Our long story shortened...

20 years of being in love

14 years of marital bliss

5 years of infertility

9 months of a high risk pregnancy

2 perfect boys (at the same time)

1 heart failure

1 type 1 diabetes diagnosis

1 happy life

To see the whole story click on the "about us" tab

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About me

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I am a stay at home mom who is raising twins. One of my guys has type 1 diabetes and one does not. I am writing this blog to unite type 1 parents or twin parents. Comment on my posts or in the "what's your high?" and "what's your low?" to join the community of parents just trying to do the best we can!

We won!




marriage during diabetes


Taking care of my twin boys has been such a wonderful experience. They are good children, with an old-school sense of how to behave. Not as in, "Children should be seen and not heard", but the kind of kids you can take to a nursing home to visit their great grandma and have them understand the moment is not about them.


I am proud of the nice little men they are becoming. But also, I am proud of myself. I have beentraining them since they were born. So, as I watch them react appropriately to situations that should be far beyond their years, I know I can take a little credit. Believe it or not, being proud of yourself can be hard for women and especially moms.  


I also believe that without a strong adult presence to create some structure, little boys can sometimes get lost. My hubby Michael provides this structure in a playful way, without stifling the boys. I am very proud of Michael. Without him, my children would be over-protected and to be honest, kind of wussified. Ha ha!


When Rocco was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at 22 months, our world changed (to say the least). At first, Michael, who is the realist, was devasted. He worried about Rocco’s struggle throughout his days but also wondered how we would pay for all of the medical costs that came with the disease. I have since learned that this is a normal male reaction. After the diagnosis, while we were in the hospital for three days, he focused on how to take care of his son as if he was studying for a board exam. The nurses said they had never seen such focus. However, I remember being angry at him for giving a crap how much this was going to cost. I remember being upset with him for not sitting with me and holding Rocco, our poor child was in the middle of struggling with shots, fluctuating blood sugars and living in a baby cage crib for three days. These were the concerns I had a the time. Every time I looked at Michael, he had his head in the Diabetes 101 book. 


The minute we got home, Michael immediatley went through our cupboards and threw away practically everything that had the word sugar in the ingredients(We now know that diabetics can have sugar and that sugar is an important remedy for low blood sugar episodes).


He did all this while I just sat and held our sonin the ER, in the hospital, at home. I didn't learn, I didn't read, I didn't throw away sweets. I just sat, holding our diaper-wearing son.


During the sugar purging, Michael got frustrated and yelled at me.  He couldn't understand why I wasn't helping him. Looking back now, I think I was in a sort of shock. I am sure I was probably in the denial stage of grief. I couldn’t focus on the long-term impact on Rocco or on the probable financial impact of his care. Michael on the other hand couldn't see the current situation just the future one. 

Although I was numb when we first got the diagnosis, the reality of our challenge has hit home as events have unfolded. When a significant moment comes up, I feel itI write about it and I share it. I think I am the type of person who isn't strongly affected by things until I actually experience them. I have a strong survival instinct that is powered by immediately looking at the bright side even when major events occur. My reactions can pop up weeks or even months later. 

For example, when my dad died during the month of April, I went into "go" mode. Selling his house, helping plan the funeral, and tying up his last loose ends. It wasn't until August of that same year that it just hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt the pain and the loss then, four months later, after all the jobs had been complete. 

After six months of his diagnosis, we got Rocco's pump and a supply order bill came in the mail. It was only then that I felt the major financial impact. I realized then that this was the fear Michael felt in the ER, minutes before the doctor confirmed the diagnosis.


A couple of weeks ago, four years after his diagnosis, Rocco's blood sugar reached 23. I felt that. Big time. Thanks for letting me share my feelings about that. Michael couldn't put his finger on exactly why this was so life changing for me. I cried/sobbed for three days. I couldn't get a handle on my sadness. Until my friend suggested that I am finally mourning the loss of the life Rocco would have had without diabetes. I think it was so difficult because I saw first hand how very life threatening this disease could be. To be honest, I am still not sure how he is going to handle it all when he is by himself as an adult.  I am hoping this will be clearer as he grows and I meet more Type 1 adults. This reality is what Michael felt in the first three days in the hospital.


