Spent two days last week developing (in my head, you understand!) this blog in all kinds of directions: definitions, glossaries, lists of useful websites, yes yes YES!

And then by Saturday I was completely overwhelmed. Like this:


I’m going to take this step by step. I’m going to let this build organically. I’m just going to write like a writer like me. In my situation. In my family. The fact that I keep being driven to this is me telling myself something. Not to get too psychoanalytical about it.

Or actually, heck, to go ahead and get psychoanalytical about it. The way I make sense of the world is by writing. Full stop. So that’s what I’ll do, and we’ll see what happens.


It did snow, after all, last week, just a little late. Like so many things. You reach a state of giving up, and then here it comes. Over two days, 14 inches of soft silent snow landed. Everything was cancelled. We couldn’t get out of the driveway. We set up bird feeding stations. The cats stared longingly out of the windows…

As is de rigour with snow play it seems, E hypo-ed regularly, despite putting his pump on hours of low temp basals (eg reducing his insulin to try to avoid low blood sugar). Despite the shakes hypos give him, and the sense of being muddled and weak. Despite him having to just stop and sort himself: come in and test, drink some juice to bring his levels back up — he just seems to cope. Many hypos in a day are exhausting generally, and when this happens he sometimes has to sleep or rest — how flipping inconvenient! 

I don’t know how he does it, or how he keeps from just going mad with frustration. But interestingly, he does. A year in, and already — despite everything, everything which is so overwhelming and hard — it’s part of him.

Things shift so slowly and at such a depth that we hardly recognise that anything has happened. But one morning the whole landscape is changed.