This is a post straight from the mom of a diabetic. There are days I literally can't take it anymore, and on those days, Laila sure finds ways to push my buttons. Today is one of those days.
I'm not quite sure what got into me when I scheduled today's Endocrinology Appointment at 9:00am. At the time, it must have sounded good. At 7:00am when I was forcing myself into the shower, it didn't sound nearly as fun. The drive to the hospital for her visit is nearly an hour, and that's on a good day with little traffic. I had to get myself, my husband, and three children up, dressed, fed, and out the door by 8:00am? Ha, not going to happen. Lucky for me, I had a friend coming over to drop my middle daughter, Kenadi, off at school. That left 4 of us to wrangle out the door, and by God, somehow, we made it on time.
The drive there was uneventful, but as soon as we set foot inside those doors, the devil's spawn let loose. Every visit is the same, the same staff, the same procedure, the same office...the same attitude problem. During the past week I made mention to Laila she would have to stand on a scale to be weighed, stand against a wall to have her height measured, and let them attach a blood-pressure cuff to her arm to check her vitals. She seemed fine with everything up until it was time to perform, then the flood gates opened to let loose the screams and tears. Embarrassing doesn't even begin to cover it. Having your diabetic child scream like you're removing an appendage when you're checking her sugar-something she does numerous times a day- is a little unsettling. My poor husband literally had to pick her up and stand her on the scale all the while she was screaming.
Once the check-in process was over and we met with the doctor, she snapped back to reality and into her normal sweet self. We discussed a pump, and how desperate she is to try one. It would be such a relief to only have to give her a "poke" once every 3 days, versus the 6-8 times a day she's receiving them now. We agreed to set up an appointment for a week from tomorrow to meet with a nurse and doctor, they intend to really get things moving for her. We don't have a set pump in mind, but they do, and they have chosen one they think will work best with her activities and lifestyle. As we were packing our things to leave, she said the two words every child-and adult-dreads hearing: blood work. Even better, the lab was just around the corner.
I sent my husband with Laila to the lab to get things started while I made our appointments for followup. By the time I made it down there, they finished the urine collection and were about to start the actual blood draw. Let me tell you what, I would have rather sand papered a wild cat's rear end than hold her still for that blood work! She kicked, screamed, cried, and clenched her arms shut so tight it took two of us to hold her down. I can't believe it! I apologized profusely, as any mother would, and walked out with a read face and a hand full of tissue.
I tried explaining to Laila in order to use an insulin pump she's going to have a needle put in her skin, about that size, once every 3 days. She didn't care. I told her she was a big girl, she said she wasn't. I promised her everything under the sun, she told me she didn't want me. She wanted daddy. My heart was broken, but my job was complete. Another trip to the Endo-check.