Well, here we are . . . that three-month check up that all mom’s dread. I’m not so sure that we dread it totally because of the a1c or the vulnerability of having someone “critique” your care of your child. At least for me, it’s entering the halls of the facility that first gave us the confirmed diagnosis. It’s the big red balloon on the side of a purple accented building that screams the reminder, “My son has an incurable disease.” I get so sick at my stomach about the appointment two days before it even gets here.
But yesterday, I was pleasantly surprised. We walked in the office as my mind was fighting away memories of the hallway and Ryan started acting like he owned the place, smiling at people, saying hello, choosing where to sit in the waiting room . . . Then when the nurse called for us, he was telling her how to take his sugar and asking why she was doing what she was doing, almost like an inspection. Then Dr. White came in with a student who was shadowing him. Ryan got a little quiet and started reading one of his books. Dr. White started talking to him directly. “Tell me about what you are reading, Ryan.” So Ryan obliged with a long description and Dr. White was intently listening. Then he asked Ryan how he was doing with the shots and pokes. “I’m doing good. No big deal, really.” And then Dr. White had an “ah-ha” moment where you could see it on his face. He turned to his student and said, “I just now made the connection. I remember Ryan in the hospital. He was very calm. Very grown up. And he listened to every word I said to his parents. Quite the grown up boy!” He went on to talk about the books he had on his bed and how he’d whisper questions to me or Jason when he didn’t understand something. Made me feel comfortable. We all of the sudden weren’t strangers or an endocrinological number. He made the connection; therefore, so did I.
Then THE NUMBER: 7.9. Not the great 6.8 of last time. I knew it was up, we struggled a bit off and on all summer, but particularly this last month with vacation and starting school. And he must have seen the look on my face. “That’s a perfect number for right now.” He explained that in the first 6 months, it’s relatively easy to get control if you have a good grasp on the care. Then when we come up on 9 months (there in two weeks), the “honeymooning” begins to come to an end and figuring everything out gets complicated (as if it isn’t always complicated, but I appreciate the sentiment). He said for the next two visits or so, shoot for low 8s and if it’s a high 7, that’s just bonus. He said he was “proud” of the 7.9 and that we were doing great. He made one insulin recommendation then he said to just stay the course. He just doesn’t want Ryan to have lows, particularly in school. Additionally, he said we were ready for the pump (class is October 21), growing just fine and that the Celiac numbers last month were nothing to be concerned with right now that he was growing and gaining weight too well to even re-test.
And the best part for this momma . . . I didn’t cry. This is the first time I’ve done anything related to D since December that I didn’t cry. Instead, I was comforted and at peace. I know that doesn’t make sense. I know some of you d-moms think this d-momma has lost it. But I was proud of myself, very proud of Ryan, and if this is going to be our life, I need to embrace it, be comforted and encouraged going to the endo and laugh and make Ryan feel special in the process. If I am depressed every time I go and cry, what is that telling Ryan?
God is good. Gives us what we need when we need it . . . usually not a second before. Yesterday, I drove away thinking it’s okay that he has diabetes. I don’t like it; nope, not one bit. It’s not my plan, not even close. But for some reason, it’s HIS plan. And since it is HIS plan, I want to focus now on trusting HIM as much as I did my endo today . . . trusting that since this is HIS plan for Ryan’s life, my life and our family’s life, that God IS going to take care of Ryan and use him to do great things through, despite and/or because of the disease.