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I'm not a Doctor - I just play one in Real Life!

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

I'm NOT a Doctor.

I'm NOT a Nurse.

I'm NOT even a Pancreas.

Not really.

I just play one in real life.

It hits me sometimes. How crazy this life is.

Maybe it was opening a cabinet and realizing that pretty much the ENTIRE thing needed to be devoted to D supplies. Because the 2 shelves that we're currently using is far too small with the addition of the Dexcom supplies.

And I'm not talking about the little medicine cabinet that you have hanging on your bathroom wall.

No - this is a MUCH bigger cabinet. Like it has double doors and is as tall as I am.

Maybe it was cleaning out the D bag and finding 34 old test strips.

Maybe it was cleaning out the garage and finding 5 old test strips.

Maybe it's the fact that we have juice boxes and smarties hidden all over the house and in the cars.

Maybe it's the fact that the container of ketone strips are a permanent fixture in our bathroom. (Don't worry- it's not one where we take showers. Strips should not be stored in places with humidity or moisture.)

Maybe it's the blood stains on Sweetpea's pillows and sheets from messy finger sticks in the night.

Maybe it's the fact that seeing my child's blood multiple times each and every day is no big deal.

Maybe it's the fact that inserting needles into my child every three days has also become no big deal.

Maybe it's the syringes that I still find in my car.

Maybe it's the rubber gloves I put on before putting the EMLA cream on her skin.

Maybe it's because I'm on a first name basis with our Pharmacist.

Maybe it's because the smell of alcohol wipes is, somehow, normal and oddly reassuring.

Maybe it's that I know my way around a few hospitals.

Maybe it's all the weird terminology that I use in everyday conversation: basal, bolus, prime, cannula, DKA, EMLA, ketones, insulin peaking, fall rate, lancets, insets, sites, blood glucose....

Maybe it's because I feel like I'm "on call" at night and that I'm awake tending to medical emergencies.

Maybe it's the fact that I inject a life saving but also very dangerous drug into my child. And it's no big deal anymore.

Maybe it's the filling of syringes and cartridges.

Have you even seen exactly how small a drop of insulin Sweetpea needs?

Check this out...

That's ONE unit.

Sweetpea's basal rate, the amount she gets an hour for most of the day, is .125. Did you catch that POINT in there. .125 units per hour. So divide that drop there on my finger by 8.

Without that drop, that drop that is tinier than a tear, she would die.

Maybe that's why. Maybe it's the life and death calls I make every day. Every hour. Sometimes every minute.

It's easy to pretend it's not like that. It's easy to push it away and forget. It all gets so routine.

But it's not routine. Not to have to inject your child with something so that she can stay alive.


I may not have a fancy medical school degree hanging on my wall.

I may not have the letters M.D. after my name.

But I AM a doctor.

I AM a nurse.

and I AM a pancreas.

Like it or not.

I'm Hallie. MoD.

(That's Mother of a Diabetic)


1 comment:

  1. This is amazing! What a great post. Trust me, one day, she will thank you endlessly. I became a type 1 at 15, and my parents were more "hands off" with my care. It was always my responsibility. I WISH I had this kind of attention and care from someone. You are amazing, and I too feel like I am all of those things as well.


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