It’s been three months since my son was handed a diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes. They told us in the hospital that things would soon become just part of the routine, and we have found this to be true.
But every once in a while you still kind of stop and go, “Oh. Right. Diabetes.”
Like this weekend, for instance. The boy has gone to Winter Camp with the church jr. high group. Now, this is my fourth child, and I have never had a problem putting a child on a bus for camp. I’ve been to enough church camps myself to know the routine well enough that I know they will be fine.
But, of course, this time it was different. This was the first time I had to deal with the worry that Something Might Go Wrong. And see, I’m not a worrier, so I don’t really do it well. I swing from “Oh no, oh no, what if….” to stiff-upper-lipping it, with such rapidity and regularity that I’m pretty sure I’m doing it wrong. Which then brings about a whole other kind of guilt as I worry that I’m not a good worrier and maybe I should be feeling worse than this.
And so, for the weekend, I am sticking to the mantra, “No news is good news.” And I do mean mantra. There are times when I’m chanting it, in between forcing myself to breathe.
I know that he’s going to be fine. He’s been giving himself shots for months, and we stopped helping him with figuring doses a few weeks ago. We even banned him from using the nifty spreadsheet I set up that figures the doses automatically. And he’s been handling everything pretty well.
But, you know, he’s 11. Eleven year olds struggle with brushing their teeth and changing their underwear on a regular basis. Not to mention that when he is hungry and frantic to start eating, his math skills go out the window.
“Okay, no, let’s try that again. ”
(eye roll) “Moooom. It’s fine. Just give me 7 units of insulin so I can eat.”
“No dear. Seven units of insulin will result in a blood sugar of about, oh, 23. Let’s do the math again.”
So I did a little training session with the two youth pastors that were going to camp, just so they would know what he needed to do and to make sure that he didn’t cut any corners. Because, you see, when my older son was 10, he went to camp for a week, and when he got back he told me he took a shower every single day. But when I was pulling dirty clothes out of his bag, I came across a bar of soap… still in the wrapper. Turns out he did take a shower every day. He just didn’t bother to use soap.
So I was pretty confident that there were going to be some attempts at corner-cutting going on this weekend, and I had some good ideas about the specific areas in which the corners would be cut, and I shared this information with the pastors. Unfortunately, in order to put that information in context, I had to give an overview of everything Ryan had to do every time he ate. And this occurred, mind you, an hour before the kids started arriving at the church to get on the bus.
I was already thinking these men were saints for taking the buck-stops-here responsibility of a bunch of jr. high kids at camp, even though they do have an awesome team of counselors going with them, not to mentioned a fully-trained nurse on staff at the camp itself. But having to deal with a crash-course in the realities of Diabetes right before the bus left has now raised them in my estimation to angels.
In fact, now that I think about it, perhaps I should be worrying about them more than I’m worrying about Ryan.
No news is good news. No news is good news….