Why do I want to do the 30 day challenge?
I want to discover who I am. There is a bit of this girl who was Jennie still here. The one who loved to run. Paint butterflies. Play the flute in the bathroom so it echoed beautifully. Read books. I want to release the voice that this person has kept quiet for many decades. The voice that I silenced. I see that it was my choice. I want to put the painful memories and lessons I've experienced in their place. Call on them for advice, but not live them every day. I play the old record over and over that tells me I'm not good enough. Not smart enough. I would have left me, too. I would have cheated on me, too. Didn't realize that's the story I played over and over until kind of recently. I want a new pattern. I want a new story. And I want the story to be about this good woman. Mother. Friend. This person is kind, intelligent, cares about herself. I want to wake up every day and want to take care of the body that God gave me. Not wish that this life would hurry up and be over. I want to wake up, go outside and smell the grass and hear the sounds of the earth. I want to re-discover that girl who believed that life is full of magic and beauty. That life is butterflies and rainbows. That's my "why".
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Diabetes
In 1965, my sister, Hope and I went to the hospital to have our tonsils taken out. A short while later, I left. Hope stayed. This is one of my earliest memories. I was 3. Hope was 2. Dad held my hand as we left the hospital together, and I asked why Hope wasn't with us. "She is staying a little longer. She has diabetes." I didn't know what that meant, but this is what I began to discover.
Diabetes from the perspective of a 3 year old sister:
Hope has to pee. I don't mean she NEEDS to pee. Everyone seems to NEED her to pee. On a piece of paper. That's how we would know what to do next. Hope pees on the paper and it turns a color, then my parents would know what to do with the shot. They tried everything, at times, to get her to pee. Hand in warm water. Water trickling in the sink. I'd stand in the bathroom watching and listening to the coaxing, willing her to pee just a little bit.
Then there's the shots. The screaming and crying. I remember her running from my mom. I would hide beside the piece of furniture we kept dishes in. That little space between the furniture and the wall. I'd get really small and sit there til the screaming stopped.
Diabetes meant no sugar....at least back in those days. Hope could have the pancakes, but not the syrup. We could give her sugar free things. Tab. Sugar free candies. She went to a special doctor. She got special toys for being brave with her shots. She went to a special camp and a different school.
Hope would wet the bed and get to sleep with my parents. I remember lying in my bed forcing myself to pee, so I would get to go to their room. Mom was pretty angry about that.
Over the years, Hope's diabetes got more difficult to live with. The sneaking of candy. Anger. Resentment. That's another story. Hope moved away from our family to live with my aunt when she was about 14, or so. She lives in Arizona. I'll get back to how she is at the end.
I married Chris in 1990. Clayton was born in December 1991. For those of you who knew my father, you would probably know he was a worrier. Joe was born in December 1992. After Joe was born, he visited me and brought a little vial of strips. These were the same strips that Hope would pee on. "Jennie. If you ever notice that the boys eat too much, sleep too much, pee too much or drink too much, have them pee on these strips. " I smiled at him and he knew that I knew he was a worrier, but I heard him. I put them in the drawer in the bathroom. The catch all drawer.
When I was pregnant with Jack I began to notice something going on with Joe. He never had been a good sleeper. He cried non-stop as a baby. Seriously. He ate like an animal. When he was born, there was a bruise on his fist where he'd been sucking while he was inside of me. Everyone laughed at how much Joey could eat. 8 bottles a day. When he finally got food, he got a little more comfortable. It was approaching Christmas of his 2nd birthday when I noticed a change. He would go to a mothers morning out thing at the local church. I came in and Joe was asleep in the middle of the floor. In a little ball. All the other children were running around screaming and playing. He was sound asleep. "Aww. How sweet!" He began sleeping so much. I remember thinking "Should I wake him up? Geez! It's been 15 hours!" I'd walk up to his crib and give him a gentle push. He'd slowly wake up and we'd get the day started. Within a few hours he needed a nap again. "Whew! I FINALLY got a child who will sleep!"
Joe could eat more than most adults. At Christmas breakfast, while visiting my Aunt Alice, I remember telling them to just watch the amount he would eat. 2 biscuits with eggs, sausage and cheese. Cheese grits and orange juice. "Just wait, you all! He'll be back for more within half hour." Sure enough, just a short while later, Joe would wander back to us and ask for more "panpapes" or "grips". We all laughed at his appetite.
