other folks that one day I’ll write a children’s book about Mabel. I’ll title it something cheesy like “The dog with 9 lives” because really that’s the only title I’ve ever been able to come up with. Mabel has had more than 9 lives… by my count she’s working on 15 or 16. 

When she was 8 weeks old she ate a container of rat poison while visiting at my parents’ farm- an unforgettable 4^th of July as we “shut the party down” to rush her to the “E.R.” Or who in my family can forget that Christmas Eve- the one when she somehow managed to climb up and onto the stove and knock over Mom’s special gorilla bread that was to be served for a delicious Christmas morning breakfast. We found her hours after the crime… lying under the Christmas tree with the empty pan, belly bloated and a grin on her sneaky, sleeping face. The next Christmas no one even batted an eye when we came home to find a pile of glass bulbs half eaten and Mabel splayed out on the rug. There was that time she got her head stuck between those porch rails in Huntington, the summer she got loose at Mom and Dad’s and was attacked by the “Curry dogs.” I think it was during that same week we found her walking up 152 carrying half a pizza in her mouth… her own little Gino’s pizza excursion. And these are just the events that took place during her younger years. I haven’t even touched upon the shenanigans of the past 10 years, although many of you will recall from my Face book postings -the most tragic to date - the “Window Well tragedy” which occurred this summer.

Five years ago I came home from work to find Mabel “stuck” in our bed. She was crying and frantic and hitting her head against the wall. Just as I had chocked up Saul’s symptoms to teething- I rationalized Mabel’s behavior, hoisting her to the floor-  blowing her off – and mumbling one of the ten thousand phrases I often use with her “crazy animal, annoying creature, stupid dog.” When she wouldn’t stop crying I quickly realized… something was just not right.

It took an emergency trip to Cincinnati and an appointment with a dog optometrist (and I won’t even tell you how much money later) to give us the diagnosis of glaucoma and the news that her eyeball had to be removed.

I’ll never forget the optometrist “breaking the news” then escorting us to a room where we could view our options of prosthetic eyeballs. I wish we’d had iPhones back then Jeff and I could have gotten some really great profile pics.  I would have named the album “eyeball outtakes.” When given the 1500 dollar price tag we kindly agreed to  have our local vet do the extraction for a mere 250. And opted for the less cheaper route of “just sew the sucker up.”

When the first eye was removed I was okay with it. Mom made her an eye patch and we all joked about the upcoming Halloween costume… “Do you think I could get her into some pet contests? With that eye patch and pirate hat she’d win for sure!”

When I found her in the same sad state – banging her head, disoriented and crying, 4 months later the jokes stopped and the tears came. I knew the minute I saw here what the prognosis would be. I knew once again we’d be dealing with another surgery and recovery… this time however things would be different. She’d be totally blind.

I look back on that time period and it’s as if it’s solidified in my mind. Like re-watching that scene from Steel Magnolias - the one that gets you every time- I can re-live in an instant my emotions, my conversations and my thoughts.  I had just suffered a devastating miscarriage days before that had left me physically, mentally and emotionally crippled. Truly, when looking back,  the only two things that got me through that paralyzing time was an episode of Oprah I’d watched (you scoff- don’t laugh… and don’t worry… I’m saving that story for a later post) and the constant love from Mabel, Daisy and Broni. I remember crying on the phone to Mom and Dad whose advice was to “put her down” weeping and hysterical I replied … “I. just. can’t. do. It.”

When Jeff got home late that night and I broke the news to him he responded in typical Jeff form. “Courtney. Seriously? Seriously? This is not a big deal. We’ll hook Daisy too her… she’ll be her seeing eye dog. We’ll just carry a yardstick all the time” We’ll just never move the furniture…” I’ll stop here cause I’m sure you get my drift.

I’d like to think that if I can instill a characteristic within my children (and that includes the ones with fur and four legs) resiliency would be the one I’d most like them to posses.  Resiliency. The ability to “bounce back.” Resiliency. The ability to “move on.”  Resiliency. The ability to look directly in the face of the obstacles and hurdles of daily life and with confidence reply “ Yo. This aint no thang.”

