Seriously, it's been mostly good

After writing my last post, I felt a whole heck of lot better. I needed to talk about what happened that day-- and wanted anyone reading to be aware of how quickly ketones can get out of control.

And to be prepared if they do.

Well, this post illustrates the flip side-- our norm this summer (vs the craziness of last Tuesday).

A summer filled with drama (the stage variety, that is), swimming, and baseball.

Oh so very much baseball.

While Evan was busy discovering her inner Sarah Bernhardt, Joseph came into his own at the plate, batting over 300 in the regular season and making the All Star team yet again.


He's come a long way... remember this little guy.

This season Joseph continued to thrive on the mound, pitching in both regular season and All Star tournments, but also playing other positions-- including catcher (despite being a lefty!).

And diabetes?

Well, it dished out plenty of highs and lows-- but mostly, it stayed out of Joseph's way.

Soooo, here now is a 3 minute taste of it all...

Enjoy!

A Bittersweet Win

"I can't believe it-- we're actually gonna see the Red Sox play tonight!"

"Mom, we should just get cable," Joseph says with a sly grin, "then we can see them anytime we want."

"No."

That's all I say. Because I don't feel like explaining yet again that if we had cable TV, we'd be a family of lab rats-- spinning endlessly through all of those channels...

Nope, I'm not going there.

We're having dinner in a sports bar on a fine Saturday night, minutes away from watching Game 6 of the American League Championship Series in glorious high definition TV.

In fact, all of the plasma TVs in view will be showing our game.

I am in heaven.

In. Heaven.

And nothing is gonna spoil it.

You see, just two nights ago, I listened to Game 5 on the radio while the rest of my family slept. I heard that amazing comeback.

Now, I was about to see my boys play.

"Uhhh, Mom... " Joseph says, interrupting my reverie, "where's the game?"

"Huh?"

Immediately I peel back a sleeve to look at my watch, and then my eyes return to the giant screen several feet in front of our booth.

Yup, the "TBS" logo is exactly where it should be, in the lower right corner.

But, wait-- a sitcom is on?

"What? What?" I sputter.

Frantically looking around for someone who can do something about this, I spot a young, dark-haired man behind the bar explaining to a white-haired gentleman in a Boston cap that he'll try to figure out what's going on.

When I turn back to the giant screen, words scroll across the bottom telling us that TBS is experiencing "technical difficulties."

WHAT?!

For several long minutes, I stare at the screen in disbelief-- while Ryan works hard to reassure me that I will indeed get to see my game.

And thankfully, he's right-- minutes later, I see Josh Beckett going into his wind up.

Criminy, TBS-- don't scare me like that.

Spirits lifted, I sigh, sit back and watch Beckett throw a perfect strike.

And just as he's about to let go a second pitch, I hear my daughter's voice.

"Mama, I want to go home."

"What? What?"

"I'll take her home," Ryan tells me with a smile. "You and Joseph stay here and enjoy the game-- I can listen to it on the radio."

"Ah ya sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

(Have I mentioned lately how much I love this man?)

Soooo, moments after Ryan and Evan leave -- with the Sox down one run -- Joseph and I belly up to the bar so we can sit with the other two Boston fans in the place-- that older gentleman in the Boston cap (Rob) and his wife (Deb).

Turns out, Rob is actually from Massachusetts-- born 66 years ago in my hometown. In the very same hospital where my mother had me.

We laugh at the coincidence and proceed to cheer loudly for our team.

Between innings, Joseph talks baseball stats and pitching calls with Rob, even getting up at one point to demonstrate the throwing motions of his favorite major league pitchers-- Daisuke, Papelbon, Beckett, Sabathia...

And he's spot on.

Over and over, Rob tells me: "If I ever had a son, I would have wanted this one!" and "I just love your boy!"

All the while, I sit back on my bar stool and beam.

Until about halfway through the game, that is-- when Rob asks Joseph who he wants to win the presidential election.

"Obama, of course!" Joseph says.