Joe was soaking diapers. But, that made sense, because he was drinking so much. Surely he was drinking so much because he played so hard, which is why he slept so much. I was about 6 months pregnant with Jack when Joe came up and asked for "Mo juice peez mama." No way. You cannot be thirsty, Joe. You've had so much to drink today. I'm not making another pitcher of apple juice. Then it hit me. I called for Clayton and had both boys stand at the toilet together and pee while I held the little strip. Clayton's stayed the same color. Joe's turned purple immediately. That moment is stuck in my brain. "What do I do? Take him to the hospital? Call the doctor?" I called the doctor and explained what had happened. They said go on and take him to Scottish Rite. It was mid afternoon. I figure I may as well go. I'd miss rush hour and we'd know what this meant and I could be back home before bedtime. I called Chris and told him what was going on and he said to just go ahead. That he was sure I was worrying for nothing, but to let him know.
I walk in the ER at Scottish Rite with these two (apparently) healthy children. Clayton and Joe were running all around and laughing. Playing. I tell the nurse that I need to know what this means, because I won't be able to sleep till I am sure he's not diabetic. She looked at me. She looked at Joe. Running and happy and adorable. I'm sure she wanted to roll her eyes at me, but she didn't. We are taken to a room and the nurse comes in and sticks Joe's finger and leaves. Then a doctor comes in and says "His blood sugar is in the 600's. Your son is diabetic. I know this is a lot to tell you, but he'll be ok." He told me that he, too, was a diabetic. Ok. Well. "I guess we'll just come back? Maybe see a doctor tomorrow?" "No! You'll be here for a while. Probably 4-5 days."
And it all started.
The first night, they started Joe on a little insulin. He was sleeping. And he was soaking wet with sweat. Now I know what that means. My son is really low. But, then, I didn't know what that meant. I called for the nurse and said he was sweating a lot. She checked his blood and it was 20. I didn't know what that meant. We were able to get him to wake up and drink. Juice.
The next few days were filled with classes. Back in those days you were given a different kind of diet for a diabetic than nowadays. Back then it was "4 oz fruit, 4 oz, vegetable, 4 oz protein", etc... Try making a baby eat broccoli if he doesn't want to eat it. I knew a struggle was going to come up. When they showed me the amount he could eat I laughed. "Yeah. I'm going to give him 1/2 cup of grits and an egg with cheese? " That's a big fat LOL. My child was going to starve. What I didn't know is that food was making him starve to death. The more he ate, the more he starved. Slowly I began to learn about how to take care of this little boy. He'd lost 10% of his body weight. It was winter, so I hadn't noticed he'd gotten smaller.
On the second day I was handed an orange and a shot with saline solution to draw up with the syringe. It felt funny pushing the needle into the orange. Then I was given a little rubbery, plastic-type doll. I tried to put the needle in the baby's arm. It wouldn't go in. I tried to put it on the baby's leg. It wouldn't go in. I bounced the needle several times and it still wouldn't go in. I started crying. I'm holding this doll and I'm losing it. "I don't know if I can do this," I tell the nurse. She quickly gets up. Draws a small amount of saline and tells me to put the needle into her. I tell her I can't do it. She assures me I won't even feel it go in. "I don't know why they have you all practice with that doll. It's nothing like it. Come on. Give me the shot now. I promise you won't hurt me." I just did it. And she was right. It was like putting a needle into soft butter. Thank God. For her.
After a few days of classes we are sent home with a little bag of snacks for the ride. We lived in Roswell. It was only about a 20 minute drive. You'd have thought we were going away for an 8 hour trip. I sit in the backseat with Joe. He's in his car seat. Words won't do justice to the fear I had. That little baggy of grapes in tow and we're off to take care of our newly diagnosed 2 year old.
He had to be on diluted insulin. 1/4 unit. Maybe 1/2 unit. Since you can't see that small of an amount it would be 1 unit equaling 1/4 unit. Enough to make a mom crazy. I still have the years of records. Every single finger stick. What he ate. How much he played. EVERYTHING he did, I wrote it down.
