Ryan’s numbers have been roller coaster like. Lows are not stubborn but the highs have been unpredictable and ridiculous. And I’ve increased basals three time in the mornings in the last two weeks to try to avoid the 250+ at the 10:30 school check and I just can’t seem to beat it. Again, a call today on the third day of the 6a-9a basal increase – 262. Before I started changing basals, I lowered the carb ratio for breakfast. He’s going to end up with a carb ratio of 1:10 for breakfast and nearly 1/2 of his all day insulin by 9a. Concerns me a little. I just don’t get it sometimes.
But the roller coaster is not just in the morning. It’s all day. The unpredictable craziness of the numbers simply not making sense. Last night, I hit a breaking point when he was 70 for dinner and well over 200 at bedtime — and pasta hadn’t kicked in yet. I said OUTLOUD, “I’m so frustrated with these numbers.” And ranted to Jason about not getting it and not knowing what to do to fix it. After I was done, I just sat watching “American Idol” and brewing over it a bit.
Ryan and Aaron had asked if they could stay up until 9p to watch American Idol since it was the finale. I told them if they would shower and be ready to jump in bed right at 9p that I would allow it because it was the finale. (Side note – this was silly to do because they will ask the same tonight to see the results show and the winner announced! Insert eye roll here.)
During a commercial, I looked over at Ryan who looked a little down. Then it hit me. I am an idiot. Although I was talking the numbers out to Jason and releasing some frustration, Ryan was within earshot.
I called him over to me and took his hand and explained to him that I was frustrated with the NUMBERS not RYAN. I apologized and said none of it was his fault. And that I was worried because I didn’t ever want to do anything or allow anything to happen that could hurt his body. That it was MY JOB to get and keep his numbers under control and I wasn’t doing a very good job right now. And I apologized again. Then I told him we would get it. We’d figure it out. But mom was NEVER upset with or at Ryan because of any silly number.
And I felt like poop.
But you know Ryan, he was okay with me. He understood. He loved me and loved on me. And then went and took his place to watch Jessica and Phillip sing their last song of the competition.
So the stubborn highs and roller coaster numbers are having their way with me. They are beating me up. Pushing me to my limits. And I’m tired. And I’m not sorry I’m tired or even frustrated. I am sorry that Ryan knew it.
I’m so blessed. He shouldn’t have to be the understanding or mature one. He shouldn’t have to be mature at all — He’s 7. But I have an amazing sugar boy who thinks it’s okay to vent. And loves me unconditionally.
And I wish . . .
. . . it were me instead of him.
. . . he wasn’t chosen to live this life.
. . . I could be a better mom and think before I speak when I’m frustrated.
. . . there was a C.U.R.E.
But for now, I’ll settle for steady numbers.