"What about the other kids at your school?"

"Obama. All the way."

Rob, still smiling, turns to me and his wife.

"What about you?" I ask. "Have you all decided who you're going to support?"

"McCain," he responds with a grin. Deb nods, chiming in--
"Oh yes, McCain."

Usually, when someone tells me they support John McCain I leave it at that, respecting their decision-- as I hope they respect mine. But there's something in the way Rob says it. I can't put my finger on it, but for some reason I can't leave it sit, so I go on.

"What made you decide to support McCain?"

"It's simple, Obama is going to spend and we don't have the money-- we need to do an across-the-board cut." He pauses, takes a sip of his Chardonnay, and then continues, "Don't get me wrong, Bush ran us into the ground running up the debt. But now we need to stop spending. Period."

"You do realize that some programs are necessary-- education, healthcare- "

"Nope. We've got to stop. If I had kids I'd probably feel different, but I don't."

He chuckles, and then adds, "It's not our problem."

Those words -- that laugh -- feel like a blow.

"But what about healthcare?" I ask, struggling to stay calm. "You do know that John McCain's own campaign announced two weeks ago that he was going to pay for his healthcare plan 'with major reductions in medicare and medicaid'-- this didn't come from Obama's campaign or a commercial, this came from John Mc-"

"That won't affect us," Rob says, with an almost serene smile.

"But people, people like my son... he has diabetes- "

And now, Rob and Deb stop smiling.

"Listen," I continue, "John McCain's healthcare plan, if he puts this thing in place... well, my son may not have access to the tools he needs to treat his disease. Insurance companies will be allowed to relocate to those states that don't require coverage of diabetes supplies. This will hurt my son, and millions of others- "

"Yes, yes," Deb cuts me off, "pre-existing conditions, that's right-- people with pre-existing conditions. That will be hard for them."

Hard for them. HARD for them?

I want to scream.

But the game is back on.

For a while I can't say anything. I can't even look at them. But then, the Red Sox score another run, and we're cheering again.

In the end, the Sox win. We all celebrate with hugs and high fives, and then say our goodbyes.

"Thank you," Rob calls out, as we pull on our coats, "you both made this game really special."

As I'm backing out of our parking space, Joseph turns to me and says, "Mom, I really like those people."

"Yes, they were very nice," I say, my voice catching.

And here I am, days later-- still feeling troubled.

Yes, the Sox were eliminated and that really sucks.

But it's that conversation at the bar I can't seem to shake.

Holy Cow!

Yesterday it dawned on me that I hadn't posted in three weeks.

Yikers!

What the heck's goin' on over here?

Well, the short answer is:

We've been outside.

The slightly longer answer...

I've been mulching and tending to my garden; Joseph started baseball-- and is again a pitching monster; Evan learned how to pump her legs and swing (a moment of pure joy, by the way), and we've been playing a lot of one-on-one basketball-- day and night.

I'm not really any good, but it's a lot of fun...

Oh yes, and two weekends ago-- Joseph's "brother" Zachary spent one night with us.

It was wonderful and hard, all at once (a post on that visit is in progress.)

Since this entry is a little thin on details, I'm filling it in with some images...

Enjoy!




(Coming soon on the diabetes front: News about next week's endo visit and an update on Joseph's 504.)

A Post!

I'm almost giddy at the prospect.

Really.

So, why the long silence?

Well, there's been a ton going on-- some of it I can share now, some I can't talk about yet.

But I will soon.

Anyhow, a couple of weeks ago, Ryan -- who is almost never sick -- had a pretty bad case of "That Dreaded Vomiting Thing."

Thankfully, he recovered quickly (albeit seven pounds lighter)-- and (hurray!) neither the kids nor I came down with it.

But then -- right on the heels of said recovery -- I got "That Nasty Respiratory Thing."

Aches, pains, fever, wet cough-- you get the picture.

Still have the damn thing.

Evan, too.

And now, Joseph.

Sigh.

Friday night, he was in the 300s and spilling ketones.