I would call the blood sugar hotline pretty often and the adjustments to his insulin would be made. Joe had multiple seizures during his first few years of being a diabetic. By the time that Ben was going to be born, 1997, I was at the end of my rope. I was going to have 4 children 5 and under. Joe had so many seizures from lows that we had him sleep in our room so we could hear him struggle in his sleep. That was the sign he was low. Most of the time we would catch it and give juice and all would be ok. But, the closer it came to Ben being born the more anxious I became. Joe had another one. This would have been at least 10 low blood sugar massive seizures. Eyes rolled back. Shaking. Teeth clenched. Body completely rigid. For those of you who don't know, a diabetic will come out of the seizure. On their own. Our liver will go into kind of an emergency mode and kick out something called glucagon (I believe that's what it's called) and they will slowly come around. The problem is that it takes the body a little while, perhaps a day, to replenish the emergency amount. If they have a second seizure in that time frame it could be ....well....I didn't want to think about that. When I was on the phone with the endocrinologist, I'm sure I sounded hysterical. I'm sure I was crying. "We have to figure this out! Why does he keep having them?!" His response to me wasn't what I wanted to hear. "Ms. Nedza, no one ever said diabetes was going to be easy, now did they?" Are you f'ing kidding me?! I lost my .....temper and called another endocrinology group and moved Joe to another endocrinology group.
If I could have calmed down, I MIGHT have seen that the doctor was being realistic. He wasn't being rude, he just didn't have the bedside manner that a frightened mother needed at that point. (FYI I spoke with this doctor about 15 years later and reminded him of this conversation and that I never forgot it. I told him that I resented him for all these years, and that now I can see that, while he could have said what he said in a different "tone", he was right. He apologized.)
At this point it's 1997. Jack is almost 2 and Ben is about to be born. We begin to take part in a study at University of Florida Gainesville. Shands Medical Center does research on families with diabetic relatives. We become involved there and all the boys begin to be part of the study. Jack isn't producing any antibodies at this point. After Ben is born, we send his blood to them, also. Another tidbit of information: when a person becomes diabetic, they produce antibodies. There are about 5 I think. Or at least there were back in those days. Now, they may have identified lots more, but back then there were 5. Jack slowly became antibody positive in all of the 5. I don't know if I can recall what they were, but it was something like GAD, IAA, IA2, ICA, and I don't know what else. It was Halloween week of 1999. Jack was 4. I got the news that he was producing all the antibodies. "It doesn't mean he will be diabetic for sure, but chances are, at some point, he will." The researchers at Shands give me this news.
Jack had a cough. Like, a cough where he couldn't talk without coughing. I took him to the doctor, where he was prescribed steroids to get rid of the cough. In passing, I mention to the Dr. that Jack was producing all the antibodies for diabetes, but that he wasn't diabetic yet. That apparently we don't know if he ever will be. Just wanted you to know, kind of thing. "Ok. Well, this should get rid of the cough." The next morning, Jack looked horrible. Circles under his eyes. Peeing all night. Drinking water all night. 2 doses of steroids. TWO. I tell my husband we should check his blood sugar. Chris stands behind me at the counter while we wait for the machine to count down and give the magic number. 500 and something. We both look at each other and know what it means. We didn't need a doctor to tell us that our second child was diabetic. I took him to the hospital where we got insulin doses started. Didn't need to stay long this time. He missed Halloween that year.
The researchers had begun coming to our house to draw blood now. Ben was beginning to show some signs. One after the other he would test positive for antibodies. Finally he was completely antibody positive. Every time he wet the bed, or asked for more to drink I checked his blood sugar. When he was 6 he became a diabetic.
I'm going to stop writing for a bit.
Over the years things have gotten easier, I suppose. I thank God for insulin pumps. The freedom that it gave the boys....and me. I want to make sure I clarify a few things: I am fond of BOTH diabetic groups in Atlanta. We have been back with the original endocrinology group for years now. So thankful that the diet regimen changed from when Joe was diagnosed. It went from portions of vegetables, protein, etc....to counting carbs. Again, much easier. I don't know if it's the right thing for a diabetic, however. I do know that food battles will NOT be won by a parent. A child will eventually take control of their own eating choices. I believe that we need to give the children choices. This isn't a popular belief in the diabetic community. I think I'm in the minority, actually. I will try to explain why I believe this. My sister, Hope, rebelled. Against everything. She is now 52 years old. she is wheelchair bound. Legally blind. She's in constant pain. Her words "My feet feel like you've dipped them in hot oil, then taken a cheese grater to them." She lives in fear of losing help to get her insulin. That's another story, altogether. But, I believe that a child that wants to have ice cream should be able to have SOME ice cream. I believe that teaching children to live in moderation is a better way to teach them to care for their bodies than to police them and forbid any sugar ever. Me: You want ice cream? Ok let's look at how many carbs are in this serving. Make sure you give your insulin before you eat it. You want that Reese's? Let's see how many carbs are in it, etc..... I believe that life is about choices. I am far far far from a great mother. From the time Ben was 7 I was a single mom. Handling all this alone was more than I could deal with lots of the time. Ben is 18 now. Are there things I would do differently? Sure. I would have taken a stronger position with discipline, perhaps. I could go on and on. But, really? Would I have REALLY done anything differently? I type that with some tears.
