Today was hard. Really hard. I feel like if I see another low blood sugar number screaming at me from the screen of that meter, I may just whip it across the room and crawl over to the corner, sit on the floor, and cry........just cry...let it all out...let all of the frustration wash away down the front of my shirt and out of my head. I feel like all I did today was run around in circles and bang my head against the wall. I feel like diabetes downed a Red Bull, put on it's boxing gloves, and just wailed away on my head...my heart...my whole body. I tried...I really did. I pulled out my best D-Mom skills, I tried to be smarter than the pump, smarter than the average pancreas, smarter than diabetes....and I just didn't cut it. I felt like I was scrambling around stumbling over my own feet grasping at anything I could. Juiceboxes, fruit snacks, test strips, blood everything was just a blur after a while.
One point during the day really sticks in my head and is actually still stinging. I was sitting on the hallway floor of Emma's gymnastics class reading my book waiting for her class to come out for snack time. The doors opened and she ran over to me. As I sat there watching her come over to me, a million thoughts were racing through my head. Was she still low? She was 2.9 just before class started. Is she pale? Is she high now? She came over to me and I got the meter out and everything ready while she searched through my bag-o-snacks to find something that caught her interest. I took out a test strip and put it in the meter...heard the beep indicating it was ready...took out her lancet (device that has a needle in it that will quickly jab into her fingertip once I press the button on it) and wiped off her finger. I held the lancet to it and pressed the button...just like I have a million times before...just like she herself has a million times too. I was instantly met with a drop of blood all set to be smeared on the test strip. As I watched the meter countdown 5 seconds to give me the result, I was overcome with the smell of blood. I don't know why this time was any different. I have smelled blood countless times in my life...i see it every single day. Somehow today while I was sitting on that cold tile floor staring at her meter, the smell hit me....it filled my nose and made me sick. I felt like crying. I hate having to take blood from her so many times everyday. I hate it. I hate how it has become such a normal everyday occurance....for her and I both. I hate how I have tested her blood in every imaginable public place with no care of who sees us. I hate how it means nothing to me anymore that I hurt my child every single day. I am so numb to diabetes now that it doesn't even register in my brain anymore that I am hurting her everyday. Sure her fingertips are so scarred now and she is so used to it that she doesn't really even flinch anymore....but still. It is just wrong. I am hurting my child....every....single...day. I hate that this is the first time in a long time that it has actually hit me like this.
Diabetes got me today....it hit me hard and it got me...so I cry...I sit here and cry...because it's all I can do. I can't take it away...I can't make it better. I can't make it not be. So I cry.
I hate all of the tears I have cried for diabetes.