"Who likes pizza???"
The exuberant 20-something with red wristbands and blotchy red cheeks ignited the group of 2nd-graders into a frenzy.
The arms went up like missiles.
Well, almost all of the arms.
Charlie’s arm soared straight up and then began to dip half-way before crashing back down to his side as the realization set in that he wasn’t having any.
The father of the birthday girl, standing next to me, saw this too. We had just talked about how pizza wreaks havoc on Charlie’s blood sugar.
"Poor Charlie," he said compassionately.
When he was younger, we would just deal with it the best we could, not wanting him to feel left out. We’d give him the pizza. At the time, it seemed that not giving him the pizza was more damaging emotionally than the physical effect of high blood sugar. A very difficult call either way. Things are different now. He’s mature enough to know that certain foods kick his ass and he doesn’t like the way it feels no matter how many kids around him are munching on it. We compromise. For this party, he would eat dinner at home rather than having pizza at the party, with the mutual understanding that he could go to town on the birthday cake or cupcakes.
We’ve never been able to get a handle on pizza. It might be different if birthday parties were few and far between, but they’re not. It seems like there's another party every weekend and it’s always "pizza and cake." At Charlie’s laser tag party, I tried to change the "pizza and cake" culture, but it doesn’t look like it stuck.
What: Charlie’s 8th Birthday Party
Where: Laser Zone
Food: All you can eat turnips and make your own tofu sundaes
A slice of pizza was placed in front of Charlie before I could tell the person not to.
"Smells really good," he said, smiling at me.
"I know."
I took it away and poured him some lemonade as a distraction, buying time until the cupcakes were handed out.
The father of the birthday girl offered me some pizza, but I couldn’t. Not if Charlie wasn’t having any.
"What if I just had a tiny piece?" Charlie inquired.
Hmm.
A tiny piece.
A piece that is tiny.
It was brilliant!
"Sure, Charlie. Let’s split one."
I cut the piece horizontally, giving Charlie the triangular end.
Looking at it on the plate, the pathetic little piece I gave him was no bigger than an oversized Dorito, yet Charlie was so incredibly appreciative. "Thank you," he said sweetly, savoring the tiny triangle.
A delicious cupcake with strawberry frosting and he was on top of the world and doing the robot with his best friend to MC Hammer’s "U Can’t Touch This."
He had a blast at this party. It was at one of those Bounce-U places. He was bouncing and sliding and running through obstacle courses like a wild man. For me, though, the best moment came in just a brief exchange between Charlie and a classmate.
Lining up and going from one room to another, a cute little girl tapped Charlie's shoulder and said, "Charlie! Don't forget your bag!"
"Oh right!" Charlie said, running to get his diabetes bag and then getting back in line and thanking the girl.
How cool is that! She's my hero.
Someone get that girl a double-helping of turnips!
After 2 years on the pump, I think I've finally mastered pizza. My standard insulin:pizza slice is 2.0:1 slice of pizza. I usually have about 3 pieces depending upon how thick they are. Then, I do a dual bolus of 40% normal and 60% square with the square lingering for 1.5 hours. This has taken a lot of tweaking and testing, but it seems to work pretty well. Good luck!
I'll take two tofu sundaes!
This post made me smile, as yours so often do. Thanks for always bringing the humor along with the reality.
Growing up I never realized the havoc pizza had on my glucose reading. In the last 2 years I got some help reading Diabetes Forecast: the fats in pizza carry the carbs up to 8 hours. They suggested about 30 g. carb per slice and then doing 1/3 immediate bolus with the rest covering a 4 hour period. This has worked pretty well for me. I try to eat pizza at lunchtime rather than dinner because I have had a few very bad (low) nights after eating pizza. If at lunch, it will pretty well be thru my system by bedtime. I was 4 when diagnosed and I still can't imagine a kid (then teen) not eating pizza. You really need to try to figure something out. Tonight I'm having a men's Bible group over and, of course, they decided to bring pizza!!! Not sure what I will do, but I'll probable indulge. All my best to Charlie.
You took care of little Charlie so well as always, Carey. Kudos to you. You seem nto be able to kep your child both healthy a nd happy.
I am a Type one diabegic who absolutely hates pizza and the taste of most tomato based italian foods.. I cannot stand oregano, it's flavor is foul to me...I was brought up in a teeny southern town in the 1960's and 70's. We had no italian families nor pizzerias, and just got a Pizza Hut in the late 90's . So I wasn't orought up on Pizza, had never really tasted it until I went to college in Atlanta in the early 70's . I tried it and did not like it. If I never eat it again, That would be cool. I do consider myself very fortunate not to crave it or even desire it....
God Bless,
Brunetta
Thank you weathergurl and dadkern. I'm not ready to give up on pizza just yet. Thanks for sharing your tips.
Shannon - two tofus sundaes, comin' up!
Brunetta - Thank you. It's not often I would ever say this, but you're very lucky you don't like pizza.
This brought tears to my eyes. Just a few days ago there was a spring festival at Riley's school. They sold Sno-cones. He hung around with a group of boys in his class. At one point he ran up to me begging for a Sno-cone. But, being that it's nothing but pure sugar and would just cause terrible havoc on his blood sugars I said no. Riley was so upset and it really pissed me off. We compromised and he got a little sucker instead. While that is still pure sugar it's only a few carbs rather than the bazillion that was in the sno-cone. I sat and watched while all the other kids ate sno-cones while Riley happily had his sucker. He was appreciative just to get that.
Then, a few minutes later, I heard a little girl at the next table crying, "I wanted a blue one Daddy, not an orange one!! Go get me ablue one! I'm not eating an orange one!" It took all my strength not to march over there and tell her she was lucky to get one and all. I didn't go over and say anything because I knew she was just being a regular kid. I guess what really pissed me off is that Riley doesn't know what that feels like.