Our life with diabetes

It’s 3:15 a.m. More than an hour ago I woke up to check Shelby’s blood sugar, my daily 2 a.m. ritual. Her number was 359; way over the 150-200 we like her to be at during the night. I give her insulin and note the information in our logbook in the kitchen. She’s been running high a lot lately during these overnight checks. What did she have for dinner again? Did I miscalculate something? Did the restaurant do something different with the Mexican rice we always get? She had two pieces of quesadilla, not three, right? The past two days, she’s been back in range by breakfast. I head back to bed, stepping over Shelby who sometime between my bedtime and 2 a.m. encamped on our bedroom floor in her Barbie sleeping bag.

Lying in bed, the questions continue to swirl in my head. Why has she been so high at night? Do we need to correct her insulin rates again? They were working great two weeks ago. We just changed them radically to adjust for her new school activities, but that shouldn’t impact her during the night, right? She’s not dipping nearly as low after recess at school, now. Most days she’s even eating her whole snack and lunch before scampering off to play on the swings with her school friends. She said something about a different nurse at school yesterday; I should probably check on that tomorrow. I’m way behind on checking up on my diabetes research news: note to self – check that tomorrow afternoon and update Team Shelby website. Maybe I should have extended her dinner insulin dose; rice kicks in later sometimes. Second note to self – Mention nurse situation to Liz in the morning; have her ask about it if the school calls her at work after checking Shelby for snack. Liz should probably ask at the office after school. Third note to self – remember to take Team Shelby corporate sponsorship pack to the car dealer tomorrow. Maybe I should get caught up on my research reading now.

Our life with diabetes never stops. All parents worry. It’s just that most don’t worry about whether they used the right measuring cup when doling out Cheerios in the morning. Or what to do about a daughter who declares the school snack you packed “took too long to eat” so she didn’t finish it before hitting the playground. No wonder the school reports Shelby’s blood sugar was a perilous 42 before lunch; she blacks out at 35. Normal is 70-100. What snack can I pack that eats fast?

Shelby never complains about her disease. She’s never asked why she has it and other kids don’t. She doesn’t flinch at the shots or finger pricks anymore. She’s even gotten good at running her insulin pump herself. But is it any wonder that studies find parents of children with diabetes display high levels of anxiety, apprehension and worry. What if something I do jeopardizes her ability to have children someday, go off to college, limits her ability to become a veterinarian like she talks about, or causes blindness or organ failure. Dads protect their kids from this stuff, right? I don't want pity; I want a cure.

So one meal, one snack, one quarterly doctor’s visit, one step at a time we’ll just fight this disease and hope beyond all hope that the promise of a cure comes through in her lifetime.