Pausing to Reflect

We just finished your site change.  There was no screaming, crying, begging, or negotiating.  And, it suddenly occurred to me that I actually couldn't remember the last time there was.  We didn't use EMLA numbing cream.  It didn't take more than 30 seconds.  As I suddenly realized this, it made me pause with wonder at how far you have come.

I vaguely remember when you were first diagnosed.  You had just turned seven.  Your fingers were so tiny.  You were so little.  My heart was broken, and it would crack further every time we checked your blood sugar.  You would scream and cry and we would have to hold you down.  And the insulin shots.  It still causes my heart to twinge to think about the first of those.  We would literally have to straddle you and we would be crying with you as we gave them.  I still hate those days.

I will never forget the pride that I felt less than a year later when you gave yourself your first insulin shot.  How, so quickly, you took over checking your own blood sugars and giving your own shots.  I remember at the time it seemed like eternity.  That first year each day dragged on so.

And, then we started the pump.  And the Dexcom.  The screaming, crying, begging, and negotiating began again.  I so hurt for you.  Everything in diabetes looks and sounds so scary, even to adults.  Needles, the big click as the site goes in, the worse click upon insertion of a dexcom.  Terrible things done to your body over and over again, and there is no end.  So many fingersticks a day.

Today you accidentally held out your pinky to me when I went to hold your hand.  We both realized, and you joked that you hope when you get married you don't hold out your pinky when they ask for your hand. You can joke about it now.

I hear you singing as I write this.  The site change a mere pause in your evening.  It used to take up your entire evening.

Lately you are the one who reminds me that it is time for a site change.  You used to stay quiet, hoping we would forget.

You focus on other things now...you are so aware of your averages.  You tell me with disgust that you don't think this A1c will be "good."  I remind you there is no "good" or "bad."  It is simply a tool to tell us which direction we need to go.  You nod, but I know you aren't really listening.  You are becoming in charge of your diabetes.  And, you are deciding how you will view things like averages and A1c's.  I only hope that we have done our job and helped you to be as well adjusted as you can be.

I wish I could go back and tell myself that terrible diagnosis day that things ARE GOING TO BE OK. I can't believe how far we have come in four "short" but forever years.  You simply amaze me.