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As parents of children with diabetes, we are constantly being challenged with difficult decisions to make.

 

Charlie has wanted to play ice hockey for over a year now. He lives for hockey. He mimics the moves he sees on television from professional hockey players, pretending to stop on a dime and spray ice on the hard-wood floors. He sets up little hockey figurine players and simulates game situations. When he's not doing that, he plays hockey on his Playstation. And when he's not doing that, he and I play indoor knee hockey in his bedroom where he repeatedly takes ferocious slap shots into my groin. It's great fun. The kid loves hockey, is what I'm tryin' to say.

 

The waiting was finally over. I knew how excited he was for this moment, so I didn't want to screw it up on my end. I came with a simple plan:

 

1. Feed him lunch before he plays

2. Disconnect pump

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I disconnected my pump like normal for my nightly shower. I set it on the counter on top of some towels so the vibration wouldn't bother me. Usually this is a safe place for my pump, away from the direct steam of the shower and any immediate water sources.

 

My cat thought this was an ideal place to have a hockey game. I was halfway through my shower and suddenly I heard the pump slide into the sink. My cat made it his very own hockey puck! Visions of a cracked screen or a completely broken pump flashed through my mind as I screamed at the cat.

 

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I took Charlie to his first NHL hockey game.
I took him straight into the lion's den - the house of the enemy - the Philadelphia Flyers. We weren't exactly feeling the "brotherly love" as we came to support the opposing team - the New Jersey Devils.
I had prepped Charlie in the car ride over.
"You know how you say Boo, Flyers! when we're at home and you see them on TV?"
"Uh huh."
"Well you can't do that when we get there. They. Will. Murder. Us."
It didn't take long for Charlie to realize that we were in the vast minority as we parked the car and stepped out into a sea of orange and black.
"Let's not bring this," Charlie said quietly, neatly folding and handing me the picture he drew that said "LET'S GO DEVILS."
Kudos to the security guard who stopped us as we entered the arena to check if I had any plastic containers in my small cooler.
"Yeah, I do, but my son's a diabetic and I ," (READ MORE)

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I was stuffing Charlie’s smelly hockey equipment into his big hockey bag when I heard Susanne from the other room.

 

"So you’re gonna tell the coach about Charlie’s … and she paused.

 

"Bad gas? Yeah, I’ll let him know," I said.

 

"Diabetes," Charlie mumbled while picking up a 2-7 spare in Wii Bowling.

 

"Oh, right, diabetes."

 

Ice hockey season started on Sunday. How nice it would be to just throw him on the ice and say, "have fun" like all the other kids’ parents do - the biggest worry being a potential blister. For us, there’s just so much to think about. So much "strategery," as Will Ferrell would say in impersonating George W. Bush on Saturday Night Live.

 

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Charlie sat on the bench in a somewhat meditative state. Even the blank expression on his face seemed by design to be a strategy in which to conserve energy. If he blinked his eyes less frequently and stayed perfectly still, perhaps his blood sugar would remain above 100.

 

"Charlie, you can skate a little bit before hockey starts," I said. "You’ve got about 10 minutes."

 

"Neh," Charlie said calmly and without emotion. "I really don’t want to go low this time."

 

Who can blame him after last week’s debacle.

 

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I’m the assistant coach for Charlie’s street hockey team. The "blue team." For the first few weeks of the season, we looked like the Bad News Bears. We were scoring in our own goal, holding hockey sticks the wrong way and one kid may have yelled "touchdown!" when we scored our first goal. We were losing games by large margins and watching our opponents celebrate often.

 

Winning is nice of course but it is so much sweeter after you’ve tasted a fair share of defeat. Maybe the same can be said for managing diabetes. We measure our success by how far we’ve come.

 

On this day, the blue team had enough of losing. They played with a ton of heart, ending their losing streak with a giant 7-2 victory.

 

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Charlie's ice hockey session ended yesterday. After a rocky start – which I wrote about recently – I must say; blood sugars have worked out beautifully.

 

Without too much trial and error, we found a routine that worked and stuck with it for the remaining four weeks of the hockey program.

 

I tested him just before he took the ice, unplugged him and gave him a 20-carb banana (with no bolus) to cover the intense workout. Unsure how it would work out in the beginning, careful disconnection of his pump felt like an attempt to dismantle a bomb. "Work damn you! Work!"

 

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I've joked about adjusting Charlie's happiness levels due to the effect it has on his blood sugar. I'm finding now it's not so funny. The adrenalin that comes from excitement shoots Charlie's blood sugar up like a bottle rocket.

The latest culprit: summer street hockey.

Everything was fine on game day. We were at the pool having fun. Charlie clocked in at a lovely 132 just before I made the mistake of saying, "OK, let's go Charlie. We have to go home and get ready for hockey."

What a horrible dad I am to say such harmful words. In retrospect maybe I should have spoken with the enthusiasm of a corpse …

"You have that thing, Charlie. It's really nothing though."

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