It’s one of those nights. Good ol’ Diabetes is whipping out his famous torture tactic…sleep deprivation. In the great words of DH, Sleep Deprivation is Diabetes’ Water-boarding.
I woke up at 0600 on Tuesday morning. After getting the kids off to school, going to the gym, and running errands, I took about a 2.5 hour nap in preparation for my 12-hour night shift. With joy, I spent 12 hours caring for other people’s babies.
I arrived back home about 0730 on Wednesday morning. After tending to the dogs and throwing a roast in the crock pot, I slept about 4 hours. Ordinarily, I’ll sleep a bit more than that after working, but Wednesday was special. You see, the schools have these great random days where they release students early. I call them “Parental Inconvenience Days”; they call them Teacher In-service Days. Whatever. I chose to make the best of it. I took the boys to see Planes, and since Daddy was home, I snuck in a quick pedicure before dinner. My roast was fabulous by the way, which is precisely why my kids didn’t want to eat it.
My plan was to hit the hay about 10pm after I knew the boys’ blood sugars were ok. That’s where my thinking became flawed. Diabetes latched onto my plans and decided to sabotage. We did our typical 7:30 pm check. Asa was 48, Aiden 133. I gave Asa 24g of peanut butter crackers. We rechecked at 8:20, just prior to 8:30 bedtime. Asa had catapulted up to a whoppin’ 61!
Typically, the kitchen is closed after dinner, especially after I’ve cleaned. Not tonight. What would you like from the Diner? Juice Box for 15g. Since Daddy was gone taking the big boys to a dumb scary movie, I decided to read. Asa is my “slow riser” so I planned to check again in an hour or so.
While reading an interesting book about a killer night shift nurse (oh, the irony), I started feeling pretty sleepy! I decided to doze for about 30 minutes until the man got home and we could have our nightly “adult time” (Kids in bed, adults can watch TV and converse. It’s a neat concept). I guess Diabetes was lurking in the corner, because no sooner than my eyes started to close than Aiden came down stairs at 9:10 pm stating he “felt low”. He should’ve been asleep 30 minutes ago. Of course, he was 51. This waitress re-opened the diner and served up 15g of Chocolate Milk.
The man got home about 9:45. After verbal descriptions and bodily demonstrations of how the movie scared Kyle, I sent him to recheck the boys. They were low normal. 81 and 100. We decided to go ahead and watch TV for an hour despite my overwhelming fatigue. Partly, it was because I savor my time with him, and partly, because I know it would do me no good to try to go to sleep with sugars that low. I’d lay there and think about it instead. Even when Daddy has it all under control, I have to know and can’t rest.
After an hour or so of TV, I crept upstairs with my spelunker lamp on my head. My knees creaked with each and every step…all 16 of them. Sugars were at a lovely 48 and 69. Back downstairs. I thought the kitchen was closed for the night, but I had to open the diner…again…for these special circumstances. Repeat the same 16 stairs with the same loud knees to deliver 15g of Chocolate Milk each. Tired. Still tired. Still have to wait to make sure sugars are good enough to sleep through the night. Can I please catch a wink…or a breath, Diabetes? I’ll tell you whatever it is you’re wanting to hear!
We watched one more show. Recheck at midnight. 102 and 104. I decided to retire….finally…at that point. I set the alarm for 2:30 am so I could assure they weren’t tanking just before the “dawn phenomenon”. Well, 102 and 104 after lows just isn’t quite comfy enough for my good taste. So, I lie awake. I think of this blog. Under the covers. Out of the covers. Change positions. Watch the clock. Finally, I just get up. May as well since I just can’t sleep, despite overwhelming fatigue. I can’t sleep unless I know my babies are safe. (The man is sleeping soundly knowing I have this all under control; he has to work in the morning while I have the option of sleeping if need be. When I work, he has to do this with no backup. He rocks like that!).
At 0100, I listen to my knees pop and creak up 16 steps again. This time, I sneak a prick on two little toes since they were sticking out; they don’t like it, but they never know unless I tell them. It gives their over-used fingers one small break. 86 and 107. One stable, one declining. Back down to the diner to serve a bit more juice. Creak, creak, creak, creak….
(Really, I should have fabulous thighs for all of this home Stairmaster exercise I’m getting, but nope.)
Now, I’m wondering what I did to piss Diabetes off. Did I bad-mouth your mother? Did I flirt with your wife? Did I not pay enough attention to you? (I disagree as we had to do two site changes only to have a PDM error 2 hours later which necessitated a call to Omnipod and another site change. I mean, who cares, insulin is cheap, right?) I didn’t lose my temper today (despite the PDM error). I did everything I was supposed to do. But, Diabetes doesn’t care. He heard I was tired and needed sleep. He’s just contrary like that.
So, the house is sound asleep, and I am awake to make sure my baby boys will wake up in the morning. Worst case scenario, I’m up all night, then I sleep while they’re at school tomorrow. Then, I hope that tomorrow’s substitute nurse doesn’t need to call me, yet, I hope she does call me if she has any questions about my boys’ care.
This is a perfect night where a Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM) would be a great tool so I could rest with the comfort of being alerted for plummeting sugars. But, I can’t bear the thought of jabbing my sons with any more sharp instruments. I can’t fathom the idea of them having to wear ANOTHER device on their growing bodies. And, I don’t think their sensitive skin would tolerate any more adhesive than it already is forced to cope with.
Having to run this all-night diner is a prime example of why I’ve had to give up other things. Nothing is more important than my kids, so something had to give. My gym plans fall when sleep takes precedent. My house isn’t as clean as I’d like it because I’m simply worn out some days. My dogs need to go to the groomer. I need a haircut. I can’t apply for a job that fits my post-graduate education because I have to stay home and be a pancreas, because nobody knows our boys or serves as a pancreas better for our boys than we do. I’m their Mommy first. Being a pancreas (and waitress) is exhausting.
It’s 1:30 now. I’ll listen to 32 more knee creaks as I recheck Mr. 86. Then, I’ll try to sleep until 0545. If not, I’m up. I’m up until because that’s what Mommies and pancreases do.
And think about it. Really. Seven broken hours of sleep in the last 48 hours is enough, right?