It's 8:30 p.m. Sunday, Mother's Day, and I have yet to check my sugar today.

It started this morning when No. 1, who is 8, ordered me to stay in bed. I knew what was coming, and even though I suspected a not-so-yummy breakfast in bed, I obliged. To his credit, I got oatmeal, which is my staple breakfast. But, I didn't get a fasting sugar. Heck, I didn't even brush my teeth first. I just did what I was told. I knew it would be the only time today that anyone pampered me.

You see, we're preparing our house to put on the market. Yes, we're definitely missing a few screws to try to sell in this market, but with a new job in a new city, we kind of have to.

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Imagine it's the end of the world.

There's a flu pandemic. Or The Plague. Or the sun is burning a hole in the atmosphere and we all have to be herded into caves. There's mass panic and people need medical treatment.

Imagine having to decide who is worth saving and who isn't. That was the task of an "influential group of physicians" who drew up a "grim" list of patients who simply wouldn't be treated, according to this story.

The idea is to try to make sure that scarce resources--including ventilators, medicine and doctors and nurses--are used in a uniform, objective way, task force members said.

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I think Mousie nailed it in her comment from my last post. The age of 6 really is shaping up to be a time of new understanding. And yes, Charlie is clearly dealing with diabetes on a new level.

These days he's showing signs of wanting more control. He now loads the test strip into the meter, though he's not ready to test himself yet. He's also started reading labels for total carbs. A tug of war over a bag of crackers usually ensues when I try to make sure he's right about the carbs before I enter it into the pump. He's getting frustrated.

Charlie: Can I eat now?

Me: (pulling) I just want to check the carbs!

Charlie: (pulling) I told you! 16 carbs!

Me: (pulling) I. Just. Want. To. See. The.

Me: Shit!

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mmmfruit

One of the things I hate most about diabetes is that I never get a day off. I always have blood sugars to check. I have to count every carb accurately. Or I have to face the consequences. Which is exactly what I did today.

After finishing my last final exam for the semester at 8:30am, I decided to celebrate. I bought donuts and kolaches for a little celebration breakfast with a friend. I hadn’t eaten donuts since before starting on the pump (they aren’t something I indulge in all that often), so I wasn’t sure how the day was going to turn out.

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When to tell?

I have accepted a new job. It's in a new city (half way across the country!!). It's with new people. New people who don't know that I have diabetes.

It was during my four-year tenure at my current job that I was diagnosed. I had no problem telling just about everyone in my very small office about diabetes. I already knew them and their personalities.

It's different now. I have a problem with going in to the boss on my first day and saying, "Hey, guess what..." I also have a problem with waiting three months until my benefits kick in, or even longer when someone sees me checking my sugar (or doesn't know what to do if I pass out) to say, "Oh, yeah, maybe I should have told you sooner."

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agent-rebate.com

On rare occasions, diabetes fades into the background like the hum of a distant freight train or barely audible elevator music. If I have nothing to write, that's likely a good thing. Last weekend was not one of those times.

On Friday night, Charlie muttered "damn, diabetes!" angrily after I put the kibosh on the candy push-pops being handed out at the baseball field.

On Saturday, in the shower, Charlie asked what all the little marks on his fingers were. He asked if the marks would go away. I weakly said "I think so."

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