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I’ve really been beating myself up the last couple months about my blood sugar and the amount of insulin I’m taking. I keep seeing both creep up and keep thinking that I’m just not doing enough or being aggressive enough to manage my blood sugar.
 

Yes, I don’t have the healthiest of diets, but I really thought that with more aggressive bolusing and more testing that I should have been seeing better numbers. But I wasn’t. And I kept feeling worse and worse about what was going on with me.
 

I had an endo appointment earlier this week where K (the physician assistant who I’ve connected with much better than Dr. R) kept saying that overall my numbers are just too high. Well, duh, I kept thinking. And continued to blame myself.
 

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It has been increasingly difficult to get out of bed lately for my morning walk. And even though I feel fabulous after a walk and I know ahead of time how good a walk makes me feel, it’s still been easier to continue to hit snooze or to get back in bed or to blame my sugar level. And I feel guilty for a host of reasons.
 

I haven’t heard from my Drill Sergeant much lately. I haven’t heard that nagging voice screaming at me to get my butt out of bed already. And even on the days when I do walk I haven’t heard the don’t-give-up-now-you’re-almost-there speech. Not even a wimper. I think the Drill Sergeant likes staying in bed, too.

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"This is the most sick I’ve ever felt," Charlie said last night, hugging the "puke bucket" so tightly you would have thought it was keeping him afloat.

He looked miserable, wanting so badly to just throw up and get the awful feeling out of his stomach. Get it over with. These are some of the most difficult times of being a parent of a child with diabetes.

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