When I turned down a job that was something professional I used to do before I had the twins, I mourned the loss of the career woman I once was and that I always thought I would be again.


Finally, when I sent the boys off to kindergarten and waited with baited breath for their first day to be over just so I could have my little birds back in my control, I felt the weight of the responsibilty of the diabetic 24/7 care that I will happily carry to Rocco’s adult life.


Sometimes, it amazes me that Michael and I can work so well together during the day to day operations. I thank him often for being so attentive and studious during the hospital stay in the beginning. As with many parents everyday, I only hope that if we work together Rocco and Zeke can become well adjusted to a lifestyle that most days is not well adjusted. As with any partnership, espcially ones that are being challenged everyday with needs that are not the norm, there are days when our differences can cause big-time friction. But so far, for us, this hasn’t often been the case. I am truly thankful to have Michael as my rock. I wouldn't want to do this on my own.


Having a child with Type 1 diabetes can be daunting for the two of us. I know that sometimes the responsibility lies only with one parent. I write this blog in part to help those people feel less alone. If you read this blog and you are a parent who is the lone caregiver for your child, please know that my respect for you is immeasurable. I take my hat off to you.


No marriage is perfect. But I am proud to say that Michael and I are somehow getting each other through it. I am hoping that love, respect and sense of duty carries us all the way to the old folks home!

Ok so here are some pics of us over the past twenty years. Feel free to make fun of hair or clothes styles! Life's too short not to laugh! 

One of our first pics. We were only dating here for a month! We were crazy about each other! 

This is the day we moved in together. Notice the gross fridge! There. Did I distract you from the size of my shorts? 

This is the day we got engaged. I waited six long years. We got married a year later. 

Ahhhhh.... Grad day! 

I still do! 

Honeymoon in Costa Rica. This still one of our favorite days. 

DINKS! Double Income, No Kids... Hawaii

New York, New York!

Yes, after five long years... Dreams really do come true! 

We still do! 


spray tan



Ok, time for a funny moment.

I am 25% Norwegian. Therefore, I have pale skin. In the winter months, I look especially translucent. I am proud of my pale heritage except for one time of the year. Bathing suit season... Dum,dum,dummmm.... Yes, like 95% of the world's population, with the exception of those who work out and those who walk on a runway, I hate bathing suit season.


I was complaining one day about this very topic, when my friend said, "Tan fat looks better than white fat. Why don't you try a spray tan?"


I had done a spray tan a couple of years ago and I liked the way it looked. Sitting in the hot sun, wondering the whole time if this is the moment  that you are getting skin cancer, is not my idea of fun. Lying out in the sun, for me, is like Chinese water torture. The whole time I am lying in the sun, I obsess over the fact that I probably giving myself cancer, while I am burning my skin. I never actually tan. I burn. Then I peel. Let's face it, Norwegian people are not known for their awesome tans!


Plus, every time I go in the sun I get a new "beauty mark" (i.e. a gross mole)By the way, whoever called these things beauty marks? Thanks anyway. If they really were beautiful, would be walking on a runway by now.  I will just keep it real and call them moles.


Another reason I do not like lying out in the sun is the sunscreen. I mean, who really knows which one is the healthiest? Lately, they have labeled them all as unsafe. Who knows?


Anyway, a couple of years ago, I went to a tanning place. You enter a dark dressing room and then a recording tells you to hold your breath, just as a blast of cold liquid is sprayed on your naked body, causing you to gasp while inhaling the liquid into your lungs! What is this liquid anyway? Probably more cancer-causing chemicals! Then you are told by the recording  to turn around and subject yourself to the same torture again.

