Clanging From the Clock in the Hall

I’ve been a diabetic since 1980. For anyone who’s counting, that’s a long time.  And while I so far seem to have escaped the dangers that high sugars present (like blindness and kidney failure, to name a few), I’ve begun to suffer from a problem on the opposite end of the spectrum.

It seems that when someone has been a diabetic as long as I have, they often lose the ability to feel the symptoms of low blood sugar. I, who used to wake from a deep sleep because I was somehow aware that my sugar was low, have recently found myself testing and being shocked to see a number like 46, because I didn’t even feel it dropping. (Anything lower than 70 is low and requires some sort of sugar intake. Glucose tablets are the best choice for most folks suffering from low blood sugar.)

There have been numerous occasions when I seem to surface out of a fog and I see my husband looking at me, as if expecting me to give some sort of answer to a question I don’t even remember hearing. And then I see that my meter is open and has been used, and glucose tablets are in evidence nearby. (I.e., he’s been working like crazy to get my sugar up out of the basement.) This has been happening with more regularity in the last few years.

Once recently, I was about to pray with the girls before bed and told Katey it was her turn to start. She looked at me in an odd way and said she’d already prayed. I told her not to be silly, and to get praying. That’s when Allyson left the room and returned shortly with my meter and glucose tablets. Apparently, Katey had indeed prayed already and I was the only one who seemed to have missed it. When this happens, often the moment (or moments) I miss are either gone completely and I feel like I’ve just jumped ahead in time, or I have a vague, misty memory of certain parts, but have missed the reality, the essence, of what really happened. It’s very twilight zone, to be honest.

I even locked my husband out of the house one evening when he went out to check the mail. Wasn’t he surprised to find the door locked and no one opening when he knocked and rang the doorbell. Between the time we interacted as he was exiting the house and the time he got back — a minute, at the outside — my sugar had crashed and I have little memory of anything except walking past the door which was ajar and thinking, “My goodness! Who left that open?!” So, I took care of it. My mission was accomplished. And my husband was effectively locked outside.

The most alarming instance of my sugar dropping without my knowledge happened one evening when Jeff and I were watching TV. (I often exercise while I watch TV — it’s much more entertaining.) I was doing push-ups and I remember thinking I felt a little weird, so I tested and the meter read 24. That’s extremely low, so we decided my meter must have hiccupped, and I should test again. I did, and it read 25. Huh! My sugar really was that low. And I was not only making sense, but I was doing push-ups! In a strange way this seems to be an example of me actually catching on — albeit a little after the optimum time — and avoiding a really dangerous low … I think.

In recent months I’ve had to rely on more subtle signs of low sugars. Probably the first, less obvious sign of low sugar that I (and friends and family) ever noticed is that I can’t seem to finish a sentence. I have no trouble beginning the sentence — over and over — but I’m not able to complete the thought. Even my girls now are able to catch that one, and act accordingly.

Another indicator that’s been extremely helpful is finding I can’t read what’s on my computer screen. I can’t tell you how many times that has happened — I sit down and am befuddled by what I can’t see. It’s not that I can’t see, it’s that my brain can’t make sense of what my eyes are taking in.  I’m thankful for little signals like that which help me figure out that I should probably test.

I praise God that I have a husband who works at home these days and two sharp little girls who have seen me crash and burn enough times to know how to help. I’m thankful that I’ve not yet had to have outside intervention — we’ve not had to call for an ambulance, etc. But the girls have been taught about calling 911, because it well may happen at some point. I just have to take it one day at a time and be vigilant about testing. Praise the Lord for the kind of technology that makes it possible to monitor my status, moment by moment. It makes for an interesting ride!

Admittedly, this has been one of the milder winters I can remember. And I hear lots of local folks wondering aloud where winter went this year.

Allow me to clear up this conundrum for you. Winter has been RIGHT. HERE. It may have been an almost snow-less one; it perhaps has not been below freezing (or far below) most days; and I have — to date — shoveled the driveway only twice. I’m not claiming it’s been arctic, or even close. But it has been winter.

Let me tell you how it looks from my anemic perspective. There are any number of indicators that the Icy Season is indeed upon us, if only in a Pennsylvanian fashion.  And here’s how I know:

• I look outside and see a sad excuse for sunshine — in the middle of the day. The gray, Eeyore-looking, cloudy day. This, when it happens day after colorless day, is sure to alert you to the presence of winter.
• There is frost on the car. Granted, it may not have been snow most of the season, but scraping icy frost off the windshield of a car in the morning means it’s winter, folks!
• It hurts to get into my bed. Not because of arthritis. No, it’s because the sheets are freezing. Our bedroom is situated directly above our garage, which is not heated. Therefore, for all intents and purposes, neither is our bedroom.
• It’s painful to be outside — I mean, even to walk to the car, in the garage — And that’s because it’s winter, people!
• My hands bleed because they’re so dry. (It’s a little better when I stop washing the dishes, but then that creates other problems.)
• And my hands catch like Velcro on the laundry I’m folding. (I hate that!)
• I find myself sitting, holding a warm cup of coffee primarily to restore feeling to my fingers. Sometimes I just keep reheating the same cup without drinking it, just so I can wrap my hands around it.