Life.
PS I will probably continue to edit this. Just sat this a.m. and wrote without "thinking".
Diabetes from the perspective of a 3 year old sister:
Hope has to pee. I don't mean she NEEDS to pee. Everyone seems to NEED her to pee. On a piece of paper. That's how we would know what to do next. Hope pees on the paper and it turns a color, then my parents would know what to do with the shot. They tried everything, at times, to get her to pee. Hand in warm water. Water trickling in the sink. I'd stand in the bathroom watching and listening to the coaxing, willing her to pee just a little bit.
Then there's the shots. The screaming and crying. I remember her running from my mom. I would hide beside the piece of furniture we kept dishes in. That little space between the furniture and the wall. I'd get really small and sit there til the screaming stopped.
Diabetes meant no sugar....at least back in those days. Hope could have the pancakes, but not the syrup. We could give her sugar free things. Tab. Sugar free candies. She went to a special doctor. She got special toys for being brave with her shots. She went to a special camp and a different school.
Hope would wet the bed and get to sleep with my parents. I remember lying in my bed forcing myself to pee, so I would get to go to their room. Mom was pretty angry about that.
Over the years, Hope's diabetes got more difficult to live with. The sneaking of candy. Anger. Resentment. That's another story. Hope moved away from our family to live with my aunt when she was about 14, or so. She lives in Arizona. I'll get back to how she is at the end.
I married Chris in 1990. Clayton was born in December 1991. For those of you who knew my father, you would probably know he was a worrier. Joe was born in December 1992. After Joe was born, he visited me and brought a little vial of strips. These were the same strips that Hope would pee on. "Jennie. If you ever notice that the boys eat too much, sleep too much, pee too much or drink too much, have them pee on these strips. " I smiled at him and he knew that I knew he was a worrier, but I heard him. I put them in the drawer in the bathroom. The catch all drawer.
When I was pregnant with Jack I began to notice something going on with Joe. He never had been a good sleeper. He cried non-stop as a baby. Seriously. He ate like an animal. When he was born, there was a bruise on his fist where he'd been sucking while he was inside of me. Everyone laughed at how much Joey could eat. 8 bottles a day. When he finally got food, he got a little more comfortable. It was approaching Christmas of his 2nd birthday when I noticed a change. He would go to a mothers morning out thing at the local church. I came in and Joe was asleep in the middle of the floor. In a little ball. All the other children were running around screaming and playing. He was sound asleep. "Aww. How sweet!" He began sleeping so much. I remember thinking "Should I wake him up? Geez! It's been 15 hours!" I'd walk up to his crib and give him a gentle push. He'd slowly wake up and we'd get the day started. Within a few hours he needed a nap again. "Whew! I FINALLY got a child who will sleep!"
Joe could eat more than most adults. At Christmas breakfast, while visiting my Aunt Alice, I remember telling them to just watch the amount he would eat. 2 biscuits with eggs, sausage and cheese. Cheese grits and orange juice. "Just wait, you all! He'll be back for more within half hour." Sure enough, just a short while later, Joe would wander back to us and ask for more "panpapes" or "grips". We all laughed at his appetite.
Joe was soaking diapers. But, that made sense, because he was drinking so much. Surely he was drinking so much because he played so hard, which is why he slept so much. I was about 6 months pregnant with Jack when Joe came up and asked for "Mo juice peez mama." No way. You cannot be thirsty, Joe. You've had so much to drink today. I'm not making another pitcher of apple juice. Then it hit me. I called for Clayton and had both boys stand at the toilet together and pee while I held the little strip. Clayton's stayed the same color. Joe's turned purple immediately. That moment is stuck in my brain. "What do I do? Take him to the hospital? Call the doctor?" I called the doctor and explained what had happened. They said go on and take him to Scottish Rite. It was mid afternoon. I figure I may as well go. I'd miss rush hour and we'd know what this meant and I could be back home before bedtime. I called Chris and told him what was going on and he said to just go ahead. That he was sure I was worrying for nothing, but to let him know.
