Day One

Bright and early last Monday morning Jay and I took LilBird to the pediatric endocrinology clinic.  We were a little late as we usually tend to be, but it was not a big deal. I had explained to her that we were going to Diabetes Class, and selfishly omitted the details of needles and shots and blood. She was actually excited to be there. Then, a lab tech weighed her and pricked her finger.  Between the fasting, the adrenaline from the early morning rush, and the sight of her own blood, LilBird became a bit woozy.  I don't blame her a bit.  Then we met with Dr. Jelley.  Despite that my tear-well should have been dry by that time, hearing him tell me that LilBird has insulin-dependent diabetes turned on my waterworks again.  He assured us that, though it isn't an easy road we're about to travel, it is manageable, it will get easier.  He has a great tenderness about him.

Having promised her a breakfast of waffles, we escorted our hungry bird to the clinic's kitchen.  (The coffee smelled great!)  We met a diabetes educator who briefed us on what our new mealtime routine would quickly become.  She showed us how to count the carbs for what LilBird's meal would be, explained the insulin ratio Dr. Jelley was beginning her at and how to correct the bolus dose based upon her pre-meal blood-glucose reading (190 = 1 unit correction). I held her for the first dose, which she fought.  Again, I can't blame her for doing that. Then, she'd underestimated her hunger and wolfed down her 20.5 g carb breakfast: a single waffle topped with a 1/4 cup of sugar-free syrup. We moved into a conference room, which is where we spent the rest of the morning in a crash-course of the basics: how to check her blood-sugar, how to prepare and inject her insulin, and lastly the dietitian showed us how to count carbohydrates.  It was dizzying.  I honestly can't imagine having gone through that first day as a solo parent.  I know I missed things that my husband caught and vice-versa. I am grateful that they repeated things for us so many times. By lunchtime, LilBird was starving. Dr. Jelley had ordered some bloodwork, so we opted to figure out lunch, give her the first injection in the clinic, go eat, and return for the labs. Of course, the one thing she wanted to eat wasn't listed in the Calorie King book (Bueno party burrito), so the dietitian raced Jay to see who could find the carb count - his Blackberry vs. her running to her office computer.  (She won.) Knowing that is one of her favorite things to eat, I wrote it in our CK book.  With the vivid memory of trying to stick her little finger the week before, and generally being overwhelmed with the morning's activities, I opted to let Jay give her the lunch bolus.  We enjoyed our quick lunch and returned to the lab at the clinic for her blood draw.  She didn't sit so still and quiet as she did for the previous week's draw.  She knew what she was in for, she was irritated at having been stuck 4 times already that day, and she screamed and cried. My broken heart felt as if it was being ripped from me.  But, as my LilBird is so fond of saying, "We got it over with." We picked up our other girls from a friend's house and went home where we were slightly relieved we didn't have to stick her again for a few hours.

I went to the pharmacy to pick up her bedtime insulin, and was relieved that Jay agreed to handle that one since I would be left to do all the rest during the day. Our nerves were shot, and Jay and I had been snapping at one another for several days. The tension was thick in our house that day.  Dealing with the diagnosis of your baby is hard enough, but added to that distress is figuring out how to help your baby deal with it, plus figuring out how to deal with your spouse who is also trying to cope with all the same emotional distress ... it was a time-bomb.

Throughout the afternoon, LilBird got hungry. I felt like a helpless, brand-new mother and was terrified I was going to mess up.  I called the dietitian for some advice and reassurance.  For the first time ever, I got her to have carrots for a snack because she could eat that without needing a shot. I made a mental note of that silver lining.  Then we labored over dinner plans and carb counting and dose calculating. 

I tried to give her "my" first one on my own but needed my teenage Rockstar's assistance with holding her.   I actually yelled at her before the finger stick because she was fighting me so violently. (Hello, Guilt and Grief!!) Despite my own anxiety and lack of patience, at least Rockstar stayed calm and firm yet gentle and was able to hold LilBird still as she screamed bloody murder.  I cannot deny that I was comforted by her wanting me to comfort her afterward - she still loved and needed me despite this awful thing I was having to do to her. Once she was eating, I excused myself to cry in the cold night air. After dinner, she had a bath (which we also have to time between bolus shots so that the constricting and relaxing of her blood vessels in the warm water doesn't effect her uptake).

Having heard all about Jay's experience with giving himself allergy shots as a kid, I had a sense of relief that my part of the shots was over for the day. However, when he asked me twice if I was ready to help him (which has no recollection of asking, which is a perfect example of just how stressed out we were), I was annoyed and afraid. You could almost see the stress vibes he was emitting as he began to wrestle her for the final injection of the day. Within two minutes, our clean baby was drenched in sweat from fighting him.  I was sure the neighbors could hear them screaming at one another. He managed to get her blood-sugar done, and then he stuck her.  She flinched away and blood pooled on her little arm.  I lost it! I made him hand it all over to me and get out of my way.  Damn it, I'd done it without blood and with half the volume of screaming - from my viewpoint, he was traumatizing her! I tried to console her, but seeing she was completely out-of-control, I yelled at her again to get her attention so she'd listen to me. Rockstar again held her and we "got it over with". Exhausted, completely stressed out, angry at the world (and especially at my husband whom I was now alienating), I slept despite the fear that she might become ill in the night. She slept just fine, actually probably better than she had in the preceding weeks. My last thoughts were dreading the next day, when we had to do this all over again.