 The only reason I subjected myself to the process is because I am an efficient seeker of beauty. The whole thing was over in five minutes and I was on my way. Sticky, albeit, but on my way. No sweaty beaches, no chemical sunscreen, no sunburn and no sitting in some dumb salon pretending to care if I am wearing the latest fashionable item. Efficient beauty is how I like it.  So what if I spent the next couple of days smelling like vegetable oil! I was happy to have a "healthy" glow.


So this year, I took my friend's advice and made an appointment to acquire a healthy glow yet again. This time, however, I decided to go to a tanning place that uses a real person to spray it on. I thought this would be better than the black dressing room with the recording. Plus, I thought maybe she could paint some tight ab muscles on me. Lol!


On the day of the appointment it started raining. I brought the boys with me to the salon and made them sit in the waiting room. I went into the spray tan room. No black dressing room today, it was  more like a doctor's office. It was better than the black dressing room, although the lighting  was fluorescent and made the atmosphere somewhat clinical.  Standing naked in this light was anything but (pun intended) flattering. I was told I could choose to leave my underwear and bra on, but she said most people just leave their underwear on and bra off, so they don't get tan lines on top. I did just that.


The twenty year old perky (of course) spray tan girl  walked in. Although  she was actually very professional and nice, I wished they  had hired someone more like Maude from the Golden Girls TV show to do the job. I didn't  enjoy having to get naked in front of someone as young and perky as (let's just call her) "Tiffany".  You get the picture!  


But, I needed to "tan the fat", so I sucked it up. I cracked jokes to distract "Tiffany" from my 41-year-old white, peanut butter and jelly loving body, which was now shining under clinical lighting.  But who was I fooling! It was really embarrassing! But, I just kept my head held high and acted like this was perfectly normal. She told me to stand forward with my arms in the air while she sprayed, then with my arms down.  There were a myriad of different positions.  My favorite was when she told me to face away from her and  sort of bend forward, so I wouldn't get a streak of tan under my butt... OMG! Where is the black dressing room with the recording???


Despite the humiliation, once she finished I was thrilled. I was so happy to get it all over with in about 20 minutes. Done. Check! The boys were still patiently waiting in the room that was just outside the door. When I came out with my newly tanned skin, Zeke  looked at me  and said "Mom, did that lady paint you orange?" Oh, God!


As we started to leave, I looked outside.   It was now pouring. I do mean buckets. Hard, huge raindrops with wind. The "Tiffany" girl told me to take her umbrella, cover myself, go to the car, then pull  towards the door and she would run out to get the umbrella. I told her I would park close so she  wouldn't get wet. HA!


The minute the boys and I got outside, we got hit from every angle. I was struggling to determine which angle the rain was coming from, but I was getting pelted from all angles. As for the boys, they were on their own. Normally, I would cover them and sacrifice myself, but not today little people! Run! is all I said to them


Finally, we get into the car. I kept one arm out of the car in order to close the umbrella.  It was getting pelted by the rain . Because my hands had lotion on them and were slippery I was having difficulty closing the umbrella. Closing it took  at least 45 seconds.  In the middle of it all, I dropped my keys almost under the car! Now  I had to expose my entire upper body to the wind and rain  in order to retrieve  the keys. I  finally got the keys, finally closed the car door and then looked at my arm. The spray tan was dripping down my arm. It was like bad mascara in a horror movie from the seventies! My tan was ruined! I tried to mop it up with an old napkin I found in the car.  But like any paint job, once you start touching things up the whole thing just looks worse.  I returned to where "Tiffany" was waiting for her umbrella and I tell her my tan is ruined. She asks me to come back in so she can re-do my arms.


Once I got in and took off my shirt, I realized the rain had soaked all the way through my shirt. I was as spotted as a cheetah! I pulled up my pant leg, same thing. Cheetah legs. Ugh!


No! These gross feet are not mine, but mine looked like these! 

She told me to use the  baby wipes that were on the counter and wipe off all of the tan! She would then re-spray me. Omg!


