Sometimes I really hate diabetes....like REALLY hate it. Sometimes I just want to give up and throw the stupid blood sugar meter across the room because it won't stop showing me an ugly number. I try and I try and I try and then I try some more and sometimes it's just not good enough. I can handle a lot of stress...more than I could before diabetes entered our lives...but sometimes it gets to the point where I feel like I've been beaten down and have absolutely no fight left in me.
Emma has strep throat and diabetes is not playing fair. I have been at this for a long time, so I know that illnesses cause blood sugars to skyrocket and make me feel like I'm bolusing her with water instead of insulin. I keep correcting numbers and setting temp basals and pushing her to drink water....and it's not helping. I've changed her pump site, I've changed insulin, I've done every single thing on my checklist of things to do when a person with diabetes is ill...and it's not helping. I sit here so far beyond the point of frustration with nothing left in me except for a few hot burning tears that keep threatening to spill over my eyelids and I am fighting to hang on to control...hang on and breathe deeply and convince myself that this to shall pass...it always passes...it always does...but those words don't seem to be sinking in this time...those words mean nothing to my exhausted brain...those words might as well be whispered promises from a stranger on the street.
Sometimes I hate diabetes so much that it feels as if I am one tick of the clock away from running outside in the snow and screaming my fool head off until someone...anyone...comes to save me. Except I know that won't help. I know that no one is going to save me from the ugly numbers. No one is going to make it all better.
No one except me.
The weight behind those words and that thought is sometimes unbearable. The pressure I walk around with on my shoulders every single day is enough to make me want to lay down and just stay down.
But I can't.
I can only try again.