The "Mashed Potato Phenomenon"

If you've got a diabetic around then you've most likely heard of the  
"Pizza Phenomenon".  That unexplainable blood sugar rise that happens after carefully counting every single ingredient in a slice of pizza and correctly bolus-ing for it...only to find that a half hour after eating the pizza, your blood sugar is high despite double and triple checking your math.  Yes, that my friends is why Pizza earned the word "Phenomenon" to be it's dreaded companion like a hiss and a byword.

Around our house there's a few more things that have earned the prestigious "P" after its name as well.  An unfortunately they are favorites for both Mitchell and Chloe-though, to their dismay, I serve them very rarely.

First is the "Spaghetti Phenomenon", a serious blood sugar spiker there.  Mitchell in particular, loves spaghetti and will eat two monstrous plates full along with an unauthorized helping-or should I say heaping-of garlic bread (did I mention there's a "Garlic Bread Phenomenon" too?).  Spaghetti night doesn't happen too often around here just for that reason.

It then goes without explanation that we also have a "Lasagna Phenomenon" around here too.

Then there's the "Pancake and Waffle Phenomenon" which happens despite using the sugar-free syrup, a  "Corn-on-the-Cob Phenomenon", and a "Muffin Phenomenon" as well.


But the worst of them all is the evil and highly dreaded "Mashed Potato Phenomenon", which takes two full days of blood sugar checks to recover from. 

This is why, at our house, you will seldom see these things on the menu.  I avoid them like the plague because I am convinced it takes longer to get these foods out of their system than it would an actual plague.  I have lovingly termed the whole lot of these foods "White Death" since most of them come in the color WHITE and give me nothing but grief and ketoacidosis.

And now, for the bonus round...
Can you guess what was recently on Chloe's birthday dinner menu??

Spaghetti, Mashed Potatoes, and Corn!

I'm calling that, "The Birthday Phenomenon"!

Good Advise, Bad Information

Did you know, 

that according to the American Diabetes Association,  

Type 1 Diabetes only accounts for 5-10% of all diabetics?

 * * *

This means I've run into an awful lot of confusion...

Which, unfortunately means I can't tell you how often well intended people give me advice that makes me want to gouge their eyes out.  Yes it sounds a little drastic I know,  but it continues to be the one thing that makes me see red INSTANTLY.

Here's how the conversation usually goes...

Casual Acquaintance:  "Hey I was reading the other day about diabetes and did you know that you can totally reverse diabetes with exercise and diet?"

Me:   about to say something back but can't get a word in... 

Casual Acquaintance:  "Have you ever thought about changing your diet?"

Me:  "Well, that's interesting.  You must be talking about type 2 diabetes which is a different thing completely."

Casual Acquaintance: "Oh no, you should really try it.  Your kids wouldn't have to take insulin anymore and they would feel so much better."

Me:    Speechless. Trying not to let my blood pressure go through the roof.

Casual Acquaintance:  "I can let you borrow some cookbooks if you'd like."

Me:  Completely frazzled.  "No thanks, I'd rather eat crap and let my kids suffer.  But I appreciate your advise.  Really I'm just too lazy to try anything like that."

Casual Acquaintance:  Speechless. Watching me walk away.

In this conversation you can also substitute feeding them better food with taking some herb I've never heard of or a variety of other fantastical ideas.

I swear this sort of well intended conversation would happen on a weekly basis when most of my kids were in grade school.  At first it would leave me in tears.  The advise giver was so sure I knew absolutely nothing about my child's perilous condition and insisted I just needed to be given better information.  I could understand their mistake had any of my kids been overweight but they were all really skinny.  Never did I encounter a person who listened long enough to realize there really were two very different types of diabetes out there.

My first plan of attack was to educate people in a kind way that they were mistaken.  But when well meaning folks wouldn't listen I would end up in tears.  Did they really think I was doing this to my kids on purpose?  Then when I realized no one wanted to hear that my kids actually had an incurable disease,  I soon resigned myself to quickly end the conversation before it got anywhere.  Years later I just decided to frustrate them back by acting as if I didn't care if things could be changed.  Silly I know.  But after 15 years you get worn down and stop playing nice.

But, I've got to change my ways.

My solution is to force the disease namers to change the official name of Type 2 Diabetes to something completely different.  This would avoid the nasty mix-up that used to get me so riled up.  So I've thought of a few possible names:

• PDD- Pancreas Deficit Disorder
• Hypo-Pancreatic-Something-er-other

But my favorite one is...

