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The calling commenced at 6am. Seemingly at her bidding, I followed Cleo from possible nest to possible nest.
At last we settled UNDER the spare room sleeping bag, on the spare room bed. She moved in and out of there for several hours, calling and cuddling, then digging in the sleeping bag. Fine.
Then she thought that under our bed was good. Filthy and out of reach, but excellent in her view.
So then she greeted Schubert with quite a spring in her step – at which point we discovered that things were underway, according to her bottom. If you get my drift.
Now with another whistle stop tour through the spare room, our bedroom and the playroom, it’s anyone’s guess where she will end up.
But it will be soon. I’ve got my supplies. But know nuthin bout birthin babies, as said in Gone With the Wind.
Sigh. Meanwhile new basals continue to behave strangely. We stagger on…
— Posting on the move, tiny screen!
Things continue to be hither and thither — hence my struggle to post! Apologies. What always then happens of course is an overwhelming urge to say EVERYTHING.
Not possible. So a quick run through: we think Cleo the cat is with kitten! Her brother is able to tolerate her, phew. We had a party for 30 people last week, and the sun managed to shine throughout! Phew. I’ve taught some year 6 (11 yr old) and today year 5 (10 yr old) school children poetry these last few days too. Really excellent fun. Phew! I delivered a paper to the Poetry and Voice conference at University of Chichester over the weekend. On how different sorts of writing have served different purposes since my son’s diagnosis — and on how the beach hut poems came about. Went well I think, and the whole conference was a stimulating one. Phew!
Not so phew: daughter M, six weeks after cracking her cocyxx in a rounders match (seriously painful, missed two days of school), then jammed her ring finger on her, yes, fingering hand…. So has had to re-schedule her violin exam. Oh dear. Very painful, swollen joint. Little delicate hands. Sniff!
Not so phew too: battles with lows. The heat seems to have had the generalised effect of lowering E’s insulin needs, so last week we had several evenings of unfortunately several hours of dragging around in the 3’s and 4’s… Even with the pump on 0%, eg actually off. It was extraordinarily wearing for him, and a I don’t mind admitting that one night it was a little scary: no insulin going in, already treated two hypos, and gee, 15 minutes later he’s still on 2.5mmols... Disconcerting. But we got up I think half a dozen times that night, and by morning he was okay.
Sigh. Then after 3 nights of going high from too low a temp basal (too little insulin) in the day — we think we’ve sort of cracked it. For now! 90% temp basal in the day, plus 90% of the usual carb counting/ratios. Turn off temp in early evening to stabilise for the night. Unless he’s exercised of course…! In which case turn it to 95%.
Assuming he remembers that he’s exercised.
Assuming that we remember what he’s told us. And that we all don’t crash out on the sofa from SHEER EXHAUSTION while watching the World Cup, where England did SO BADLY. Oh dear.
Did I mention that on the way back from Chichester the car sprung a diesel leak and I ran out of fuel while passing a truck? Scary.
And had to wait on the motorway verge 10 miles from home. Never, ever nice, traffic whipping past at 80mph. I took my linen trousers and sparkly flip flops into the nettles and thorns, up the bank, I can tell you!
And did I mention that because one car is in the shop I did all the driving this morning: child to school, OH to work. And oh, deliver a testing kit to the OTHER child across town, because accidentally forgotten….?!
But we’re here. And we’re okay. As long as we keep our juggling hands free.
Waving and Drowning 