I walk in the ER at Scottish Rite with these two (apparently) healthy children. Clayton and Joe were running all around and laughing. Playing. I tell the nurse that I need to know what this means, because I won't be able to sleep till I am sure he's not diabetic. She looked at me. She looked at Joe. Running and happy and adorable. I'm sure she wanted to roll her eyes at me, but she didn't. We are taken to a room and the nurse comes in and sticks Joe's finger and leaves. Then a doctor comes in and says "His blood sugar is in the 600's. Your son is diabetic. I know this is a lot to tell you, but he'll be ok." He told me that he, too, was a diabetic. Ok. Well. "I guess we'll just come back? Maybe see a doctor tomorrow?" "No! You'll be here for a while. Probably 4-5 days."
And it all started.
The first night, they started Joe on a little insulin. He was sleeping. And he was soaking wet with sweat. Now I know what that means. My son is really low. But, then, I didn't know what that meant. I called for the nurse and said he was sweating a lot. She checked his blood and it was 20. I didn't know what that meant. We were able to get him to wake up and drink. Juice.
The next few days were filled with classes. Back in those days you were given a different kind of diet for a diabetic than nowadays. Back then it was "4 oz fruit, 4 oz, vegetable, 4 oz protein", etc... Try making a baby eat broccoli if he doesn't want to eat it. I knew a struggle was going to come up. When they showed me the amount he could eat I laughed. "Yeah. I'm going to give him 1/2 cup of grits and an egg with cheese? " That's a big fat LOL. My child was going to starve. What I didn't know is that food was making him starve to death. The more he ate, the more he starved. Slowly I began to learn about how to take care of this little boy. He'd lost 10% of his body weight. It was winter, so I hadn't noticed he'd gotten smaller.
On the second day I was handed an orange and a shot with saline solution to draw up with the syringe. It felt funny pushing the needle into the orange. Then I was given a little rubbery, plastic-type doll. I tried to put the needle in the baby's arm. It wouldn't go in. I tried to put it on the baby's leg. It wouldn't go in. I bounced the needle several times and it still wouldn't go in. I started crying. I'm holding this doll and I'm losing it. "I don't know if I can do this," I tell the nurse. She quickly gets up. Draws a small amount of saline and tells me to put the needle into her. I tell her I can't do it. She assures me I won't even feel it go in. "I don't know why they have you all practice with that doll. It's nothing like it. Come on. Give me the shot now. I promise you won't hurt me." I just did it. And she was right. It was like putting a needle into soft butter. Thank God. For her.
After a few days of classes we are sent home with a little bag of snacks for the ride. We lived in Roswell. It was only about a 20 minute drive. You'd have thought we were going away for an 8 hour trip. I sit in the backseat with Joe. He's in his car seat. Words won't do justice to the fear I had. That little baggy of grapes in tow and we're off to take care of our newly diagnosed 2 year old.
He had to be on diluted insulin. 1/4 unit. Maybe 1/2 unit. Since you can't see that small of an amount it would be 1 unit equaling 1/4 unit. Enough to make a mom crazy. I still have the years of records. Every single finger stick. What he ate. How much he played. EVERYTHING he did, I wrote it down.
I would call the blood sugar hotline pretty often and the adjustments to his insulin would be made. Joe had multiple seizures during his first few years of being a diabetic. By the time that Ben was going to be born, 1997, I was at the end of my rope. I was going to have 4 children 5 and under. Joe had so many seizures from lows that we had him sleep in our room so we could hear him struggle in his sleep. That was the sign he was low. Most of the time we would catch it and give juice and all would be ok. But, the closer it came to Ben being born the more anxious I became. Joe had another one. This would have been at least 10 low blood sugar massive seizures. Eyes rolled back. Shaking. Teeth clenched. Body completely rigid. For those of you who don't know, a diabetic will come out of the seizure. On their own. Our liver will go into kind of an emergency mode and kick out something called glucagon (I believe that's what it's called) and they will slowly come around. The problem is that it takes the body a little while, perhaps a day, to replenish the emergency amount. If they have a second seizure in that time frame it could be ....well....I didn't want to think about that. When I was on the phone with the endocrinologist, I'm sure I sounded hysterical. I'm sure I was crying. "We have to figure this out! Why does he keep having them?!" His response to me wasn't what I wanted to hear. "Ms. Nedza, no one ever said diabetes was going to be easy, now did they?" Are you f'ing kidding me?! I lost my .....temper and called another endocrinology group and moved Joe to another endocrinology group.