Same thing yesterday, while playing "fall ball."

Double sigh...

So, what else has been going on?

Let's see, before all the illness hit there was lots -- and I mean LOTS -- of wrangling with the nurse at Joseph's new school (oh, the post that is coming... ) resulting in an ungodly amount of stress and:

Meetings with the nurse and Joseph's teachers, and an impromptu one-on-one with Joseph's endo;

Phone conversations with all of the above and the principal;

A number of insanely late nights on the laptop fleshing out the protocols for Joseph's care at school that were outlined in his 504 plan, but now apparently must be spelled out in ever more excruciating detail if I want my son to, say, NOT run in the 200s all day, every damn day of the school year.

Again-- oh, the post that is coming...

(No wonder I got sick.)

Okay.

Moving on...

As August came to a close, we discovered the reason Evan no longer enjoyed bike rides...


She wanted to pedal, too.

(Thus, our Burley has been officially retired.)

Yet another highlight-- I mentioned that Joseph is playing fall baseball.


Well people, my boy's pitching is still something to see.


Seriously.

And finally, as we were driving home early last week, me hacking and sneezing away -- one hand on the wheel, the other groping desperately for a tissue -- Joseph called out from the back seat:

"Mom, I really hope I don't get sick."

"Why's that, Bud?"

"Because I don't want to miss one day."

"One day? One day of what?"

"Of school," he said, laughing and shaking his head-- as if the answer were just that obvious.

Doesn't want to miss a day.

Of middle school.

Now it's my turn to shake my head and laugh.

Home Stand

While gearing up for our trip back east-- to my home state of Massachusetts -- we hit a couple of snags that could delay our departure.

(More on these "snags" in another post).

We're still coming, of course-- just might arrive a day or so later than expected.

In the meantime, I'd like to set up a plan to rally with some d-bloggers (and any readers who would like to join us) in the New England area.

I was thinking that, because my boy is dying to see a baseball game while we're out there, combining a d-blogger get-together with a trip to the ball park might be fun.

Now, Joseph would go insane if we could see the Red Sox-- but I'm sure those are hard-to-get, very expensive tickets.

A really cool (and much cheaper) alternative would be to take in some Triple-A ball.



I just bought tickets tonight.

We're going to the Monday, July 23rd game. And there are still many seats available around the ones we got.

But they're selling fast.

So if you'd like to join us, comment or send me an email and I'll tell you exactly where we'll be sitting.

Game time is 7:05, but if folks arrive early maybe we could tailgate...

On The Diamond

Last night.

My son plays in his 12th baseball game of the season.

During the first inning, he struggles on the mound-- walking a couple of batters, letting go a couple of hits.

But he keeps it together, allowing only one earned run.

(Once back in the dugout, he discovers his blood sugar is dropping fast. He eats a couple of glucose tabs, some peanut butter crackers.)

Over the next two innings, he gets two solid hits -- driving in five runs.

(And his blood sugar begins drifting upward. He steps out of the dugout, lifts his shirt, and reconnects his pump. I give him a tiny bolus of insulin, while his eyes remain fixed on the teammate who steps up to the plate.)

In the bottom of the final inning, he's catching.

His pitcher hits the second batter he faces and then -- frustrated and upset -- walks several more.

My son heads out to the mound, removes his mask, puts a hand on his friend's shoulder and tells him something that none of us in the stands can hear.

Something that causes both boys to smile.

He returns to his position behind the plate, squats down low, left hand resting on the small of his back.

And his buddy throws him a perfect strike.

Their team wins-- their 10th victory of the season.



(Though to me, every time my son steps on the diamond, he wins.)

One of Those Moments

Joseph has been dying to pitch for his little league team, throwing with Ryan almost every day since the season started.

And the boy is good.

But he'd only stood on the mound in three of thirteen games, and he was rocked in all three-- walking many batters and coming away with his confidence shaken.

