Last weekend E had a chamber choir concert in a nearby village. He’d been dropped off early for rehearsal (downing a sandwich and milk before leaving), and I rolled up to hear the concert two hours later.

As soon as I arrive, he strolls over, a bit of a sheepish grin. Well it’s like this Mum. I’ve just eaten four sandwiches that I thought were equal to a piece of bread each, but then I realised that each was equal to half a piece. So… I think I need some free carb, yes? Big smile.

Oh my. The concert is starting in fewer than 5 mins. My brain goes into a kind of panic, and I can’t do my sums for the LIFE of me. Let’s see, one piece of  bread is 15 g carb, which is what he bolused for. Four times. So he bolused for 60 g of carb.

So… I literally cannot think. In the end of course he works it out (typical!), and I confirm: he should have bolused for more like 30g of carb. So he had taken TWICE as much insulin as he should have.

Oops.

People are sitting down and getting ready. He has two juices on him (equalling 40 g carb), but I also have a pack of fruit pastilles. Unfortunately due to my fuzzy brain I am unsure a) how many fruit pastilles are in a pack and b) quite how much carb each is. OH WELL.

I am able to reason though that if he needs it desperately, the juice will work faster, so it should be saved for an actual hypo just in case. I therefore throw the fruit pastilles at him and tell him to eat the whole thing right away. I manage to catch both conductors and let them know what’s happened. Fortunately they are the same great teachers who took him on a choir tour to the Isle of Wight last autumn, so they know what’s what. Phew. Once I sit down I am able to calculate that if each fruit pastille is roughly 4 g each, and there are 10 or so in the pack, he should be fine. Phew.

My phone vibrates: Text me if I look low.

Eek.

So the concert starts. It sounds brilliant, lots of complicated and quite thrilling choral music. I watch him like a hawk. He makes it.

He tests at the interval: 8.6mmols. Decent, but it feels low for partway through a dose AND one propped up by a whack of sugar, which will go through fast. I steal a biscuit and get it to him, thus sparking the whole entourage of 20 boys to search out more biscuits.

Oops.

He has one more set to get through, and does so. Sits down with the others, tests again and texts me: 10.5 mmols.

Phew.

At home, all remains even. He doesn’t eat anything else, and goes to bed on a decent number. Wakes up on 5.6mmols. Ker-ching!

***

Really not an experience I would choose to have. Of course. But I was so proud of him for noticing his mistake, for addressing it, and for holding it together and putting in a good performance.

The point is: he could have done it himself. He could have managed the whole thing. We were there supporting each other, and it was therefore less stressful — but he could have done it.

OH was not happy not to be there. Understandably. You want to be there through everything.

But E did it. And could have done it without either of us. Maybe a bit more slapdash, but it would have worked.

Only one thing made me throw up my hands: as we leave the concert, one of his friends calls out hey, thanks for the fruit pastilles!

I turn to E. I don’t like the blackcurrant ones, he says. Sheepishly.

Argh!

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