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Charlie begins first grade tomorrow. He will have two health aides. One in the morning and another in the afternoon. Neither aide has seen a pump and I'm pretty certain, they've never tested someone's blood sugar. So ...

Susanne will take the first shift, stalking with binoculars from an old, abandoned house across from the elementary school in army fatigues.

As for me, I'm going undercover - enrolling in Charlie's class as a transfer student from Ghana.

We do feel fortunate that the school has decided to provide health aides, but we just hope that they can slip somewhat into the background. We're also very much aware that this sort of special arrangement could be socially detrimental for Charlie if we were to continue beyond first grade.  For now, however, it gives us a little peace of mind and it buys us time for Charlie to learn how to test himself, and bolus himself, etc.

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Another question from a reader. Kat Diego asks: How was the switch to middle school? My daughter is very responsible and pretty much is in charge of her care while in school. But in midddle school, she won't have one teacher, she'll have 6 or 8. How'd your daughter deal with the transition? Do you have a 504 plan? Thanks for your help!

Olivia started middle school in the fifth grade and the kids were kept pretty segregated from one another at that age (which I loved). Fifth grade was fine for her, even with switching teachers. She was well looked after and I felt comfortable with her there.
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Olivia handed out her information sheet to her teachers yesterday.  I just typed up something short, informing them that she has diabetes and what to do if she's running high or low. I stressed that she can treat in class and that she only needs to go to the nurse if she's under 60. 

 

I also stressed that she needs to be accompanied to said nurse.  I found out at the end of the year last year that one of Olivia's teachers wouldn't let anyone go with her.  Fortunately, Olivia's never passed out from a low, but that's not a chance I want to take.  Olivia informed me of this towards the end of the year and I talked to the teacher and the nurse about it, but according to Olivia, it didn't do any good.  

 

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I took Olivia school shopping tonight, to stock up on pens and paper and all the things (tissues? When did schools stop supplying tissues?) that she needs to start school on Thursday.

 

As we were walking thru the aisles of Target, she started talking about how last year, some of her teachers hassled her about time she missed for trips to the nurse or her quarterly doctor appointments. I knew it happened and handled it last year, although it didn't stop some of the teachers from giving her a hard time.

 

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Oh, hi.  It's been a while, hasn't it?  Yeah.  Slacker central over here.  I read and I think about things to write but the motivation just disappeared last month (and the month before that, if I'm being honest).  I'm hoping the new year will kick my butt into action a little bit and have me posting here more often.

 

On to the latest: 

 

Olivia has been going to the nurse too frequently to treat low blood sugars.  She usually has stuff in her bag to treat, but the nurse has been insisting that Olivia go down there for every low.  In O's IEP it states that she can treat in class and there's a doctor's note in place, so I don't quite get what the deal is with the nurse.

 

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To say we hit it out of the park with Charlie's new health aide would be an understatement. I was totally wrong. She does have experience testing blood sugar and she has seen a pump. Turns out she has type 2 diabetes!  Go diabetes!

We hit a hole in one. We knocked the cover off the ball. We laid down a full house. Scored a touchdown. Sorry. Been watching too much coverage of the National Conventions. I can't stop with the sports analogies. But seriously, folks, we really slogged a dibbly dobbly (a little somethin' for the cricket lovers).

What perfect timing. The aide is calling us as I sit here writing this. Let's listen in ...

(hushed chanting while Susanne talks to the aide) "We're number 1! We're number 1! We're numb ..."

Wait what? Can we rewind that?

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What the hell just happened?

 

Remember me blabbing away about being so fortunate and grateful to the school for providing classroom aides for Charlie? Aides, who would blend into the background and seamlessly check Charlie's blood sugar, count out carbs and give him insulin? Remember how Susanne spent the first day of school training the aides in how to use the pump? Remember how we met with the school officials and how they all signed off on the 504 plan? Remember how it was the school's idea in the first place to hire these aides for the very purpose of testing blood sugar and administrating insulin?

Well, forget all that.

Oh, and remember the morning aide who has type 2 diabetes? She has really been working out great.

She's leaving. Found another job apparently. Leaving the glamorous life of pricking fingers and counting crackers.

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I had a very curious and unexpected conversation at work recently. An amusing person that I work with, who I'll refer to as "The Random Talker", will pour out mouthfuls of directionless information at the drop of a hat. I'm talking about a totally un-sequestered menagerie of anomalous comments. This time, however, something struck home with me and we had a more meaningful, if not still awkward conversation.
Random: "Sometimes I get really angry and confused when I don't eat enough"
Me: "Oh really, I know the feeling,"
Random: "I become hypoglycemic, but I bet you don't know what that is, do you?"
Me- (Sounding like a know it all): "Ya, your blood sugar drops, and you can get sweaty, hungry, nervous, jittery, not a good feeling" (READ MORE)

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It's always interesting to meet fellow diabetics in person. It doesn't happen all that often to me, but occasionally I will bump into someone and find out they are diabetic too. Being a pumper has definitely changed that awareness (because you know all diabetics can spot a fellow pumper from miles away!).

 

Over the summer, I went in to have a microdermabrasion procedure (trying to get rid of the post-acne marks from the PCOS) at a local doctor's office. My new patient forms asked the usual questions: pre-existing conditions, prescriptions, etc. So I marked the normal things: diabetic, PCOS, on humalog, etc. and moved on.

 

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There was fog when I walked from the parking lot to my office. I thought it was the bright sunshine. Or the warmer temperatures. Or the jacket I was wearing that was making me feel so warm.
I was disconnected, but thought it was from the conversation I had just had with The Mr.
I wanted junk food. Something smooth like chocolate, but not crunchy like cookies. I walked to the vending machine and gently fed it money until it dropped a Milky Way.
Walking up the stairs there was more fog. I thought I was tired, overwhelmed with life issues. I briefly sat at my desk, logged in to my email account. Symlin rushed me to the bathroom, where I lingered longer than usual. Fog.
Washing my hands, I looked in the mirror and it was almost as if I were watching myself on TV. Like I wasn't really there. There was a narrowness to my vision. (READ MORE)

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