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With all the Hannah Montana and Halloween hullabaloo, I forgot to mention Charlie's last endo appointment. I actually like these appointments. It's a day off from work and a rare opportunity for Susanne and I to spend time with just Charlie. And there's always a hopeful thought that this time we'll get good A1c news.

Heading into Philadelphia on Route 95 we pass a factory on our left before the skyline comes into view with the sun reflecting brightly off of the Comcast Center building. I ask Charlie what he thinks the factory is making.

"I think it's a factory that makes other factories," he says.

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Our view of the endocrinologist and the diabetes educator’s role has gone through many peaks and valleys in the last five years. Like the various stages of grief, our emotions have fluctuated.

First came a frightened vulnerability.

"Oh my God! I can't believe this is happening. What do we do? Help us."

Then there was anger.

"We've done everything you said to do. It's not getting any better."

Then depression.

"This absolutely sucks."

Then skepticism.

"We're wasting our time. What can the doctors possibly tell us that we don't already know? We know our son more than they do."

Then acceptance.

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I've got that nervy, kinda sick feeling.  A type of cold feet, but all in my mind.  Maybe it's butterflies I feel, but it's not really in my tummy.  I'm dreading the stop on the scale on the way back to the tiny little interview (maybe I should call it interrogation, that seems more accurate) room.

It's Endo-Nerves.  Tomorrow is my endocrinologist visit.  It's only been a couple months, but with my impending insurance (maybe I should call it un-surance) upheaval, I'm going in a few weeks early.  

This may be the last time I go to this particular doctor (maybe I should call her Physcian's Assistant, that seems much more accurate).  Since I won't be commuting up to work following my lay-off, it's really silly to consider driving over an hour each way to see this highly rated and very popular specialist (and his minions, AKA PAs).  

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k. james

The waiting room in endocrinology was like an assembly line of children with diabetes. Each time one child went in, another appeared. Then another and another and another. Very sad.

I zoomed in on a cute little girl with shoulder-length hair and a top with purple and red hearts as she buried her face into her father's shirt as he talked to the receptionist. Maybe just diagnosed? Don't know for sure. She had a sort of worry that should never be on a child's face.

I leaned over to Susanne to point out the girl, but she said "I know." 

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To sum up Charlie's recent doctor's visit in which we greatly anticipated an improved A1c result, the words of two great American female poets come to mind.

"First, when there's nothing but a slow glowing dream
That your fear seems to hide deep inside your mind
All alone I have cried silent tears full of pride
In a world made of steel, made of stone

What a feeling, bein's believin'
I can't have it all, now I'm dancin' for my life
Take your passion, and make it happen
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life" - Irene Cara

And of course ,.

"Whoa, maybe he's no romeo
But he's my lovin one-man show
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa
Let's hear it for the boy" - Deniece Williams

Incidentally, I honestly always thought the Irene Cara lyric was "take your pants off and make it happen" rather than "take your passion and make it happen." Very risqué and quite unlikely even for the mid-80s, but that's just how I heard it. (READ MORE)

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So tomorrow we bring Charlie into the shop for his quarterly visit and let them take a look under the hood. Hopefully they'll hear that strange noise he's been making and figure out why he's been leaking so much and more importantly, why he never seems to run out of gas.

In preparation for our meeting, I've been jotting down some questions for Charlie's doctor that I will forget to bring with me and completely forget to ask. I'll remember that I forgot to ask the questions as I'm on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, driving home after the appointment. Because that's what I do. (READ MORE)