The alarm goes off at 7:10 every weekday morning. Why 7:10, you may be asking yourself? Why not 7:00...or 7:15? Well, in my mushy, overtired, stressed out D-Momma brain....7am is just too early...and 7:15am is simply too late to ensure that we will make it out the door in time for school. It's sort of like "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" really....and 7:10 is my version of the bowl of porridge that is just right.
Anyhoo, the alarm goes off at 7:10am....and I roll myself out of bed....giving myself a pep talk to get up, get going, get moving, get to checking those blood sugars and getting Emma ready for her day. I should mention that the cell phone (my alarm) is actually in Emma's room...which is next to ours. I also have a baby monitor in there that I now like to refer to as the D-monitor because "baby monitor" is just not accurate anymore....and she's 8....not a baby and not a fan of being referred to as one. So, I have the cell phone in her room because it is the only way I will get up and get ready for the day instead of get up, shut the alarm off, and go back to sleep. This is our morning. This is our life.
Well, the other morning I reached into the refrigerator to grab Emma a yogurt to go with her bagel for breakfast. It's the same thing every morning...the same routine. For some reason as I reached my hand into the fridge and grabbed that yogurt container, I had another one of those D-related flashes of the past. I stood there and recalled the first morning after Emma was diagnosed...her first breakfast. I was unsure...I was nervous...I had never paid attention to nutrition labels on any of our food before...and now it was the only thing on my mind all the time...carbs carbs carbs...insulin units insulin units insulin units...protein..fat...fibre....blood sugar...all the time. That first morning, I grabbed the container of yogurt and stared at it....turning it in my hand over and over. My heart started to race as I realized that I had foolishly thrown away the outer package it came in...that package was where the nutrition info was. I had no idea how many carbs were in yogurt...no idea where to find that info...and for some reason I was oblivious to the fact that I could have just looked it up on the computer. As I stood there the other day, I could feel my heart racing again like it did 4 years ago. I could remember the panic. I remembered the tears falling from my eyes as I stood there with the fridge door open...realizing that our life was never going to be the same...this was just going to be one of many many times that I would feel this way...and there was absolutely nothing I could do to change it. In my mind, I could see that version of myself from the past with her shoulders slumped in defeat, the aura of heartbreak and stress surrounding her, the way that her head was tilted down...staring at that damn container of yogurt like it was the enemy. Food was my enemy then. It was the one thing standing in my way from being able to continue on like I had been for the first 4 years of my daughter's life. I hated that yogurt. I wanted to grasp it in my fist and throw it back into the fridge...not caring if it splattered a big mess everywhere. I hated it. I saw that version of myself and I wanted to hug her...tell her that it would be ok...that she could do this...it was just a yogurt...just one yogurt...of one breakfast...and there would be many more to come. I remembered that moment when I realized that I was standing at a crossroads that morning...I could either admit and accept defeat...tell her that she would have to pick something else to eat that morning because I didn't know the carbs in yogurt...and let diabetes win the very first round of our epic battle. OR....I could set my shoulders back, raise my head up, take a deep breath, accept this new reality as our own, and figure....it....out.
Needless to say, I chose option two....and I'm glad I did. I wound up calling the grocery store, explaining my situation in between sobs to the poor person who happened to be working and answered the phone that morning. She was extremely helpful and had a stock boy go down the yogurt aisle and look at the nutrition info for me..noting the carbs...and relay that back to the phone.
So, as I stood there the other day with my hand grasped around another yogurt container...I realized that I am no longer that woman...no longer that Mom...no longer that Amy. I have come a long way in accepting this life and making it work...thinking outside the box and making it work. It made me wonder what I will be doing in another 4 years that will remind me of something that occurs now. I hope that I will be 39 years old, standing in front of the fridge, grabbing another yogurt....and simply giving it to Emma...and smiling at the fact that we made it....we won the epic battle and diabetes is no more.