The Son Assumes the Mother's Mantle

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These Things Are Wrong

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1. Our local chapter of the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation hosting a pancake breakfast. Let it be known that Type 1s can have pancakes. They may eat anything they want if they inject themselves with the proper amount of insulin. But pancakes are difficult to account for, as are bagels and pizza, rice and potatoes. The glycemic index mixes with the fat content to produce a blood sugar unpredictability that I, for one, avoid when possible. Maybe I would have forgiven JDRF for this fundraiser had it not been for our one visit to their office. At an open house, they served--wait for it--chocolate cake. And soda. And boxes of chocolates. Once again: Type 1s can have their cake and eat it, too. Theo has desserts often. Yet an organization devoted exclusively to the management of blood sugars could maybe come up with something other than cake, chocolates and pop to serve. I pulled out the calculator near Theo's cake, and said, half-jokingly, "You're going to tell us the ca...
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The Why

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Simon, who is 11, isn't doing particularly well in math. The other night, we sat at the kitchen table to work on the multiplying and subtracting of mixed numerals, and what I discovered upon looking closely at his test was that Simon actually does understand fractions, for the most part. So when I say he's not doing well in math, this means, actually, that Simon is not slowing down enough to do well in math. The theories he's got down, for the most part. The motivation to do well, he does not. We reviewed the concepts, and then I stressed the importance of taking the time needed to do a good job. We talked about why grades are important, as faulty a system as that may be, and why he needs to try to get those grades up. And then I brought up diabetes. Diabetes is the elephant in every room, even though the type 1 diabetic himself was elsewhere in the house. A calculator there, test strip here, vials in the frig. With diabetes, I told Simon, we do much the same kinds of math...
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The Test

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When the technician on my mammogram said not to be surprised if I'm asked to do this again, if they call because the pictures aren't clear, something like that, she didn't say they'd call and get specific, saying the tissue looks "different" in the left breast and that there's a "nodule" to be further examined. I wasn't going to write about this. It's common to be retested. Any melodrama made now could be made null in a week, after mammogram number two. But then again, this could go either way. You know how when you're traveling, and you step into a hotel room, or someone's guest room, you take it all in as new? You might lie down on the bed as you would your own, yet you're aware of the feel of it, the spongy spring to the mattress and the laundered scent of the blanket. That's what's happening to me. The test, then, is not only what comes next week, but whether I can keep a hold on this way of being.
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