Now there are only six innings in each game. And while kids are allowed to pitch a maximum of two innings per game, Joseph has never pitched more than one inning in a game. The head coach has three kids he's gone to all season: two boys who are really good and love to pitch, and his son-- a boy who clearly doesn't want to be there.

As of last Thursday, the team's record was 3 and 11-- the bottom of their league. And the kids were frustrated.

We had just four games left in the season (before tournament time). Because the head coach is on vacation, Ryan was given the task of coaching all of those remaining games.

One by-product of Ryan's temporary position is that Joseph would finally get a real shot on the mound-- not because he's our son, but because Joseph really wants to try, and because he really believes the boy can do it.

And quite frankly, he needs a third pitcher.

So how'd my boys do?

Well, we lost the first game: 9-8 -- against a team that is tied for first place.

Joseph was the closer, facing the meat of the order and striking out four batters in two innings, but letting go three walks and one run in the bottom of the 6th-- on a hit that was just fair that won the game for the other team.

But still his teammates were thrilled. It was close, and they all played well.

Okay, I need to stop a moment here, and share my astonishment at the fact that my son so desperately wants to do this. I understand the whole desire to play baseball-- but wanting to put himself out there, take on so much responsibility (as if he doesn't have enough).

It just boggles my mind.

Fast-forward to Sunday afternoon. The kids faced yet another strong team with a winning record.

But they were ready, making terrific plays in the field, and hitting the ball well-- resulting in a 4-4 tie going into the top of the fifth inning.

When Joseph -- the left-hander -- took the mound.



He threw three balls outside the strike zone, and was poised to walk the first batter he faced.



But then, as I held my breath and watched in amazement, my son stayed composed and threw three beautiful pitches -- striking out that first batter.

The second batter hit the ball sharply to right field for a single.

The third batter -- the top of the order -- stepped up.

Joseph struck him out in four pitches.



Finally, the fourth batter grounded out to the second baseman.

Joseph had hit the strike zone with every pitch.

In the bottom of the fifth we scored a run to take a one-run lead, bringing us to the top of the 6th inning.

Again, throwing nothing but strikes, Joseph got the first batter to hit a ground ball to the short stop (1 out!).

Next was a fly ball that was caught in center field. (2 out!).

And then the third batter hit a single.

The next kid hit a seeing-eye bounder that got by the short stop, second baseman and the center fielder.

They scored the tying run and now had the go-ahead run on third.

This prompted a conference on the mound. Joseph said he was ready to go, but his teammates wanted to first tell him that they were behind him.

That if he got the batter to hit that ball, they would be on it.



The next batter stepped to the plate, hit a ground ball to second base, and was promptly thrown out-- ending the inning.

The kids knew they had a tie in their back pocket (they can only play six innings in this league), but man they wanted that win.

Our lead-off batter, Stephen, legged a single into a double and was now in scoring position.

Joseph stepped to the plate and grounded out-- sacrificing Stephen to third base.

The next kid struck out.

But the last batter-- a sweet kid who is not a big hitter -- with one ball and two strikes, hit a slow rolling single that drove in the winning run.



The team (and their families) went nuts-- you'd have thought it was the last game of the World Series.

Postscript:

On the diabetes front, Joseph's "trainer" (that would be me) worked with the closer to bring down a blood sugar that was 377 at game time (clearly adrenaline was the culprit).

As he stepped on the rubber an hour later, his bg was 261 and falling.

Two hours post game, Joseph was 99 and still on cloud nine.

In The Dugout

Waiting For A Fly Ball

Little League

I wrote this on Saturday afternoon, and just now got around to posting it....

Last night, Ryan and Evan simultaneously came down with the same rotten virus I’d been battling for nearly 15 days--- the lingering chest cold that had stolen my voice for four days, laid me out for three more, triggered a bout with bronchitis, and just wouldn’t let go until a lymph gland in my neck joined the fight by swelling out to goiter-like proportions (sorry for the yucky image, but it scared me too, so I had to share). This miserable cold virus had now invaded the bodies of my husband and youngest child.