P.S. If you think Mabel’s loss of sight has made her any different than before you’re wrong.  She’s still the same smelly, barking, adventure-seeking, trouble –causing, annoying dog we all love.

Perfect Love

How fitting in the month of February to write a post on “Love.” 

February. Ugh. February. My least favorite… most detested… month of the year. When I taught Psychology to high school students I always  briefly included the topic of February in class discussion. February= Peak of seasonal depression (those of us who suffer) know all too well the battle we must fight through the looming gloomy days of this long, tiresome month.  February=The month with the most suicide rates (no coincidence - directly related to seasonal depression I’m sure).  And worse yet… February= The month which contains the day I’ve grown to hate exponentially each year. Valentines Day= Love. Gag. Ugh. Blech. Eek. Gag again.

Don’t ask me why I dislike this day so much. I think really it’s just become a “thing” with me… like I’ve said it so many times that I have to continue believing it and making a big deal about it… because if I don’t … OH NO!!! SOMETHING REALLY BAD MIGHT HAPPEN.

I got to thinking about all this yesterday when researching the significance of tulips. Wait. Pause. Let me backtrack.

Yesterday a package arrived at the door. A Pro-Flowers package. Flowers.  Hmmm…  Harriet Vanger perhaps? My curiosity was climaxing. Who? Who would send us flowers??? I quickly opened the card to find that a dear old friend from back home and “back in the day” had sent them to me. We haven’t spoken or seen each other in a good 10 years or so… maybe even longer. Yet kindness doesn’t go away with age, and her thoughtfulness is as prevalent now as it was all those years ago.

Tulips. Beautiful. Pink. Red. Variegated.  at the cusp of bloom. Tulips. The perfect flower because they signify perfect love.  The love of friendship.  The love a mother has for her son. The love of family.  Like bright pink and red beacons of hope that maybe… just maybe this February might be different for me.

I am making a public announcement today that I retract any former complaints, jokes, comments and concerns I’ve had in regards to February 14^th. This year I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf.  A tulip leaf. This year I vow to celebrate love in all its forms. Because really when you strip away all the “stuff of daily life” isn’t love what it’s all about?

Day 9: Fail.

Yeah. This really happened.

When all else fails…. blame the iPhone (an apology letter)

Dear iPhone

Please except my greatest apology. I knew it was wrong the minute I said it. I should have never put blame on you. It was just when put under pressure and scrutinized as to why I had not gotten up two hours earlier to do Saul’s glucose check ... I panicked. I had to think of a quick scape goat, unfortunately I used you. Please forgive me.

Let’s be friends again.

Courtney

P.S. Thank you. I appreciate you allowing me to set your timer 15 minutes ago for the re-check of Saul’s lowest level yet.

Being a pancreas

This first thing that was said to us in the hospital… “you are now a pancreas.” The doctors and nurses explained that because Saul no longer had a functioning pancreas (for all intents and purposes) we (or anyone directly responsible for his care at the moment) would have to serve as this bodily organ performing the duties that it no longer carried out.

Two things came to mind.

1.       I  imagined his pancreas (with sun glasses, flip flops , a beach umbrella and pina colada in hand) standing in front of a homemade sign reading “on vacation… not returning”

2.       I imagined myself in a Ms. Frizzle kind of way shrinking so small that I actually went in through Saul’s nostrils, hitchhiking my way to wherever that lazy no good pancreas was… and beating the crap out of him… you know… just because… GET UP AND WORK YOU LAZY BUM… NO FREE RIDES AROUND THESE PARTS.

Instead I tried desperately to concentrate on the newly acquired responsibilities assigned to me. Shaking my head in agreement with Dr. Irene that yes… I can do that. I can do that. I can do that. I can do that. I refrained from asking the important questions or sharing my points of concern “will there be any extra pay involved?” “What do you mean I have to get up in the middle of the night?” “Was that lazy good for nothing pancreas getting paid overtime when he was doing this job? “

My best friend Lisa just sent me a text. Her husband is going above and beyond the call of duty tomorrow to deliver our kids’ newly purchased playground for the backyard. I text back… What can I do to repay? Food?  Beverage?  Money? Tell me.

