"I don't put the pillow over my head because it's so loud," my daughter Maeve clarifies.
"It's because I get so scared for Charlie and I feel so bad for him."
That's Maeve talking about site changes.
Watching your sibling experience that type on anguish every few days can't be easy. For almost every child out there with diabetes, there's a little brother or a big sister (or vice versa) witnessing some pretty horrendous stuff. Sure, repetition dilutes the ugliness and my non-diabetic kids have certainly been desensitized. For example, they'll often continue watching television – getting up only to increase the volume - while in the background their brother is begging and screaming for mercy. It's a bit surreal when you step back and think about it.
Maeve is a sweet girl. She's also very sensitive. It's also becoming increasingly clear that she's growing tired of Charlie's monopolization of our attention.
At the start of baseball/softball season, Maeve and Charlie walked in an opening day parade with their teams through a neighborhood near the ballpark. It was just me and the two of them. Charlie's team was way in front and Maeve's was way in the back. There were about 500 kids, so the distance between Maeve and Charlie was sort of large.
I explained to Maeve that I'd be with Charlie and told her to stick with her team. I told her I'd try to run back and forth between her and Charlie along the parade route (which, by the way, was exhausting).
"Why do you always have to stay with Charlie and you never stay with me?" she asked, dismally.
She knew why.
"You know why, Maeve. You know I need to be near him."
She pouted further and nodded her head.
Through the years, Charlie's low blood sugars have had an uncanny knack for occurring precisely at the time Maeve was about to swing a bat, nail a figure skating move, kick the soccer ball, you name it. So many times Maeve would look over to see if I saw her only to see me staring down at Charlie's bloody finger and the meter.
Last week I took Maeve to her softball game – alone. Charlie stayed home, nursing a stomach ache.
No diabetes bag in hand. No wondering about Charlie's blood sugar. No piercing straws through juice boxes. No thinking about carbohydrates. A diabetes getaway.
Just me watching the girl.
Maeve ran over to me, her oversized red batter's helmet shifting askew on her head.
"Dad, I'm up next!"
I had positioned myself directly behind the backstop without any obstacles in my way.
"OK."
She shuffled through the dugout, gracefully maneuvering around a mud puddle and took three practice strokes before turning once more to make sure I was watching.
"I see you, Maeve."
