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One year anniversary of Ocean's diagnosis.
Sun Salutations for anxiety relief. Scott playing piano in the other room. His anxiety relief.
Edit: this is my other de-stressor. Lots and lots of books. Books for days. Books for years. Books to get away. Books to relate to. Books that make your house a home.
91 of the 101 books I read in 2016
This. Life couldn't get any better than a baby and a book in your lap.
Accepting the shadow side within us adds to our beauty.
I think of my anxiety as part of my shadow side. Of course the anxiety is fueled by many things but I hate it. I tend to see it as seperate from me even though I logically tell myself that I accept both my light and dark side. It is obvious that I do not. If in accept my anxiety as part of my shadow side, as part of my story, will the gold shine through?
Painting therapy of the day.
My anxiety tends to ruin most days. The way it is seen by others is as anger. So in turn I hurt the ones around me. Everyone in our house has anxiety - my husband, my son, my dog - but I seem to be the one to turn the house upside down with my anxiety. To stomp around, to grit my teeth, to snap a command, to roll my eyes. The anger comes out instead of my anxiety exploding. What would happen if the anxiety exploded? I've pushed it down for so many years that I don't even know how to let it out. Yoga helps but can you do to yoga 24 hours a day?
I hate me when I'm that anxious. Diabetes hasn't killed my kid yet, but it's killing me and its killing the family I used to have.
Can I trade my anxiety for faith? Can I have faith that Ocean will live instead of anxiety that he will die? Can I have faith that we will be taken care of instead of anxiety that I must do it all without mistakes.
"Little faith will bring your souls to heaven but great faith will bring heaven to your souls." -CH Spurgen
Yes. Yes. Yes. I will strive to trade my anxiety for faith.
This is why I started EMDR therapy. I like me. Actually I love me. Oceans disease is changing me. The anxiety is drowning me. I must remain me. I want my son to grow up with memories of the person I am and have chosen to be, not the person diabetes turns me into.
What happens when you give Humalog instead of Lantus? 23 packets of sugar given two at a time every 15 minutes.
For those of you new to the type one diabetic world, Humalog is a fast acting insulin that I inject in Ocean with a meal so that he can absorb the carbs. It's full cycle runs about five hours. Lantus is a basal insulin, it is given once a day and lasts for 24 hours. In simple terms it helps stabilize his blood sugar's.
Two nights ago Ocean and I fell asleep pretty early, at 8 PM Scott came in to wake me to tell me it was time for Lantus. I was pretty much still asleep when I gave him the insulin. And went back asleep, until for some reason I woke up at 9 PM. I looked over at the bag that contains all of our diabetic supplies and realized that the Humalog was laying out. Then it hit me, oh shit I think I gave him Humalog instead of Lantus. Thank all the gods that they woke me up and had me see that the Humalog was out, otherwise Ocean would have gone into a coma in his sleep, or had a seizure. Giving him that much Humolog with no food makes him drop fast so we immediately started giving him two packets of sugar every 15 minutes. He stayed in the hundreds the whole time, which is good and safe but it was scary. I knew how to handle the situation from reading tons of blogs over the last 10 months. I'm hoping someday all my blogs can give some insight to other T1D moms. Everything turned out OK, however you can imagine I pretty much stayed up the rest of the night and stared at him. So many challenges, so much to learn, so many variables in this T1D world.
My sweet husband sat up with me all night as we watched him, watched the clock, gave him sugar and poked him about 1 million times. Oceans poor fingers must have been sore in the morning. I wonder what he was thinking. I wonder what he will remember. Am I the bad guy? Am I the good guy?
Type One Rock Star
Welcome to Holland
by
Emily Perl Kingsley
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this……
when you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You Buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. The Colosseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!?" You say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It's just a different place. It's slower paced in Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around… And you begin to notice that Holland has wind meals… And Holland has two lips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
but everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy… And they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned." And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away… Because the last of that dream is a very significant loss.
But… If you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special the very lovely things… about Holland.
Sometimes it hurts to look at pictures of Ocean pre-diagnosis. Chubby little innocent one. I'm glad we didn't know what was to come but I just wish...well I guess I just wish it never came. I miss the days before. And I'm overwhelmed and scared of the days ahead. It's taken him almost a year to start doing some of the things he could do before the slow (then rapid) downward slide into type one. Making funny faces in the mirror - or phone, is one of those things.
Ocean went through so much trama right when he was startinf to talk that he not only stopped learning new words but regressed. I I remember noticing the changes start around October of 2015 (diagnosis wasn't until March 2016.) I thought he was just asserting his independence by not wanting to mimic me anymore and not saying the words I knew he knew. Little did I know his body was slowly starting to attack those beta cells. It was at least 6 months before the final trigger happened and his pancreas stopped working completely. Months of his body having high blood sugars and me not knowing. Months of him probably knowing something wasn't quite right with no way to tell me. I hate that I didn't know.
The first word he ever spoke was Light. Last night he finally said it again.
Pre - diagnosis ⬆️ Probably July 2015
Post-diagnosis ⬆️ Feb 2017
Painting therapy of the day
I think he may have ruined the train but it was worth it.