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.

Well, it was just barely, but we've finally (and I mean finally) made it to the sevens. When the diabetes educator gave us the news, she didn't seem to mind the big 'ole bear hug I gave her. Though twirling her around by her ankles doing the "helicopter" and then making out with her against the aluminum window blinds may have crossed the line. I was just so happy.

It was a great visit. We saw a new doctor who was realistic in that we can't expect to be as effective as a fully functioning pancreas. Yet he gave us hope. He explained to us how continued glucose monitoring is the future and controlling Charlie's diabetes will be much easier down the road. He explained that if we wanted to go down the CGMS path, they would completely support us, adding that they do have some pioneering young patients wearing sensors now.

They were pleased with Charlie's numbers, his growth and his drawing on the back of a log sheet of a factory that made robot heads.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. We pulled over on the side of the road when Charlie's bladder was bursting and he relieved himself into a Styrofoam cup that I held nervously as it barely spilled over the rim.

"Oh yeah," he sighed while standing in the middle of the car and fillin' 'er up.

Later, 2-year-old Ben got into the refrigerator without anyone knowing and decided to throw half a dozen eggs throughout the house.

"Ew! Yucky eggy!" was all the future vandal would confess to during a heated interrogation.

"Bein's believin'?" What does that even mean? Pfft! Poets!