Posts tagged thirst

Sugar Overload.

Diabetes and I have been at loggerheads ALL week.

This is the first time I have had a chance to write anything for days. Lance has had one of his worst weeks in his diabetes history. I simply don’t know where to begin.

I actually meant that, I don’t know where to start.

Okay..well. He has 70 new holes in his fingers since I last wrote. He looks like he has had two small teething puppies chewing on his fingers for hours on end. For the first time ever, he is baulking at having tests. Because it hurts, and there is nowhere left on his fingers left to test. I have to move to the base of his thumb (the fleshy part on his palm) to test, which has gone down as well as a bunch of lead balloons.

 

Instead of being “Hypo-boy”, he has turned into a walking toffee apple.

All week long, Lance has been been living in the 20mmol/L vicinity.  That’s the roughneck part of Diabetes town. Really hard to escape unscathed. I have thrown insulin pens in the bin, and replaced them with brand new ones directly from the fridge. Nup..the insulin wasn’t losing its potency. The due date isn’t until September 09. It’s NOT the insulin.

So it must be Lance. Something has gone beserk inside his body. He is well, fit, and shows no signs of infection or sickness. Growth spurt I hear you say? Maybe, although the last one has only recently died down.

I made a long appointment with our GP to discuss what to do. I can usually titrate and tinker around with a little bit of Novorapid here and there, however this week, he has been having 8 units extra, on top of his daily dosage. He has 16 units of Novorapid in total everyday, and it usually works like Pacman, gobbling up any tiny globule of sugar in his blood. It’s so good, it’s dangerous. Usually. This week, I could swear that I’m on Candid Camera..hey, have you guys done the ol’ switcheroo on us? Put water into his insulin pens?

No. Sigh. DAMMIT. It couldn’t possibly be something so simple.

Then there’s the never ending threat of DKA sneaking up and tapping us on the shoulder. I mean, Lance has spent so much time in the toilet this week, his body desperately trying to flush away this overload of sugar that has left him so weak, achy, restless and responsible for his washed out, puffy appearance.

Ketone strips line the inside of the bathroom bin.

I decided that I would introduce an extra injection at lunchtime. By crikey, I cracked the code.

The whole of yesterday and today have been just perfect. 7mmol/L or thereabouts all day through.

Only this afternoon have the rosy apples returned to Lance’s cheeks, He doesn’t look like a clammy, sickly addict from the ghettos of Diabetestown anymore.

Lance’s new pump is going to kick all of this seesawing to the kerb.

It’s just a matter of patiently waiting..waiting..waiting…

In the meantime, I am struggling with the many thoughts of what a week of constant hyperglycaemia has done to his organs, his arteries…I try to push these thoughts away, despite the toment and fear they instill in me…

It’s not like it’s raining cats and endocrinoligists here, either.

It’s not like I can get an appointment for tomorrow and plant the evidence of the past week in front of an endo and get some reassurance and explanations. I’d even settle for an understanding nod-of-the-head at the moment.

Our next appointment is over 2 weeks away, and I can’t do a thing to change it.

Despite my fears and mournful revalations, I am so grateful that the hurri(sugar)cane has passed.

The voracious consumption of water has died down.

I don’t have to cringe when the toilet flushes…Lance can actually celebrate the return of carbohydrates tonight, as they were enemy this week.

So now, we are up to 6 set injections a day.

7 new holes a week.

I don’t think I could bring myself to complain about a lil ol’ hypo for a while after this…

However, as usual, my boy smiles broadly at me, he hardly seems aware of the nightmare that was the past week. Despite the fact that he suffered, and had headaches, and legaches, and cried in sheer frustration, he is now at peace within his body.

Exhale.

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James Bond 21.7-The Sweet Talking That Punished Me

I must share an incident involving how blood sugar has such a massive and profound change in mood, temprement and behaviour.

Bribery Under The Jacaranda Tree

Lance and I took the opportunity to use our now verdent and jungly back yard for a trampoline picnic. Lance happily helped pack plastic plates, napkins and cups whilst I searched for afternoon-tea type foods. He was so serene and lit-up inside; the thought of a big cosy rug spread over his trampoline with food and fine company really appealed to him.

We ate water crackers with hummus, drank low joule iced tea, and indulged in the sweetest nectarines (grown fresh from our neighbours brother’s farm.)  They were so sweet it was almost unbearable. I found myself doing a double take when I noticed that Lance had included some “fruit” balls that were given to us in a Christmas Hamper. Basically, they are just sugar emulsified with flavour and colour,and then rolled in coconut. A very pretty parcel indeed, but a well-trained eye for hidden and empty sugars could tell you in a second that there was danger imminent.

I made a really big deal about the sublime quality of the nectarines and how they had quelled my desire for anything else sweet. Lance agreed, and I thought that I had escaped from having to avoid a discussion about the sugar wrapped up in a pretty pink ribbon that I knew was calling his name in the basket. We both lay back and gazed at the beauty of the huge Jacaranda tree that was covering us with it’s now non-flowering leaves.

“How old do you think this tree is sweetheart? Do you realise that it is heritage-listed? We are so lucky to have it in our back yard. It’s such an honour-“

“Hey! We forgot to ‘sample’ those fruit balls! Let’s try some, or…one….please….Mum?”