So, I did. I should have counted how many blessed baby wipes it took to wipe it all off. Fifteen minutes later she returned to my mostly-naked, half-spray-tanned, wet-haired, hair net wearing self! Seriously.

 Guys, if you had any fantasies about two hot chicks spray tanning each other,hold on to that vision, because it truly was not the reality. 

This is what I was imagining...

This is what It was like...

Despite all that happened, I was glad I did it. My funny friend was right, tanned fat did look better than white Norwegian fat!



And the hits just keep on coming...

So, I am officially done (for the time being, I hope) feeling sad. That 23 blood sugar kicked me in the gut. It is hard to grasp the severity of diabetes until it kicks you in the gut. But, I have learned from my mistake and have talked myself into being more cautious and awake, versus obsessive and overprotective. 

However, it is a constant battle reminding myself to be the first two. The last two are comforting to me, but are not good for Rocco. The last two will cause him to become fearful instead of independent in his adult life. So, I will do like so many mothers before me have done, chalk it up to a learning experience and move on. I hope...

Anyway, last weekend we decided to go on a little vacation. Going on vacation to us, a family who has a child with type 1 diabetes, always seems scary. So many things can go wrong and vacations add so many variables into what usually is a regimented and controlled lifestyle. Many parents of type 1 diabetic children just put vacations on the back burner for another day. 

We were thrilled to hear that Michael's two brothers, with families in tow, and my in-laws had rented a house at a beautiful resort about five hours from our home. Five hours with no flights, we can handle. Finally a real vacation. Albeit close to home, but still a vacation! 

We drove the five hours, checked in, changed into our bathing suits and went straight down to the lake. I was in charge of the kids because Michael had to park the car in an lot about a 15 minute walk away. 
I placed our chairs on the beach and was trying to help the  family get settled, not really paying attention to the kids who automatically ran into the lake and started swimming. After a few minutes Rocco ran up to me to ask if I had brought his Boogie board.  I told him no and he ran back into the water.  Thirty seconds later he ran up to me and asked for his goggles. Nope! Forgot those too. Really? I wonder why am I am still in charge of his stuff ?  He starts to run off again and I see it! The bulge under his shirt that is his insulin pump around his waist that has now been in the water for about 6 minutes and is NOT waterproof! 
"ROCCO!" I yell. "PUMP!" he looks down and starts to immediately take it off as fast as he can. I can see the wheels spinning in his head. He understands the severity of the situation. 

He hands it me. "Is it ok Mom?"  I look at the screen. I see a tiny drop of water behind the screen but I push the buttons and it works. Thank the Lord Almighty!

"Phew! Close one." he says. 

I put it in our bag and start to talk with my sister-in-law while my head is still reeling with the drama. 

But then I hear and feel it. "buzzzzzz, dodododododod, buzzzzz". Crap! 

I pull the pump out of may bag and it reads Button Error. I had never seen the "Button Error" message before. I calmly grab my cell phone and google the number for the pump company-Medtronic. Fix this, I say to myself.

The Medtronic man on the other end of the line says the pump is broken and that we are going to need another one. I die a little inside. My world starts to spin. I feel like Dorothy in the middle of the tornado.

What now? Go home. We just got up here twenty minutes ago. Go home. But, wait. Why do I need to go home? There are cell phones, Google, the Internet based pump company, his doctor on call and I think I brought syringes. Ok,  we stay.  And fix this. Just calm down and fix this. These are all the thoughts spinning around in my head.

So, I do. I call Medtronic they tell me they will deliver a new loaner pump to the resort by noon the next day. Done. How can they possily get this done I wonder. I look at my watch it's 6:30 pm. Truly amazing! I am still worried about the fact that we broke the pump (because of the water damage) and new pumps cost $7000. But I know we are eligible for an upgrade and hopefully my insurance company will pick up most, if not all of the cost like they did the last time. Besides, I can't worry about that right now. We will have  to work this out because it is Rocco's lifeline. Things will work out, Shari. Just keep going. 