Her response: He wants nothing. He’s being a pancreas.

Forget that stupid old broke down pancreas Saul… you got something so much better… you got 10-15 people being your pancreas now and we’re not going to fail you.   

Bad things come to those who read...

Dr. Irene took both my hands in hers and clasping hard, staring at my face she said, "promise me, whatever you do... don't get on the forums and only go to the websites I've given you." I nodded and smiled knowing that occasionally I might just slip up and happen to come across a few as I was searching for info on the internet.

"My sister died in a diabetic coma." "My son was hospitalized for 4 days for high blood sugar levels." "The school nurse forgot to administer her dose of insulin after her snack."

I understand now why Dr. Irene was so adamant. I'm realizing that just like there's an acceptable range of blood sugar levels for Saul, there's an acceptable range of information I should have access to in regards to diabetes.

Not only do I need to monitor Saul's levels... I need to monitor myself every now and then.

So many frustrations... only so many Thomas trains to throw.

So I came to the conclusion yesterday I seriously need an outlet- a stress reliever- something more productive than surfing pinterest and something less intensive than sweeping the house.

I've gone through a range of emotions lately. One minute I'm channeling Dr. Irene who's saying "it'll be fine, things will be the same, you'll get used to all this, it'll be "normal." The next minute I'm holding down a screaming baby at 2:00 a.m. doing a glucose test and pulling out cotton balls from his diaper to do ketone tests... all the while screaming "THIS IS NOT NORMAL!"

I hear people say... "it's not cancer"... "it could be worse"... "he'll live"... the best... my favorite is... "well you know (________________________) (fill in the blank) has diabetes and they get along just fine". Except that 99 times out of 100 the (___________________________) (fill in the blank) is an adult living with type 2 diabetes.

In my reaching out to the diabetic community, talking to people, joining forums, etc. etc. I have yet to meet anyone with a child as young as Saul who has diabetes. 

He is in a rare category. Only 16 months old. Diabetic. AND... yeah... don't forget... go ahead and toss in those food allergies... you know just for fun.

So while I know it'll get easier. I know I'll get used to it. I know this is not about me. Things are kinda sucky right now... and definitely NOT NORMAL. There is nothing "normal" about drawing blood and sticking your poor baby with needles 5-6 times a day.

So yeah... if you come visit me you may have to dodge a few trains, the occasional Barbie but don't worry... I won't throw any syringes at you.

B.B. King and The Baby Sitters Club

On the way to the hospital I admitted to Jeff "you know... all I really know about diabetes is from watching those stupid commercials ... like with B.B. King" and "one of my favorite characters from the babysitters club books I used to read in elementary school had diabetes.... she could never eat sweets." Ironically our family resource center director had spoken with me earlier that very same day asking if I could order some good resources for students with diabetes at our school. Little would she know that within 48 hours of that conversation I'd be a pseudo-expert.

UK Children’s was amazing. The nurses wonderful. Our doctor awesomely fantastic (seriously like the greatest doctor ever). Over all if I'd just been visiting I'd have given it high marks. haha.

Upon arrival Saul's BG was 859 (for the non-diabetic community... which I assume is most everyone who will read this) that’s like... high... like critical high... like I spoke with someone whose daughter was 1000 and in intensive care for 4 days high.  He’s supposed to be between 100-200 for reference. But he was alert, talking being somewhat "typical" Saul. He still had large traces of ketones and the immediate plan of action was to get insulin in him.

So what I quickly learned is this.

