Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall
August 28, 2014
Hi. My name is Rhonda, and apparently, I used to blog here!
Sheesh! Has it really been six weeks. Trust me, it’s not for lack of material. Rather, with the kids out of school, I’ve been quite busy.
I took a short vacation with Mom, Niece and Daughter. I spent 9 days working Texas Lions Camp for Diabetes. Of course, I reprised and maintained my role as summer Cruise Director. And, I spent the lot of August getting five boys ready for school. Senior pictures, clothes, shoes, supplies. As if I didn’t have enough to do, Mr. Diabetes requires I now have special meetings with the teachers and nurses on top of already attending 6th grade camp and Meet the Teacher night. In the meantime, I have to work to pay for all of it, and somewhere in there…still be wife and pancreas. Occasionally I get to sleep. There’s rarely a dull moment, but I digress.
Ok, below is what I’ve been thinking about, and I think I would struggle to find a Diabetes parent who doesn’t fully understand what I’m saying. Disclaimer: This is not a fishing expedition for compliments. It’s simply how I feel.
We celebrated our second 2-year-Diaversary in August, which means for 2.5 years, I’ve been going at the Mommy-Pancreas bit. It’s a role I didn’t audition for or seek, but I won the part…the lead…twice. Yea, Rhonda!
I was 37 when Mr. Diabetes crept into our lives. Wait, forget I said that. Well, remember for now, but forget later. It’s important for my point.
I had my daughter, my first child, when I was 17, thus before Diabetes snuck in, we were often mistaken for sisters since there really isn’t much of an age gap there. She’s so much more beautiful than me, but I know I’m biased. So, I held on to 29 for quite awhile.
|My daughter & me in July..don't be deceived by the great makeup and suspected photoshop|
On my first birthday after Diabetes diagnoses, I went ahead and upped my age to 35. Since my daughter was getting older, it was getting a little weird to explain I was 9 when she was born. Folks weren’t buying it anymore. Besides, suddenly, I didn’t feel 29 anymore. I felt and looked 35.
So many nights staying up to give carbs and wait for a glucose level to be safe enough to sleep. So many nights giving correction insulin for a high sugar, then having to get up again in 2 hours to make sure it wasn’t too much (and 2 hours after that). So many nights staying up to do “basal testing” to make sure the underlying insulin rate was accurate. So many nights awake, wondering, worrying, sometimes tearful.
So many days stressing about things that had never crossed my mind before. What’s the Carb Count in that roll? Do I have enough juice boxes? Does everyone know how to use Glucagon in case I’m not around? When is the next appointment? Are my other kids getting enough of my time and attention because so much of me HAS to focus on keeping my twins alive and healthy? How bad am I screwing this up? Am I doing enough?
It’s a pain and a worry that originates from the deepest part of my core….a part I really didn’t know I had until Mr. Diabetes invaded our perfect little world.
Mirror, Mirror on the Wall. Who’s the tiredest of them all?
So, now I look in the mirror and I wonder who that is staring back at me. I almost don’t recognize her. Two years ago, she was 29. In six weeks, she’ll be 40.
I see insurmountable fatigue. I see dark circles that no concealer can hide because it’s more than skin deep. I see pain and worry deep in my eyes. I see a 40-year-old woman where a 29-year-old (for the 9th time) girl used to sit. It’s a little depressing.
That’s how quickly Diabetes ages us. At this rate, I’ll be dead in no time, but I’m not allowed to die. My boys need me. My husband needs me. By the time my boys graduate, I’ll look 80, I’m sure of it. It’s not enough for Him to rob my boys of a pain-free worry-free childhood. He has to take his physical toll on me, too. You suck, Mr. Diabetes. (Wait. I apologize. Please don’t screw up my night now!)
I remind myself regularly that this could be so much worse. I know it. But, the level of work, science, thinking, voodoo, planning, sorcery, worrying, and math involved just to keep my babies alive and healthy is exhausting. It’s not to be discounted or undermined on any level. It’s tough.
|These guys are WORTH every wrinkle, bag, dark circle and flaw!|
This is the hand I was dealt, and I’ll play it the best I can…even if it means I’ll get the Senior Citizen discount at 45!
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