Thank god it hasn’t touched Joseph. Yet.

Isn’t that just nuts? I hate to see Ryan sick. And my little girl. Tossing and turning last night with a fever. Both of them coughing. And the only silver lining in all of this is that Joseph doesn’t have it. Because for him, it would be so much worse. His sugars would go through the roof.

But Joseph is fine. And because he’s okay, his little league game was a go this morning.

At 8:45 AM.

Now why, if I might be so bold to ask, do they schedule these things so very early on a Saturday morning? Are they hoping to give families the rest of their Saturday to themselves?

Sounds reasonable.

Except that I don't want the REST of my Saturday. I want my early morning.

You see, because Evan was sick last night, she was up virtually all night. This means that I was up with her. And, of course there were the overnight checks of Joseph’s blood sugar, which remarkably, Ryan handled, but I can never quite sleep through. Also, we have our family movie night on Friday, so we always stay up a bit later than usual watching it with the kids.

(BTW, it was my pick— Finding Neverland, which I highly recommend. We all loved it. I was weeping by the end.)

Anyhow, if I could return a moment to my whine. This morning– no sleep. At 7am, I got up, made coffee, then realized we were almost all out of half & half (Damn! Should I take the rest or leave some for Ryan? Hmmmm. Aw hell, I love the guy. And we both love the half & half in the coffee, so I mix a little with milk, and have one lonely, less-than-creamy cup.) Joseph is up with me now. We measure out his Cocoa Krispies and milk, then bolus. His blood sugar, by the way, is 105. Very nice.

Soon he is in his uniform, and we’re out the door. Oh, speaking of his uniform, his team name -- Virchow Krause -- is plastered across the back of it. Now what’s the deal with that? I mean, I realize these little league teams need the sponsorship of local businesses to survive, but why can't they be the Virchow Krause Tigers or, better yet, Red Sox? Instead, they are named for a large local accounting firm that has a reputation for being a sweatshop. Doesn't exactly give you that "baseball-apple pie" kind of feeling, now does it? Last week Joseph and his team faced the fearsome Pertzborn Plumbing. (Ryan and I called them the “Plumbers” – we thought that sounded cooler) And soon, Joseph will be playing First Choice Dental. Then it's on to Keleny Top Soil.

Poor kids.

Ah well, it really was nice to be out at a baseball game on a sunny, crisp morning. Once that first hit of caffeine took hold, that is. Sitting in the bleachers, holding tight to a thermos of hot (albeit half & half-less) coffee, watching my boy warm up. Cheering him on as he made a beautiful play from left field. I could almost forget he had diabetes. And since he disconnects from the pump when he plays, I’m sure he can too. When Joseph comes up to bat, his teammates chant his name. He’s never had that before. The camaraderie that comes with being on a real team.

When I come to the dugout to check his sugar halfway through the game, Joseph resists.

"Can we do this later?" he asks.

I tell him "No. It's important. We haven't checked since before breakfast, and you've been disconnected for an hour and a half. "

I can tell he's running high when he grabs the lancet out of my hands, looking around to see if any of his teammates are watching. They aren't. It's a close game, and his team is at bat.

Joseph's sugar is 217. I opt not to correct. He's going to be very active. And a spike two hours after breakfast isn't unusual. And besides, he is still a bit shy about his diabetes around his teammates. None of these kids go to his school. So whenever he checks his sugar or does anything with his pump, if anyone notices, they stare. I try to encourage Joseph to explain what he's doing, but I think he'd like to view the baseball field as a diabetes-free zone. A place where he really can forget that he has this disease. I'm not sure how safe that is. What if something were to happen on the field? What if he had a severe low? But I will always be there. Or Ryan. Or both of us.

Joseph returns to the dugout. While waiting for their at-bat, he and his buddies blow bubblegum bubbles, obviously trying to see who can blow the biggest one. Joseph's is just as big. Just as impressive as the rest. And, it really doesn't matter that his is sugar-free.