When Mom Leaves Town

In the crazy world of diabetes, things can get a little complicated when Mom goes to leave town.  Everyone in the house gets nervous as to just WHO gets to play nurse while I'm away.  It's almost like a game of Hot Potato.  They all tip-toe around hoping they won't be the one to get picked for the job, and if I do, then they're quick to pass the responsibility on by suggesting someone else!

Mark and I are leaving next week, so it's about time to start prepping everyone.  With both parents gone, the natural choice is to get Mitchell geared up to help change Chloe's pump site.  Then he can be confident enough to help Grandma when she's here.  He's the obvious choice since Mitch has been changing his own pump sites for years now.  The big issue is that Mitchell uses one kind of injector and Chloe uses another.  And the only thing they both agree on is their firm disagreement on whose injector is better!

So Yesterday when it was time to Change Chloe's site I called a very reluctant Mitchell over.  I don't think he really minded the idea of changing someone elses site as much as he minded changing CHLOE'S.  She might be a little tiny thing, but what she lacks in size she can certainly make up for with attitude!!  And poor Mitchell did not want to find himself on the wrong end of that!

Chloe was not very happy about the whole idea either.  I insisted that it would be good for her brother to know how her injector worked and that it would enable him to help Grandma during the week we're gone.  Tears began to flow but she decided this plan would be best after confessing that she's heard rumors that grandparents eye-sights are notoriously bad and that they all had "shaky hands"!  I bit down on my lip to stifle a giggle and quickly reassured her, then followed it all up with a brief lesson on the hazards of stereotyping people.  

I begin to show Mitchell how Chloe's kind of injector worked while he made comments about its inferiority to his.  I would show him something and he would point out something ridiculous about it.  I would show him something else and he'd furrow his brow. 

Finally...it was loaded, cocked, instructions were given, and now it was time to pull the trigger.  Chloe scrunched her face, Mitchell pressed the "rocket launcher" against her belly, aimed, then hesitated.  He just couldn't do it.  So I suggest that I'll count out loud to three so he'll work up the nerve to push the magic button.

"One...Two...Three!"

Nothing.  He just shakes his head.

"Come on," I say.  "You can do this, you do it all the time."  I coaxed.

Mitchell gives off a nervous whisper and says  "Yeah on myself!"

So I suggest I count again.  Chloe squinches up her face once more and I begin, "One...Two...Three!"

Nothing.  Again.

I let off a heavy sigh.  "One...Two...Three!!!"

Nothing.

"Just Shoot her!"  I urge.  "Pull the trigger."

At last he closes his eyes and gingerly presses the button.  Chloe stops squishing up her face, she looks relieved, then Mitchell looks relieved, and says, "Wow, that wasn't so bad."

And suddenly I realize I'm probably one of only a handful of parents in the world whose ever encouraged- even begged- one of her children to shoot their sibling!  Oh the crazy world of diabetes.