For example...last night my shift ended at midnight. Then there was at least 1 child who woke me twice, plus a sugar check to keep tabs on a midnight correction.
So...did my day end at midnight and begin with the first sleep interruption? Or was that just a continuation of the previous day...until dawn?
I never know.
So, we'll start just start there.
Up and at 'em for an endo appointment at 9 am. We were being seen a month early after her last A1c showed a significant elevation coupled with a little weight loss.
The good news: A1c is down and she gained 3 pounds.
The other news: Her annual labs revealed a positive thyroid antibody. Meaning that hypothyroidism has now become a very real threat. Antibody presence suggests that there is autoimmune thyroid involvement.
An autoimmune triple crown?
Taking it all in stride, my friends.
A pretty normal afternoon followed: Sprouts to restock some GF essentials, 504 stuff (ehum...STILL waiting for the meeting date/time that was supposed to be schedule last week - school starts on the 15th), a million-page camp application (hoping to secure a slot to send Sugar to a *FREE* weekend diabetes camp this fall. She's never been to camp before, because she wasn't old enough...pray we get in!).
Blood sugars dipped to the 50's twice.
And then it was time to work again.
Now Mr. Rose wasn't here, so I was on my own to deal with the kiddos, and manage my shift. Sometimes that's okay, but Friday nights are either easy-going or horrible. There's no middle ground.
At 8:30, I had 15 calls waiting - estimated wait time for a call back was over an hour - my screen included an asthma unresponsive to 4 treatments (ER!), a head injury with very concerning symptoms (ER!), a new onset seizure (ER!), and a lower abdominal pain for 4 hours that had worsened significantly (ER!) - I needed to speak to a doctor on call who insisted he wasn't on call and his partner insisted that she wasn't on call - the girls were arguing over TV shows - Tink was crying because she wants to be a jaguar (? yes, I know ?) - the mother I had just called didn't speak English...
NOW MY DIABETIC CHILD IS LAYING ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR COMPLETELY OUT OF IT, THANKS TO ANOTHER BLOOD SUGAR IN THE 50'S.
So, I'm on the floor holding the juice box in one hand, the phone in the other (waiting for a doctor who may or may not be on call to call me back) when the phone rings...
"WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME? I TOLD YOU I AM NOT ON CALL!!!"
"Mommy the juice isn't going to help."
"I really, really wish I was a jaguar."
Beep. Beep. Ah...the interpreting service calling me back because her phone kept dying.
So what's a mother to do in such a situation?
Scoop herself out a little bowl, then give them the last of the tub of ice cream, three spoons, and send them to the back room.
Eventually the madness stopped.
I mean...it always does, right?
So what if I didn't finish my shift until 2 hours after the fact, and my children have chocolate faces with ice cream in their hair.
Next up: The ice cream aftermath, which meant a correction at 11 pm....which meant a recheck around 1 or 2 am. (Has this day ended yet?)
And then...it was time to chill out. I took my melted bowl of ice cream (oh, yes I did), poured a glass of wine and decided to veg for half an hour in front of the TV to wind down so I could fall asleep.
So much for that plan.