Next I have to figure out how to manage his diabetes manually,since there is no insulin pump telling me what to do. Call the doctor. Speak slowly. More importantly listen carefully.  Block everything else out and just listen. This is a not an easy  task since we are  now packing everything up and heading back to our vacation house. But, I try to focus. The doctor tells me I will have to give Rocco insulin injections to cover  each meal, and every three hours until the new pump arrives. Have you ever given a six year old a shot? Since he no longer has to do them, he is terrified. He remembers his immunizations and he has a terrible fear of shots. So, of course, I don't tell him yet. I just can't add anymore fuel to the fire that is burning in my head. 

The doctor tells me to call the pump company to get his insulin settings and call him back for further instructions.

We head back to the house. 

I call the Medtronic pump man, (who couldn't have been more kind and helpful!) He tells me the settings, assures me the pump is on it's way. I call the doctor back. 

The doctor gives me diabetes 101 training over the phone and wishes me good luck overnight. All I can think about is his recent to 23 blood sugar reading . I am still raw from that.  Blood sugar levels rise and fall based on Rocco's mood, his stress level, his excitement level, the amount of exercise he gets, the type of exercise he does, the amount of food he eats and the type of food he eats. Working the numbers is only half the picture. You not only have to become his pancreas but also his brain. Dear God, please give me strength. 

Michael is trying to fix the pump. He is working on it with his brother, while I am trying to calculate the amount of insulin he will get overnight.  I see the two of them with a multi tool.


I hear Michael tell his brother that he doesn't want to break it (more) because then we really will have to pay for it. Ugh! In my head, I curse him for not listening to the doctor with me. I think to myself:  The a Medtronic man said the pump was broken and there is a new one coming, so come over here help me figure out these damn numbers, so I don't kill our kid overnight and leave the pump alone! I look over at them and roll my eyes as they put the pump in a bag of brown rice. ??? Whatever... 

I do the calculations, while my entire in-law family is now downstairs parenting my children, feeding them dinner and counting every carb. Thank God for them! 
I realize on my second trip downstairs,that I am still in my bathing suit. The back story is this : the entire week before, I was obsessed about how I would look in my bathing suit. I spray tanned, worked out, lost five pounds and slathered my chubby legs with an entire bottle of cellulite reducing lotion. All this so I wouldn't look like the jolly green giant in front of my size 0 sister in-laws. They are nice and would never care, but I did this so I wouldn't feel like the fattest one in the room.  As I bounded back upstairs, I realized I had  let it all hang out, for all to judge for the last couple of hours! It made me chuckle as I felt my thighs jiggle. What once seemed so important was put aside with a change in perspective. My thighs were the last thing on anybody's mind as Rocco's care took center stage. To be honest, it was a little freeing for the rest of the weekend. They had seen me at my worst in the first twenty minutes of our trip so nothing after that was "judge-worthy". It made me relax, let my guard down and really enjoy myself. 

Anyway, so now we have to give Rocco his shot for dinner. I take him upstairs away from everyone but he wants his friends (i.e. his brother Zeke and his cousin) to come and watch. He wanted to be brave in front of them. He is so cute. I listened to his request and I let them come up. Hey! It might just help. But as I start to give him his shot he turns, looks at it and panics. "I'm not ready" he whimpers. His whimpering breaks my heart because he takes all of this in stride everyday so I know whenever he does complain he is really scared. We wait for a couple of minutes and he says ok. But, as I give him his shot, the insulin starts to burn. He starts to cry and his shorts fall down. This inspires the two nervous onlookers to start giggling and makes Rocco cry even more! He is now yelling, "It burns! It burns!". I hold back tears as I grit my teeth and turn mama bear on the two onlookers (one of which is my other son).., I growl at them and tell them to "get out of here!". I felt terrible later but it just came out. A protective mother is nothing to mess with, I guess. Those poor little guys. 

