Mistakes

"Zack and Michael are gonna see Ice Age: The Meltdown tonight . . . and, well, they invited me to come
too . . . "

A pause.

" . . . so can I go with them?"

"What time does the movie start?" I ask with a smile.

The look on Joseph's face is priceless.

"It's at six-- does this mean you'll let me go?"

"Yup," I say with a nod. "Hey, is anyone else going?"

I'm hoping he says Zack's mom will be with them. While Michael is a really nice guy and a terrific dad, his wife is a nurse.

"No-- just me and Zack. But Michael will have his cell phone, and I'll have the black bag."

"Sounds good, bud."

At quarter to five, Michael calls to tell me that he's leaving with Zack in a few minutes to grab a quick dinner before the show.

"Joseph is welcome to join us. We're going to Delitalia."

With that, my heart sinks because we've never eaten at this place. And I know Michael wants to go right from the restaurant to the movie.

I ask him to call me back in five minutes.

A quick internet search yields the restaurant's website, a menu-- but no nutritional info.

Damn . . . well, we're just gonna have to wing it.

When he calls back, I tell Michael that Joseph can join them (which prompts some major arm pumping by my son)-- just call me from the restaurant and we'll figure out the carbs.

Thankfully, Joseph eats a sub sandwich and a bag of chips-- no problem there. But then there's the movie popcorn.

Michael waits patiently on the other end of the phone as I figure out the total carbs for Joseph's bolus.

"Okay, here's what I want him to do-- we're gonna bolus 60 grams for the sandwich and chips, then add another 20 for the popcorn. I'm going real conservative on the popcorn because he had a low earlier, and was pretty active this afternoon. So tell Joseph-- 80 grams, 1 to 20. And it's a combo bolus-- 60/40 over three hours."

I can hear the boys horsing around in the background as Michael writes this down, and then says "Great, we're all set."

And just like that, Evan and I are back filling containers with potting soil and flowers, while my son -- just like any other 10-year-old kid -- is off to dinner and a movie with a friend.

It's after eight when a silver CRV pulls into our driveway. Joseph steps out, looking at the ground, his small black backpack slung over one shoulder. I open the front door, wave to Michael as he backs out, and suddenly find my son's arms around my waist-- his head buried in my chest.

"Honey, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

I take his face in my hands, and am startled by the miserable expression I see there.

"Mom, I'm so sorry" he cries, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"What is it?"

Now I'm scared.

"I just bolused for the popcorn, in the car on the way home. For 35 grams. And I was saying it out loud, and I said a unit and a half, and then I did it. Then, like a few minutes later Michael said I already bolused for the popcorn at the restaurant."

Oh no.

"Calm down, honey. It's gonna be fine. Let's just check your sugar, and we'll deal with it. It's okay. Really."

"Mom, I told Michael, I said 'you should have told me before I bolused-- I just gave myself insulin.' But he didn't say anything. He didn't even care."

"Well, he doesn't really know as much about this stuff," I say -- while fighting back a flash of anger at Michael for being so callous, but then:

I should have made sure he knew more.

Still crying, Joseph checks his sugar. He's 344. No surprise given how upset he is, the usual rebound from an earlier low, and the fact that it's so soon after he ate dinner and all that popcorn. And his meal bolus is still active.

Still active . . .

"Wait a minute! Honey, we did a combo."

"I know. I cancelled it in the car."

"You did?"

"And I suspended my pump for the rest of the ride home."

Now I'm crying too.

"Honey." I say, his face again in my hands.

"You are brilliant. You did all the right things. What happened was a mistake. People make them. But, my God, you knew just what to do. And you realized it faster than I did."

"Mom, I was so afraid to tell you. I thought you'd be really upset with me."

I was stunned.

How much pressure must this boy be under? And how much of it comes from me?

"No, no, no," I say gently, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

"Please don't ever be afraid to tell me anything-- no matter what. You're gonna make mistakes-- and so am I. We wouldn't be human if we didn't."

And then, for a long time we say nothing.

I just hold him close.