1) even though you don’t know why something has happened, you know how to make it better — and it gets better. We don’t know why E’s numbers have been so low the last few days. But we have settled things by going for a long term 85% temp basal (lowering across the board), even lowering meal ratios by 15% (eg the amount of insulin to number of grams of carb: this changes in every person, from meal to meal, but usually remains the same for long-ish stretches day to day). And he has stabilised. 

2) the sun is shining.

3) you find your daughter a great pair of shoes that fit for once, and are all European, on sale, and gorgeous and she loves them.

4) you go shopping with your daughter, and she winds scarves all around you a la Gok’s Fashion and discusses things like textured finishes. And she’s only nine years old.

5) you’ve written one poem anyway that begins to starts to seems to get close to some things you might want to say. 

***

Suffice it to say that two nights ago we had a REALLY grim run. E dragged the bottom for hour after hour, with two hypos which made the horrible adrenalin/fear come.

It’s hard to explain this without getting emotional. But it’s pretty awful — really awful — to see one of the three people you love most in the world, and one of the two people you actually brought into the world — in such confused fear. So frightened, and feeling so alone. Because we don’t have hypos, and have never had one. We can’t know what it’s like to be muddled, to be angry and afraid in that way, and feeling not safe. It’s the brain that does this, when starved of glucose. It begins to race adrenalin into the system, which produces panic and fear…

We reduced the insulin big-time, kept giving carb without insulin, and he came up. Eventually. By morning.

And yes, if it weren’t for my children, I would give up my life for him not to have to deal with this. Not to go through this. The everyday relentlessness of it — and oh, as if that weren’t enough, the added one-off panics, the moments of tipping over into frightening lows or sick-making highs.

So yesterday was not a good day. He stayed home from school, completely exhausted. I wrote a poem and tried to answer emails.

We put him on 85%, where he remains.

He made it through his performance last night — which we all attended and enjoyed — and also sang today in a chamber choir competition. He and his sister played and talked for two hours this afternoon. This has happened before: after a crisis, they intuitively want to re-connect.

And yes, his sister. Her day at school yesterday was also pretty dreadful. She cried in Maths and cried during English. She was worried about him. And angry that he was home for the second day this week. That maybe we were taking more care of him than her. And recovering from a cold, trying to understand it all and deal with all this conflict inside her… 

She had a long, honest talk with her father, and her teachers looked out for her.

*** 

She’s okay today. Miraculously, after the unremitting rock bottom two nights ago, somehow we are all okay. Again I say: it’s incredible what you can get used to, how many blows you can take and then get up and enjoy the sunshine.

I started this meaning to sound better….and I hope I do. I feel it. A bit sad, a bit flat. But this is not unusual. I know it will wear off a bit.

And we went shopping. And, I’ll say again, the sun really did shine.

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