We finish with the shot, the tears and retrieve the shorts. I hug Rocco and he says "Mom, why were those guys laughing at me?" I say,"sometime people laugh when they are nervous. Sometimes people laugh at odd times. It's just a reaction that sometimes happens ." To which he  replies, with a smirk "or was it because my pants fell down? I reply "Or because your pants fell down! " We both laugh and start to go downstairs. But before we leave the room, Michael grabs my hand and tells me to wait.  He takes the pump out of the stupid bag of brown rice and says "let's see if it worked".  Ok, McGyver. I say in my head. He carefully puts the pump back together and turns it on.  The Main Menu  screen pops up! 

What??? He says "Let's have it give some insulin and see if it does that too."  IT DID!! What?? Really? Yes! 

I kiss him. I kiss the pump and I kiss him again. Omg! Now all my tense energy starts to melt. We hooked Rocco back up and it worked the rest of the weekend! And still is! 

The next morning, the housekeeping department of the resort (apparently mail that is sent to the resort does not go to the main building, but rather to housekeeping!) called my  cell phone and left a message that they had received a very URGENT package addressed to our last name, but  since they couldn't find Rocco's name in the computer system they refused to accept delivery. So, she sent it back!!!  After a few choice words, from me  and my mother-in-law regarding this major flaw in their mail delivery system and her poor judgment,and after multiple calls to UPS, we tracked it down and had it re-delivered to the hotel. Phew! If it had been lost, we  would have been charged $3000 for the loaner pump. Omg... 

Finally, after a very tumultuous first five hours of our trip, I was able to relax and settle into a wonderful, well deserved and well appreciated vacation! 




"Mom, I feel low"

"Ok, honey, hang on. Michael, can you please go get his monitor?" Michael trots fifty feet up the hill to my in-laws house, while my sister-in-law and I talk about whatever we were talking about. Rocco continues to stand next to a pond trying to capture a frog in his net.

"Mom, I can't really focus right now"

My smart sister-in law has the where with all to say, "Well, let's get you away from the water then," She grabs him and pulls him up over a little fence that protects kids from the pond and leads him close to me. "Thanks", I say, as I hold her baby, my super cute newest nephew. Michael returns with the blood sugar monitor. Checks him. Beeeeeppp. The machine sounds a low sugar warning. Then Michael hollers"SHAR! He's at 23!!!"

At this point Michael grabs his hand and I cry "Carry him!" I hand the baby back to my sister-in-law and say to her, calmly, "Yeah, he’s conscious, but 23 is pretty much the lowest he’s ever been. His ideal number is 123" as I run behind Rocco and Michael to the house. I am not sure if I said this to her or to myself. Talking myself into grasping the severity of the situation as everything around becomes slow motion.

We give him grape juice, which is super-high in carbs. He asks for candy. My father-in-law gives him a piece of chocolate. He asks for a Healthy Choice fudgesicle and we give him one. Of course, his brother and his cousins are now all requesting fudgesicles.  Sure. I calmly sit next to Rocco touching his hair and looking him over. Oddly enough, I’m usually calm in a crisis. My usually swirly brain has an uncanny ability to focus into calm rational thoughts. These thoughts are then executed into even calmer directions. The time when I panic, is after. Way after.

We wait ten minutes as several of us sit with him and check him out. Then we check him again, and his blood sugar is now 44. Oh thank God, he's on his way back. He begs me for a hot dog, saying that he’s starving and can't wait until they are cooked on the grill. He wants to eat one immediately, frozen and starts to cry and yell at me, asking me why I am not getting up to get him one. Seeing him irrational and panicked starts to scare me. "Stay calm Shari. This will be over soon", I say in my head. We wait ten more minutes and his blood sugar is now 106. He is back. Now we have to stop with the sugary foods. When his blood sugar is rising this fast you have to be careful not to send him straight into the 300's or higher. We wait ten more minutes. He and I just sit together, not speaking, just sitting. The rest of the family mills around acting normal, but I can tell we are all somewhat freaked out. At one point I hear Zeke tell his four year old nephew, "He has diabetes and his blood sugar is 23."