Type 1 diabetes (used to be called Juvenile diabetes) is an auto-immune disorder. Saul’s pancreas in a matter of 4 days had quit functioning. Because his pancreas no longer worked he quit making insulin. So his blood was sitting there like Karo syrup (our Dr.'s analogy... which I liked... cause I like Karo syrup... but in retrospect I guess I shouldn't like that so much cause that’s a bad thing not a good thing). His body reacted by trying to excrete (which is why he was peeing so much) and when I mean peeing… I mean peeing…. Like a lot. I mean like not just going to the bathroom numerous times- I'm talking about every single time he pee'd it went from his neck to his toes (and yes with a diaper on). Anyway. Because he was peeing so much his body told him to drink more which is why you could find him drinking anything in sight including water from the dog bowl (I'm kidding Mom... although you and I both know it wouldn't be that much of a stretch). Both Dr. K and Dr. Irene have told me most likely Saul developed this in utero. Which makes me wonder (although I know I know I know and have been told over and over and over NO) if there was anything I could have done differently. He definitely has had diabetes since birth. Although things just got bad enough (say the past week or so) for us to start noticing signs.

He got his first dose of insulin and like that numbers dropped. and dropped. and dropped. and dropped till we were hitting say the "critical low" point. At which time I realized with him we must always be "in range" never too high (scary bad things happen) and never to low (even scarier bad things happen).

And so began the process of "regulation" which unfortunately is continuing today and which they tell me may continue for days and possibly weeks to come.

Does pee taste sweet? and a ketone sounds like something I should have learned in music class.

Dr. K immediately sent us to Clark Regional for blood work. At this point it was about 6:30 at night, Saul was starving, soaked, and generally all around miserable. I called Jeff who had just gotten home from a leisurely shopping spree at Wal-Mart with EH.  I was like "umm... yeah... Dr. K is sending us to Clark Regional." Not wanting to cause any added panic to the situation I told him to discretely remove himself from the house and my mother (sorry mom). Needless to say holding down a then 15 month old starving, soaked, screaming, toddler while they attempted to take blood was an experience. Luckily Jeff didn't witness the madness.

Dr. K told us to meet him back at his office to go over results. We drove back over and waited. I know now that Dr. K already knew, I already knew. I guess going for the blood work was a formality.

We got the "official" word around 8:30-9:00. Seriously high sugar in the blood and large traces of ketones. Definitely diabetic. Within and hour he would be admitted to UK Children's hospital.

Let's start at the beginning

Jeff and I are lucky to have the absolute most wonderful, kind, caring "think pie-baking" "laundry hanging" "country living" grandma- sitter for Harper and Saul. She is one of only a few people who've watched both kids since their births. She is... older... and old school... "drinks only in the kitchen" "no toys out of the living room" routine routine routine for breakfast, "supper" naps snack and dinner.  It is because of this and her keen attention to detail and our kids care that we were able to avoid what could have possibly been the most devastating event in our lives.

Every single day last week when I would run in late and frantic to get the kids she would say the same thing... "Courtney, Saul is just not right." I blew her off... Monday... Tuesday... Wednesday... She went from saying "he's just not right" to "he's just so thirsty" "his diaper is ALWAYS full" "Courtney I hold him all day and he still cries" again... I chocked it up to "teething." Finally Thursday night (2 and a half hours after our "normal" pick up time") I agreed that "Yes... I will make a Dr. apt for him!"

When I called Dr. K Friday he said "bring him in at noon" not wanting to take a day off work... or even half a day I begged... any later apts?? He said 5:00.

I joked with Dr. K when I brought him in "go ahead and make fun of me... I already know it's teeth" "non-stop inconsolable crying.... yeah that’s his personality he's always fussy" what I can't understand is his desire to chug any liquid in sight"... and "what's up with those size 4 diapers... they should be holding all that pee." Dr. K looked and said... "yep teeth" but "let's just get a check on that urine situation."

He put a urine bag on Saul a device I'd never seen and was quite frankly amazed by... and with that Saul  started chugging the one and only beverage I had on hand and could find in the van... a Capri Sun.

Before I could see Dr. K's face I started the jokes again saying "this kid better have something serious wrong to keep us all from getting dinner on time." I will never forget the look on his face as he sat down beside me in that waiting room chair.  How he put his hand on my shoulder. I knew before he said a word... we were dealing with more than a few stubborn molars.