Sigh.

I should know this child better than to think I could get away with a nature talk and a very appropriate and harmless afternoon tea. His blood sugar was 5.7mmol/L before we headed outside. I was guessing that it should be around 11mmol/L now that he had eaten.

“Well bug, I was actually keeping them for Australia Day Weekend… we will have a lot of visitors and it would be nice to have them then, don’t you think?”

I knew I was defeated, so I just opened the packet and said “THREE, ok? “

“But there’s six different flavours.”

“Three or none. My final offer.”

“Well. Hmmm. What about four, and I’ll do some jumping on the trampoline?”

He knew he was skating on thin ice by trying to blackmail me with food. I agreed with a enough hesitation to make him feel awkward.  The other condition was that he must have a blood test and brush his teeth after he had injected pure dextrose into his system.

Deal.

BSL reading: 8.9mmol/L.

Lance may only be 7, but he is as slick and sly as they come when it comes to giving really credible debates as to why something should go his way. I secretly fear this boy in five years time. I have reasonable smarts, as I observe kids of all different ages and what “the go” is each semester. I had better brush up on my negotiating tactics quick smart. I have a suburban James Bond on my hands here.(the Pierce Brosnan variety, not Daniel Craig.. I don’t like to think of my son as a sex bomb. Arg.)

Bond, James Bond…(the gun is really a hi tech version of an insulin pen..yeah seriously!)

“Well well well! That was unexpected hey! I thought I’d at least be 15mmol/L after our feast! So, Mumsie, it would therefore barely touch me if I tried each of the six flavours, and then did my jumping? What do you think?”

With haste and silence, I opened the packet and dealt out one of every colour. He got me.

They were down his gullet in less than 30 seconds-the strawberry flavour winning hands down apparently.

” Ohhhh they are even nicer than they look. They make you feel like another six…”

At that, I packed up the picnic and shot dagger eyes at him. ” Now start bouncing!” (Oh man..I heard myself reminiscent of  Rosie O’Donnell. Yikes.)

Does this woman ever stop screaming? My voice only resembled the nasal Brooklyn accent…

I packed everything away and hid the contraband in a container, and pushed them as far as I could into the back of my most unreachable cupboard.

I went outside to see how things were progressing.

Lance was jumping, and he gave me a wide smile, but I KNEW that he had overdone it. He soon sat on the edge of the trampoline and took a deep breath. “Maybe I might go for a walk around the house instead.” he suggested.

“Oh, why’s that? Are you ok? “

“Yeah, just feel a bit like…you know…the concrete feeling.”

I felt triumphant that he had taught himself a valuable lesson, but also heartbroken that he had to admit defeat, and on top of that, even WORRY about whether six pieces of confectionery would harm him or make him feel lousy.

“Hey, before you go, let’s do a test.”

“Nah.”

“Excuse me?”(My son is reknowned for his impeccable manners.)

” Nope. Don’t worry about IT!” he spat at me. He hated that he was feeling the effects of cotton candy in his veins and that I knew why.

“Hey! You need to have a test. Stop please, I’m asking you nicely, so please respect me,”I asked in a smooth, calm voice. I had visions of a verbal duel about to occur.

He stomped his feet sloppily over to me and sat on the step. He stuck his index finger up at me and looked away so I couldn’t see the expression on his face.

“Thanks for cooperating, honey.”

Click.

Slurp.

5

4

3

2

1

20.2mmol/L.

Wow.

“What am I then?”he asked with an exasperated tone.

When I told him, he swung his head around to look at the face of the glucometer.

“Maybe I had sugar on my finger. Hang on a sec, I’ll clean my hands.”

Test two.

New finger.

Click.

Slurp.

5

4

3

2

1

21.7 mmol/L.

“MAN!” he shook his head and covered his eyes with his hands.

“So I have to have Novorapid right? I have a bad headache, and I can’t walk very well.”

“I’ll get you sorted sweetheart. Come and sit inside for a second and cool down, have some water and I’ll work out a dose that will have you feeling better as soon as possible.”

I tried to sound as chipper as I could, but I was so, so sad for him.

He lifted his shirt and he shot 2 units of Novorapid into his belly.

“Done, Kate.”

“OK, here’s your water.”

He stared ahead and sipped, his face was empty with expression.Just a sweaty, white canvas that had been splattered with a toxic sugar bomb.

He sat in his chair, and watched a Yugi-oh episode.

The toilet flushed twice in ten minutes.

He moaned for no reason.

Waiting…waiting for normality to kick in.

He grabbed the meter.

13.2mmol/L.

His eyes lit up.

“Kate, look how far down I got myself!” I couldn’t help but smirk at that statement.

“I’m happy for you, bug. I can see you feel a lot better!”

“Yeah!” He ripped out as fast as a bullet to the trampoline. As I write, I can still hear the springs squeaking as he jumps with vigour.

Current BSL reading : 6.3mmol/L.

Our eyes met at the same time and grinned madly in unison.

“Boy! I can’t wait for dinner!”

Back to Kitchen Duty.

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