The rest of the day he stays in the low 100’s. Thank God! I hold it all in until we get home and I finally close the door to their room after kissing them good night, I see Michael in the hallway and fall into his arms and start to sob. He is surprised by the tears but also understands. He says, "Shar, we are doing the best we can and sometimes there are going to be very scary lows. We just have to learn from them".

My reasonable head understands that this is just one blood sugar. But, my PollyAnna side just got slapped in the face with reality. 

The reason he got so low is sort of a long story but I will try to shorten it.

Rocco had spent the past week in 85-9degree heat at diabetes camp, eating a lot of high-fatprocessed food snacksI will write another post about camp soon. On top of that, the kids spent a lot of time in the lake or squirting each other with water guns, so they all took off their insulin pumps at these timesThe change in diet and activities can lead to high blood sugars. And with Rocco, they did. His blood sugars ran from 70 to 450 during the week. Many more 200’s and 300s than we like to see. So we had been giving him extra insulin to compensate for these highs. We had changed the infusion sets for his pump four times that week, concerned that blockages might be causing the highs. We just could never seem to get his blood sugar down and stable.

So, when he was 275 before we left for my in-laws and 369 halfway through the hour-long drive over, we decided to change his infusion set during the drive. By the time we stopped to do this, he was at 419. Ugh! We gave him a dose of insulin including a little extra. Just trying to get the level down, wishing for some readings in the 100’s. Be careful what you wish for.  We did get the level down all right, all the way to 23 a couple hours later!!

So flash forward to me sobbing into my husband's chest. Total panic had finally set in, with thoughts such as:

  • How can I trust what I know now, I was confident in caring for him, now how do I trust a gut that has betrayed me?
  • How could I have looked at my little man and NOT known he was in trouble?
  • With this failure, how can I trust everything I have taught myself about diabetes the past five years?
  • How can I let him out of my sight going forward?
  • How is he going to go to college on his own?
  • How can I ever let him go to bounce-house birthday party and just drop him off?
  • How am I going to accomplish the required vigilance over him without cheating his brother Zeke out of the attention he deserves?
  • How can I watch him catching frogs and not wonder, are you at 23 right now?
  • How will I ever forgive myself for getting him to a 23?
  • How will I ever forget the number 23?

I have said it before, I usually am pretty PollyAnna about things in my life. I usually live in the "That can't happen to us" zone. But, I have to tell you, this did it for me. This made my knees buckle. This has opened my eyes. This 23 blood sugar, so close to 0 blood sugar, or a coma, has shaken me to the core.

No more acting like our situation is normal. As normal as everyone around me wants it to be. People don't like women to be over dramatic. So I usually don't act that way. But, I don't really care about the people that judge me that way.

Also, if you want to judge me for getting my child to a 23, then you can come here tomorrow morning, wake him up, check his blood sugar and then live it for just one day.

If you don't judge me, thank you. But, no worries, because I judge myself. So you are off the hook. My child could have passed out into a coma today, maybe without coming out of it. My child that I tried so hard and so long to create could have been gone. By me. Not a car driving down the street. Not a head injury after a fall. But by me. His mother that would kill herself before letting anything bad happen to either one of her bear cubs. By me. What a terrible shitty disease. There I said it. I probably won't say it again, because it really does no good and I don't like Rocco or me to be victims. But, for once and for all, I will just say it!  I hate this stupid, shitty f*%ing disease! I hate this situation and I don’t think it should be allowed! I don't want to do this anymore. I can't do it anymore. No. I am done. He is done because I say so. Done.

I just want this to be over. I am tired. I am shaken. I am weary. I am done. I am exhausted. I can't imagine how he feels. My poor precious angel.

But, there's no way out...