• Pa-Cranky- that's for a cranky pancreas that isn't up to speed.

That should help right?  Different name means different disease, and that means different cures right?  Which should mean people will stop telling me to feed my kids better or to try some bizarre herbal concoction, right?

Then again, who's really gonna let me change the name? 

Then I realize the poor folks dealing with Type 2 have their challenges as well.  So that leaves me with about the only thing I CAN change:  my attitude.  And any advise on that, well, I'd certainly listen to.

A1c It's Just Not for Me

It's A1c time again.  I've already got a headache thinking about it.  Because I know this time around the numbers won't be too good.  The last three months have included Christmas, New Years, and all kinds of events that have distracted me from playing Nurse Nelly the way I should.  This diabetes stuff is a full-time job and quite frankly it doesn't always get the attention it needs/deserves.

The A1c always feels like a report card.  Like a test of my motherhoodship.  My ability to defy the gravity of bloodsugars, tests, and carb counting every few hours-all while trying to hold down the regular life that the outside world sees.  It's a very exposing look at the last three months of my parenting.  I often think it would be refreshing, though deviously selfish on my part, to require mother's everywhere to take a blood test every three months that could tell how exact they were during that quarter on doing their job just right; on laundry, housekeeping, helping their kids with homework, feeding their family nutritious meals, etc.  I'd call the test a Mom1c.  This test would provide me with lots of nervous and grumpy mother's to bond with.

Seriously, it gives me a headache. And a massive guilt complex.

But, what it ALSO does do is give me a shot in the arm (be it a painful one).  Like going to see your parole officer (I really don't have one of those), it's the kind of sober meeting where you come away feeling like you can do better than you have been.  You can re-prioritize your life and give the most important things the attention it deserves.  You plan new tactics so that you won't get distracted.  And, for a blissful month (hopefully two) I really will do better. 

With that in mind...I'm off to see the doctor with two kids in tow.

POSTNOTE:

Just got back from visiting with the kid's endocrinologist and things went better and worse than expected.  One had a good A1c and the other?  Well...not so good.  Thankfully we have a very understanding doc who knows that teenagers don't always manage their diabetes with lifelong optimum health in mind.  I have found that it has always been easier managing diabetes in a child who's still dependent on their parents and not so easy as they get older and more independent.   But he gave some very very valuable advise: "Don't Give Up."  A timely token for a weary parent.  And so, we plan to keep our chins up and keep trying!

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.

The Dryer Doesn't Lie

Caught ya! Actually, I'm not sure who I caught but I'm on the case and I fully intend to crack it wide open and sniff out the guilty party!

For the past few weeks I've been opening my dryer to find wads of candy wrappers in the door jamb and in the lint trap each time I go to dry kids clothes. This means someone's been eating copious amounts of unauthorized sweets. And since two of the three children left at home should be minding their carb counting, it feels a little more like finding something especially criminal.

Before bringing in the drug candy-sniffing dogs I'll try an easier method first.  Of course I know I could easily check the kid's pockets BEFORE putting them in the wash and that would pin point exactly who the culprit is. But the problem with that modus operandi is that I've gotten out of the habit of checking pockets ever since the great "Poison Oak Breakout" of '03.   I was so miserable that I vowed to have minimal contact with the laundry before it gets washed. So Im bound to forget to check the pockets first, I'm so out of practice.

My new tactic to sniff out the user? I'm gonna wash every kids laundry separately until I find out who's behind the "Great Carb Cover-up". Once I find the little addict, well, I'm not quite sure. But I bet I'll feel like an ace detective! You can't pull "Operation: Sneek Candy" into my house!

...I'm hoping it's Connor, in which case I'll ask him to bring me home some of the goods, especially if he's got chocolate. We can eat it together in the garage, then put all the wrappers in HIS pocket and hide the evidence!

Missed My Target

Thanks to caller-ID,  I have a mini heart attack each time I see the school's phone number pops up on the screen.  Not that we've ever had a lot of emergency calls from school, but even after all these years it's still my knee jerk reaction.  So when I saw the school's number today, I reasoned with myself that Chloe was just calling to ask a minor carb question or something of the sort and that it was about time I took it all in stride and was relaxed and casual about answering the phone.

It was Chloe.  She said, "Mom, you really need to keep a calendar."

"Why's that Chloe?" I responded.

"My pump is down to one unit of insulin, I think you forgot what day it was and that you needed to change my pump." she blurted.

"Oh...what's today?" I ask.  "Didn't we just put in a new reservoir on Sunday?"

