The Motherload

Okay, so I’m usually cool with my diabetes. I mean, after all, at least it waited to sock me until I was 43…until after college, babies, well, you get the idea. I’m even glad for it on occasion. Take last week for example. I have a really close friend whose 13 year old son was diagnosed with Type 1. When I got that frantic call from her while in she was the PICU with him, I was really glad to have some help to offer. So I’m usually okay with this disease. But sometimes…..

This morning, however, I was ready to squeeze the living daylights out of diabetes. I mean, really! I was just giving my baby a bath when the water looked a little wavier than it should have been. When I tested in at 56, I got stinking MAD! WHY can’t I even give my BABY a bath without the big D demanding its share of the action? Give me a BREAK!!! Pu-lease!!

Okay, so maybe I’m not being fair. My “baby” is 11 years old and, at 5 feet tall and weighing 120 pounds, he is unable to move a muscle. He’s a special child, severely affected by cerebral palsy. When he’s naked, wet and in the tub, he’s nearly as big as me. I guess giving him a bath would challenge anyone. Also, I know better than to strip all the beds, do four loads of laundry, mop two rooms of floors and drive 1 ½ hours taking my rabbit to the vet AND give my son a bath, all on 15 grams of breakfast carb. But, heck, it was only 11 a.m.!!

I just wanted to get the little feller all clean and sassy before we have to drive the hour and a half back to get the rabbit, drop off 4 bags at Goodwill, run to the post office, finish the floors, do 5 more loads of laundry, make supper, get ready to square dance for two hours tonight and then hurry home to prepare for a 6 hour First Aid and CPR training tomorrow. Oh, and get my son ready for bed….a hour long process that would pale a ghost.

So why can’t I go at lightning speed? After all, my life depends on an insulin pump. I run on a AAA battery!

I just don’t want to be different. I get so annoyed when I’m interrupted from life by this monster. I give it plenty of time and thought. Why doesn’t it just let me alone??? How can I lose weight, or ever get a decent meal if I have to parcel out food to fix lows like I was a squirrel hiding nuts before the first frost? I don’t want to fix grilled cheese sandwiches at 11 p.m. because I was too annoyed to eat supper last night and went to bed low….and got lower…..and my CGM wouldn’t shut up. There are times I just want to forget about diabetes….you know….take a break from it. But I can’t. It’s too selfish.

Oh, well. Elijah is clean. I’m over my low. No floors are getting done since I’m writing this. But whatever. Diabetes. It’s a Motherload.