Tomorrow marks one whole week with Jude on his insulin pump. It’s a very momentous occassion, you know. No, I’m not going to buy a cake…a balloon, maybe. It has been quite an adventurous week. A lot like a roller coaster. Up and down and up and down, twisting, turning, TANGLING…that’s sure not one thing I thought about when we hooked up my little buddy. The tangling, twisting, looping tube. I have no idea how one little guy mangages to get that damn tube hooked over his arm, through his legs. Guess it’s a down fall of modern gadgetry, it’s not spartan-proof. As for his BG, well, it’s been EVERYWHERE! We started with 1 basal then increased it to four. And I’m so paranoid I keep checking his sugar. Like once and hour. I know. I’m nuts. His little fingers have as many holes in them as a rusty bucket. It’s so sarcasm funny when he runs from me while I’m trying to reattach his pump to his belt, too. I can run on my knees. They hate me. They’re threatening a boycott. Jude doesn’t seem to care about being a pumper. He still won’t eat when I tell him to. This is another spartan issue. So darn stubborn. Maybe his dad is a spartan also. Must be where he got it from.
For the most part, I’m thankful we took this step forward. It still scary. I’m constantly worried about hypo episodes. I’m really super tired. I’m trying to not let this monopolize ever second of our day but it’s hard. The educators that help us are pretty understanding for the most part. But, boy, they don’t like to hear if you accidentally miss a bolus dose. I just want to tell them “gosh dang! Sometimes it happens! I DO have a life outside of diabetes! I’ve only been doing this expletive for seven expletive days! Cut me some slack!”. But I won’t. Probably not in Jude’s best interest to ■■■■ them off.
Once again, we’re still truckin’.