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We found 10 result(s) that match your search "ice hockey with diabetes":

The nurse slapped the small piece of paper down on the table.

 

I glanced at the 8.2 and then looked away, disinterested. I figured as much. Like I said, it’s been a high summer.

 

I spoke to the nutritionist first, then the CDE and then the doctor.

 

Charlie’s height is trending fine, but his weight had dipped in the last three to six months. Despite the A1c of 8.2, Charlie couldn’t have heard better news from the dietician.

 

"Let’s up his food. Make it more like 185 to 200 carbs per day."

 

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Sounds like a bad sitcom destined for cancellation, but seriously … what is up with Charlie?

 

He has had chronic stomach pains for weeks and we don't know what's causing it. We thought maybe he had a bug after he woke us up at 5 am last Saturday to tell us that he was about to vomit. Which he did. Once.

 

If it is a virus, it's the longest one ever. His blood work came back negative for Celiac disease, but Susanne's gluten-free gut tells her otherwise. The peds want to take him off dairy for a week or two to see if the issue lies there.

 

He has just been very un-Charlie like and I'm getting concerned. Where is the Charlie that harasses us until submission? That begs us to stay up late and devours everything on his plate? He's not eating because he feels sick when he does.

 

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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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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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* This just in from the Potash Research Facility. In a five-day study involving the consumption of Frosted Mini-Wheats cereal for breakfast, one patient (Charlie) demonstrated postprandial blood glucose levels that - in scientific terms - didn't suck. Glucose levels peaked at about 200 mg/dl, a marked reduction from the postprandial effect of blueberry waffles. Chief Scientist Susanne Potash observed positive results in four out of five days. The patient's reaction, however, after being told that he'd be having more Mini-Wheats and less blueberry waffles for breakfast, did suck.

 

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The new year is off to an auspicious start. Despite being hampered by pink eye and a very nasty cold, I've already accomplished my first resolution – grow a manageable light winter beard as a distraction to increasingly thinning hair. Done!

 

Christmas was nice. Santa rocked it. Although …

 

I hate to be nitpicky, but there was one Christmas present under the tree that we just had to throw out due to the odor. Remind me next year to specify in my letter to Santa that "working pancreas for Charlie" should be kept on ice.

 

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It wasn't too long ago that Charlie was a picky eater. Even if we offered him run-of-the-mill kid food like peanut butter or hamburgers, he would cover his mouth with his hands and make a face as if we were asking him to try pig intestines.

 

For months and months, we begged him to try new foods. And for months and months, he wouldn't budge. That is, until now. It's as if a switch turned on and he's suddenly a food connoisseur. That is why last night was absolute hell.

 

We did Chinese take-out. My big mouth had to go and ask him if he wanted to share sweet and sour chicken with his sister.

 

"It's like chicken fingers, only better," I said.

 

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From the top of a hill overlooking a baseball diamond ,
"I think I'm low."
While playing roller hockey like a Transformer with 15 pounds of equipment ,
"I think I'm low."
While blowing bubbles on the deck ,
"I think I'm low."
From the top of the stairs ,
"I think I'm low."
In the wee hours of the morning while the whole house sleeps ,
"Mom, dad, I think I'm low."
"I think I'm low." "I think I'm low." "I think I'm low." (READ MORE)

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