I know many of you love this strange, dreary season. And I wonder about you. Just a little. As, I’m sure you wonder about me, smiling my way through a hot summer. I’m not saying I don’t very much value my air conditioning as soon as it gets uncomfortable. But at least the days are typically bright and long and I can walk out my door without having to stop and think about putting on my coat and gloves. And then I’m able to come home without hanging up four coats and putting away the little gloves and hats that tend to land anywhere but in the basket where they belong.

You may be able to tell me how to circumvent some of the above listed problems. You may even be thinking, “Park your car in your garage, you nitwit!” Well, I do, and therefore haven’t had to scrape frost off my car, most days. I’m simply letting you know that frost (which I see on my husband’s car, not parked in the garage) is one way to tell that we have not escaped winter. I’m trying to make a point here!

So, although you may not have had the snowfall you’ve been looking forward to, and although you may not have been able to ice skate on your driveway, and though you haven’t had any frostbitten appendages this year … I’m here to tell you, winter has come to town. Now, without further ado, let’s just  move right along to spring!

Let me tell you what goes on with us on Superbowl Sunday. Inevitably, at some time during the day, we hear from someone — most often, at church — that it is, in fact, Superbowl Sunday. And we normally nod and say, “Oh … is that tonight?”

Then we decide to go out to dinner. The reason for that, should it not be obvious to someone, is that the diners are typically all but empty on the night of the big game. Since it’s rare for us to go out for a meal, I, for one, look forward to the Superbowl. Perhaps that isn’t the reason you look forward to it, but … it works for me! (This is not to say that this happens every year. But it’s happened for the past three years, so it is becoming a pattern.)

If you’re savvy, you probably realize by now that we don’t fall into the category of football fans — not even a little. Neither do we follow baseball, or basketball too closely. Tennis, however … well, we’ve been known to watch a match or two, from time to time. But not with any regularity.

(If  you happen to know my older brother, or Jeff’s brother, for that matter, it should be stated for the record that neither of us has been disowned. That we know of. Things may change once this post goes up. I’ll let you know!)

Indeed, I grew up in a family of sports fans. And I was a huge Phillies fan for a long time. (I grew up in the suburbs of Philadelphia.) I even collected baseball cards, once upon a time. But that was probably my brother’s influence, as much as anything. What he had a passion for, I became interested in. (He’s that cool!) I loved playing softball, too. But, when I got married and left the house, it all changed for me.

Jeff is more of a sci-fi kind of guy, and I used to enjoy Star Trek with the best of ‘em. (Mind you, don’t call me a Trekkie, or a Trekker — there is a difference, you know — because, while I really enjoyed watching the shows for a while, I wouldn’t have been caught dead at a Star Trek convention. I have my pride.)  And so, I lost touch with the sports world, and I didn’t seem to mind, as far as I could ever tell.

When I heard, however, one of my daughters ask, tonight, “What’s a superbowl?” I realized just how far I’ve fallen. And, though you may gasp in disbelief, I really don’t feel too bad about it.

In my last post I gave a glimpse of what a day looks like at our house, but I stopped the narration right around lunch time. What did the rest of yesterday look like for the Caddicks, you may be wondering? Or, then again, you may not. But I’ll tell you anyway. Just because I can … 

When we last saw our main characters (because, to call them “heroes” would just be ridiculous) Katey had gotten new shoes —and they sparkled — and she and mom were off to the daily adventure of afternoon kindergarten!

(Here, I’ll transition back to first person, because … it just feels weird.) After dropping off my girl, I made several stops, which included — you guessed it — stopping at Turkey Hill (a local convenience store) for an 84 cent Diet Coke. (And that’s for  thirty-two ounces. I know, pretty good!)

ANYway … I went home and composed a little bit of a blog post before going to the bus stop to pick up the girls. Allyson was still coughing. I handed her the inhaler and we came home. Some homework was accomplished and they played for a bit. Supper was in the crock pot, so I didn’t have much dinner prep to do.

Around this time, I’m led to believe my blood sugar dropped. I really couldn’t tell you, as I don’t remember that period of time too clearly. Which only confirms that my sugar was, indeed, low. I seem to remember playing hangman on the computer with the girls as we waited for Jeff to be done with his workday and come downstairs to supper.

And Allyson was still coughing. So, after dinner we were trying to think what we might do to help her. The inhaler couldn’t be used again, as Allyson had, on her own, taken another puff an hour after I had given it to her. It was decided (after we talked to our eldest about self-administering prescription meds) that we would try something similar to a Neti Pot (but a little more child-friendly) to try to clear out the nasal passages and hopefully stop whatever draining was causing the cough.

