The other day I was at the playground with the two toddlers. One of the other mothers was asking me how Olivia was doing and asked about her diabetes.

"She's going to outgrow it, right?"

Me: (silence) Blink. Blink.

Me: Um, no. Her pancreas doesn't work. It doesn't make insulin. It's not going to start making it once she's an adult."

I was trying not to rip my hair out of my head, but inside I was thinking "Good grief, do people still actually think you can outgrow diabetes??! Still?? In this day and age?" The answer is, apparently, yes.

So I did my quick, 30-second spiel on type 1 diabetes, but started getting the glazed-eye look pretty quickly. Then she proceeded to tell me that she knew all about diabetes because everyone in her family has type 2. Ugh.
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The phone rang yesterday morning and I shook The Mr. almost violently to make him wake up and answer so the rings wouldn't wake the kids. It was 6:30 a.m. Something must be wrong, I was thinking, for us to get a call this early.

The Mr. answered as if he hadn't just been sucking the roof tiles off. The conversation was odd and Detective Kowalski couldn't figure out who was on the phone.

Then I started hearing familiar instructions -- put the strip in the machine first... you have to wait until it's done with the numbers then you can let it suck the blood up... no, prick your finger first.

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