If I could have calmed down, I MIGHT have seen that the doctor was being realistic. He wasn't being rude, he just didn't have the bedside manner that a frightened mother needed at that point. (FYI I spoke with this doctor about 15 years later and reminded him of this conversation and that I never forgot it. I told him that I resented him for all these years, and that now I can see that, while he could have said what he said in a different "tone", he was right. He apologized.)
At this point it's 1997. Jack is almost 2 and Ben is about to be born. We begin to take part in a study at University of Florida Gainesville. Shands Medical Center does research on families with diabetic relatives. We become involved there and all the boys begin to be part of the study. Jack isn't producing any antibodies at this point. After Ben is born, we send his blood to them, also. Another tidbit of information: when a person becomes diabetic, they produce antibodies. There are about 5 I think. Or at least there were back in those days. Now, they may have identified lots more, but back then there were 5. Jack slowly became antibody positive in all of the 5. I don't know if I can recall what they were, but it was something like GAD, IAA, IA2, ICA, and I don't know what else. It was Halloween week of 1999. Jack was 4. I got the news that he was producing all the antibodies. "It doesn't mean he will be diabetic for sure, but chances are, at some point, he will." The researchers at Shands give me this news.
Jack had a cough. Like, a cough where he couldn't talk without coughing. I took him to the doctor, where he was prescribed steroids to get rid of the cough. In passing, I mention to the Dr. that Jack was producing all the antibodies for diabetes, but that he wasn't diabetic yet. That apparently we don't know if he ever will be. Just wanted you to know, kind of thing. "Ok. Well, this should get rid of the cough." The next morning, Jack looked horrible. Circles under his eyes. Peeing all night. Drinking water all night. 2 doses of steroids. TWO. I tell my husband we should check his blood sugar. Chris stands behind me at the counter while we wait for the machine to count down and give the magic number. 500 and something. We both look at each other and know what it means. We didn't need a doctor to tell us that our second child was diabetic. I took him to the hospital where we got insulin doses started. Didn't need to stay long this time. He missed Halloween that year.
The researchers had begun coming to our house to draw blood now. Ben was beginning to show some signs. One after the other he would test positive for antibodies. Finally he was completely antibody positive. Every time he wet the bed, or asked for more to drink I checked his blood sugar. When he was 6 he became a diabetic.
I'm going to stop writing for a bit.
Over the years things have gotten easier, I suppose. I thank God for insulin pumps. The freedom that it gave the boys....and me. I want to make sure I clarify a few things: I am fond of BOTH diabetic groups in Atlanta. We have been back with the original endocrinology group for years now. So thankful that the diet regimen changed from when Joe was diagnosed. It went from portions of vegetables, protein, etc....to counting carbs. Again, much easier. I don't know if it's the right thing for a diabetic, however. I do know that food battles will NOT be won by a parent. A child will eventually take control of their own eating choices. I believe that we need to give the children choices. This isn't a popular belief in the diabetic community. I think I'm in the minority, actually. I will try to explain why I believe this. My sister, Hope, rebelled. Against everything. She is now 52 years old. she is wheelchair bound. Legally blind. She's in constant pain. Her words "My feet feel like you've dipped them in hot oil, then taken a cheese grater to them." She lives in fear of losing help to get her insulin. That's another story, altogether. But, I believe that a child that wants to have ice cream should be able to have SOME ice cream. I believe that teaching children to live in moderation is a better way to teach them to care for their bodies than to police them and forbid any sugar ever. Me: You want ice cream? Ok let's look at how many carbs are in this serving. Make sure you give your insulin before you eat it. You want that Reese's? Let's see how many carbs are in it, etc..... I believe that life is about choices. I am far far far from a great mother. From the time Ben was 7 I was a single mom. Handling all this alone was more than I could deal with lots of the time. Ben is 18 now. Are there things I would do differently? Sure. I would have taken a stronger position with discipline, perhaps. I could go on and on. But, really? Would I have REALLY done anything differently? I type that with some tears.
Life.
PS I will probably continue to edit this. Just sat this a.m. and wrote without "thinking".
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