Now, she’s been using nasal sprays for about a year. But the day we introduced that mystical phenomenon to our then-six year old was a day that will not  happily be remembered by parent or child in the Caddick household for a very long time. Indeed, it was a disaster. Enough said. For that reason, I had, shall we say, doubts as to how this new device — intended to ease her discomfort — would go over. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I decided it would be better for all involved if I stayed in the kitchen while Jeff took the reins. She was definitely nervous. After all, she was going to be squirting water into one side of her nose, only to feel it rush and drain from the other. But he showed her how it’s done first with his Neti Pot, and the next thing I knew she was running out to me in the kitchen proclaiming that she did it! and how much better one side of her head felt! This was followed by lots of high-fives and her talking like a little adult, while she explained to me exactly what it felt like. Then, I watched as the procedure was done again, to the other side of her nose.

I have to admit that I was utterly shocked by the success. This child of ours has so often struggled with fear of new things. And this was one of those telling moments when, as parents, we actually see our child maturing right before our eyes. I can’t tell you how amazed and delighted I was.

So, after a short victory dance it was time for the kids to get ready for bed. The girls and I are in the middle of reading “A Bear Called Paddington” before bed and are really enjoying it, so the plan was to get to it in time to read a chapter and still get them to sleep on time. However, right about then we got a call from a friend who lives about an hour away who suddenly had a free evening and wanted to stop by for a visit. So, we told the girls they’d be gotten to bed and then when our friend stopped by they could come downstairs and visit for about 10 minutes. Meanwhile I did some quick cleanup around the house.

So, the girls were off to bed by about 8:30 and we visited with our young friend until the wee small hours of the morning. (It’s been several years since she’s come over.)

And that was our day. There were a few setbacks, some small victories and at least one large one, and a visit with a friend with whom we enjoyed catching up. It was a good day, all-in-all. And now, on to tomorrow …

I’ve been thinking about doing a post like this for a while now. Perhaps I was waiting till I had a good day, or until nothing embarrassing happened on any particular day. Well, time’s up. I’m plowing ahead …good day or embarrassing.

I wake up at 5 o’clock this morning. Not because I’m going to the gym or anything like that. No, I wake up at 5 today because my daughter, Allyson, is coughing and needs her rescue inhaler. I give her the two puffs that should ease the coughing and tell both girls to go back to sleep. (I might have implied that it was the middle of the night. Not sure.) Neither am I sure whether they actually go back to sleep. But I manage it, which is really what I’m most concerned about, truth be told.

Then, at several minutes before 7 I get out of bed and make it known to the school-aged people in the vicinity that it’s time to get up and get moving. Shortly after this, there arises a discipline issue that requires my attention. At 7:45 the kids are making progress (one, more than the other) and Jeff, who has listened to me handle the morning’s “issue,” graciously reassures me I had handled it well. (This is probably the most satisfying moment of my entire day. It’s amazingly helpful to hear that he agrees with how it was done, being as there are always moments when I second guess my decisions in such matters.)

Allyson is still coughing — a lot — at the breakfast table. When I check to see how many puffs are left in her inhaler, I discover the counter reads zero. Duh! Suddenly, I’m doubtful that she got any of the necessary medicine earlier this morning, so we get out the new one and do it again. I decide to drive her to school and go in and have a short conversation with the school nurse about the fact that a cold this week is making her chronic cough worse, and we discuss strategies on how to help her today.

With Allyson safely, if not healthfully, deposited at school, Katey and I head out to find some shoes that fit her little feet. I realized earlier in the week that the shoes she’s been wearing were purchased for her exactly a year ago, which could explain the funny little hitch-in-her-git-along when she wears them. Why does it always take me so by surprise when my kids grow out of their clothes? I always get a feeling, something like, “What! You’ve grown aGAIN?! Where’d that come from?!” It really shouldn’t be a mystery to any parent, I realize. At least until their kids have a graduate degree. They grow. It’s what they do. And we’re off to the shoe store.

Katey informs me that she needs to have pink shoes. That sparkle. I inform her that she needs to have shoes that fit, and if we find them in pink, and in our price-range she’ll be one lucky little kindergartner. As it turns out, the store is having a sale, so I also get Allyson a pair of cute boots for five dollars.  (Did you know that “boots look teen-ager-ish”? Or, so I’m informed by my youngest.) We find a cute little pair of gold-ish shoes for Kate. And they sparkle, they fit, and are on sale. So, the fact that they’re not pink is okay, even with Katey. It’s a happy trip and we head happily home, where we’ll work on getting lunch before heading back to school to drop off the other child.

Well, it seems that if I were to tell you about an entire day in the life of the Caddicks, it would take way more than one blog post, and you would be exceedingly happy that you don’t live here because it would be too much excitement for one day. So let’s just call this A Morning In The Life, instead, and be done.