"We changed it Saturday, and today is WEDNESDAY." she said patiently.

"Dang it!  You're right, I need to start writing this stuff down on a calendar!"  I agreed.   Then told her I would head down to the school right away.  I grabbed the bin full of supplies and headed for the door thinking this was exactly why I just can't ever be so relaxed when the school calls.

We sequestered ourselves in the front office over at the couches.  No one was around but our favorite school secretary Meg.  Poor Meg had no idea she'd add full-time school nurse to her resume.  After Chloe got diabetes, she's become our go-to gal.

Chloe and I quickly went through the routine of changing everything out.   

Happily, I can report that I'm getting the hang of it now and it comes pretty easy.  I still laugh thinking of all the years my kids have been pumping and how this is all so new to me.  Chey and Mitch both got their pumps when they were a lot older so I never got the chance to practice;  teenagers aren't too excited about letting mom help with anything but gas money.  

Chloe picked a new site, I sprayed a little numbing antiseptic, pressed the dang sil-serter-torpedo-launcher at her, and...completely missed my target!  Chloe is soo skinny that you really have to search for a spot that's not skin and bones.  And naturally, I hit the skin and bones!

My eyes widened, "Oh Chloe, I missed the spot!"

Chloe held up her hand to silence me.  "Don't talk right now mom, I'm trying not to scream." she said calmly.  She kept her hand raised for a whole minute and concentrated on not yelling out.  Poor thing.

"I'm so sorry." I pleaded.

"It's okay mom, I'm just concentrating on not screaming." 

We waited a bit more.

After an eternal pause she looks at me and said, "Oh that really hurt."  Then she added with a nervous giggle,  "I was worried I was gonna scream so loud EVERYBODY in school would hear me."

So today I learned not one lesson, but TWO:

1. I need to buy a wall calendar 
2. I'll never be a sniper, I've got bad aim.

Thank goodness for a kid that is patient with her mom...and for one that can hold back a good scream.

When Three Diabetics is a Good Thing

Hardly ever.

But that said, I must admit it does come in handy every once in a while.

The Three Bears Phenomenon
Because there's three, test time is quite unusual.  We've always got one who's too high, one too low, and another whose blood sugar is just right.  Depending on how you look at it, and we prefer to see the glass half full (admittedly though, this is sometimes quite a challenge to do), the positive side is that we've always got someone in the house right on target!  This is a good thing.

Problem Solving as a Group
 If there's a problem we've got to think through, someone else in the family has probably experienced it and has paved the way to a great answer.  This is also a good thing.  It was especially helpful to us yesterday when Mitchell's pump stopped working.

Over the past week, his pump has been going through new batteries like a fiendish addiction, often demanding fresh batteries every two or three days.  On Sunday night his pump shut off and gave him an A21 and then an A17 alert.  Luckily the good people at Medtronic are always available.  After having us clean the metal battery cap that makes contact with the battery, they decided to go ahead and ship out a new cap to try.

After hanging up the phone I realized Cheyenne had experienced this problem a few years back so I gave her a call.  Her advise?  Get a new pump.  She reminded me that when her pump did the very same thing it was not a faulty battery cap, in fact the cap was in great condition and looked perfectly new.  Replacing the battery cap only prolonged the length of time she was off the pump before getting a replacement pump she inevitably had to get to solve the problem.  After checking Mitchell's pump cap and finding it in pristine condition, we decided her advise would get the problem solved faster.

Luckily, his pump was still under warranty.  I quickly called them back and they were more than happy to send out a new pump.  Until then, we're back to the old school way of doing things.  But I've logged more years with a trusty old syringe than a pump, so we're well within my comfort zone.  Like revisiting an old friend (we've used over 20,000 of them). 

and lastly,

We've Got Our Lows Covered
Every once in a while someone goes low when they're unprepared.  Never a good thing, but it happens.  Once again, this allows another sibling to come to the rescue.  Everyone carries emergency supplies for lows but inevitably someone forgets to replenish their supplies (not naming names, but I will tell you this is usually a teenager).  The other day, said teenager experienced a low and was completely unprepared (exasperated gasp).  Chloe to the rescue!  She simply reached in her bag, pulled out a juice box, and voilia!  Problem solved.  Then she gave the above UNmentioned teenager the "low lecture", as only a nine year-old can do, and reminded her sibling of the dangers of being unprepared.  Not bad huh?  I've got built-in medic/spy.

Honestly, three kids with diabetes is overwhelming a lot of times.  But sometimes, every once in a while, it's a good thing.