Today I wrote the last note of the school year. No more pencils, no more books, no more notes counting out each carb my boy will eat at lunch. No more waiting for a phone call at 12:05 on a high blood sugar requiring some calculations.
"I'm mad at diabetes," Theo said the other day, and also a few days before that. Diabetes is getting in the way, and although we've done all we can to keep life normal, he knows it. Some days it's just what we do; other days, we're mad. And that's okay. You need to sit in the mad, sometimes.
Because for the past nine months, packing a lunch has surprised me with its stress factor. I must pack a lunch that's healthy. That comes from the items on hand. That's not too substantial and can be finished in a short period of time. The carb count should range in the 40s to 80s, with no items too high in the glycemic index, or I'll get another call at 2pm. And finally, one I'm not embarrassed of--peanut butter and jelly again?--because a secretary in the office will see it every day.
So I'm mad.
I'm mad. I'm mad that this disease takes so much of our lives. I'm mad that we have to time Theo's baths with his shots. I'm mad that he can't sleep in. That he can't eat seconds. That if he's stuck in a tornado drill, as we were a month back, and is without food, he could fall into a coma.
That people tell me about grandma losing her leg. That I'm supposed to check his feet every night. That I have to keep these prescriptions filled and not forget anything. That people say "at least it's a manageable disease." That they have no idea how much managing there is.
The last supper Jesus had with his disciples had everything to do with food, body and blood; these elements have come to the forefront for us this past year, and have culminated, briefly, in this last lunch.
“My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow,” he said to them.
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