The Makings of a Diabetic Diva - My Brave H's Diagnosis Story

-->

On Friday June 29, 2012 H was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, but her Diabetic story really started before that.

H has been potty trained since she was a little over 2 ½ years old, but always had problems staying dry at night. I tried to chalk it up to her being such a heavy sleeper, especially because her doctors weren’t concerned. So, we continued with our normal routine of putting a pull up on her each night before she went to sleep.

At her 5^th year check up, I asked the doctors again about her bed wetting because the problem had gotten worse. H started waking us up in the middle of the night because she had wet through her pull ups. The doctors still didn’t show concern and told me that it was quite normal for children to wet the bed until 8 years of age.

The worry wouldn’t go away though, no matter how hard I tried. How could a 5 year old child that pees through her pull up and wetting pads twice per night, even after getting cut off from any liquids after 6:30pm, EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, be considered normal? None of the other parents I’d talked to had been through anything like this before. 

So, for a month and a half more, I was woken up in the middle of the night, EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, to change her wetting pad, her sheets, her blankets, her water proof mattress pad and help her change her pull up.  Every single night.

My husband and I talked about different ways to get her to stop wetting the bed at night, but nothing helped. We weren’t as patient with her as we could have been in the beginning; we yelled and scolded her for not getting up to go. We even started getting her up during the night to go. We would set an alarm and I would go and wake her, which took forever, and drag her half a wake to the bathroom only to be woken up again later to change the sheets. It was exhausting and we finally figured out that she couldn’t control it. Something else was wrong, but what?

We stopped scolding and finally accepted that she might do this for years to come and there was nothing anyone could do about it.  It wasn’t easy, but what else could we do? Her face, when she came in to tell me she wet the bed, was the saddest, most embarrassed face I had ever seen on my child. She was more upset then we were that she couldn’t hold it in at night.

Things continued pretty normally until the weeks leading up to H’s diagnosis. At that point, she was home from school for summer and I was busy running around trying to pack 3 little girls (5, 2, and 8 months), a husband, and a dog for a 9-day trip back home to Kansas City. We were getting all three girls baptized, my husband’s sister was coming home from teaching abroad in Mexico and we had things planned for every other day of our trip as well. 

During that time H became increasingly tired, was constantly thirsty, lost weight and every time she ate would act strange afterwards.  She hadn’t taken naps in months, but during the other girls’ naptime, she would pass out on the couch for several hours, especially after she ate. She had always been a really good eater and continued to be, but would say no to dessert. Whose child are you? We LOVE dessert in this family! She told me it made her teeth and tummy hurt to eat sweet stuff.

She would also become very sluggish after meals. Her checks would turn bright red, like she had been running forever, her eyes would be half closed, and you couldn’t talk to her about anything important because she wouldn’t be able to understand you properly. My husband called it The Zombie Effect.

I didn’t notice the weight loss at first, H is the kind of kid that plumps up a bit for a while and then shoots up really tall afterwards. So, naturally I thought it was something along those lines. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary until one day she put on her favorite summer dress, one that she wore every week for as long as she could fit into it.  I remember helping her put that dress on, expecting it to look like it always looked, a little tight in the middle, but perfect everywhere else. Instead my baby girl was swimming in that dress. I immediately took her upstairs, measured her against the “wall of growth” (a wall in my 2^nd daughter’s closet that I mark the girls height on every 6 months) Sure enough she had grown, but not enough in a month to cause such a change so I made her stand on my scale and to my horror, she had lost 10 pounds in about a month and a half.  That was the day Hallie got diagnosed and the day our lives became forever altered.

Seeing that change scared me to the core. I called the doctor first; they said that they could get her in after our trip (in 9 days) and to not worry too much until then. Next I called my husband freaking out; he tried to calm me down and said he would try to be home early. In a panic, I Googled her symptoms and after I hit enter the word DIABETES popped up all over the screen in front of me. I laughed at myself because I was NOT going to be the mom that freaks out because of a Google search and rushes her kid to the ER only to be laughed off as a crazy person. So, I called my husband back. He married me (crazy person that he is) knowing how freaked out I get by little things that happen to our kids. So I knew he would be able to talk me off the ledge. But instead of talking me off, he joined me on it. 

As I waited impatiently for my husband to get home, I fed the kid’s dinner and got the van packed so all we had to do when he got home was leave for our vacation. H ate as usual, but declined dessert just like she had all week. When K got home 20 minutes later, she was sitting in her chair staring straight ahead. He tried to say hi, gave her a kiss and asked about her day, but she didn’t respond. “Zombie Effect” he said as he looked at me. He didn’t have to say anything else; we both knew something was wrong. Later in the car he got curious and started calling friends he knew with Diabetes. After that, his curiosity got the best of him and he gave her a muffin to see how she would feel after. Two bites in our daughter almost passed out from the sugar and that is when K started to speed the rest of the way to my mother’s house in Kansas City.

We dropped the two smaller girls and the dog off with barely two words to my family. My mother could handle them and we had to get to the ER as soon as possible. I sat in the back with Hallie and held her, I cried as little as I could, but the emotions were too hard to keep all the stray tears at bay.

A half hour later we were being given the news that our daughter did indeed have Type 1 Diabetes and that their children’s hospital location wasn’t suited for her needs. They needed to transfer her, by ambulance, to the bigger Children’s Hospital downtown.  At this point, I had to make the calls. The one to my mother was pretty bad; I was barely audible as I gave her news. She did the protective mother thing and simply said that we would handle whatever came our way and that I needed to be strong for my baby. I continued by texting my siblings, my husband’s family, my father and H’s paternal grandmother. The last call I made was to H’s biological father, That was the worst one of all.

Our ambulance ride was pretty hard to bear, but the paramedics were amazing. Once the ambulance arrived, two paramedics walked into our room. At the time, H was terrified of men. So, when a 6 foot something, African American man walked up to her and expected to shake her hand and talk to her, she gripped me even tighter. I was worried she wouldn’t let me go, but after just a few minutes, she was ready to ride anywhere with this funny, cool guy. They made me ride in the front seat with the driver, while the male paramedic worked to get H hydrated. My husband drove the van back to my mothers to pick up stuff we would need for the night and then met us at the hospital.  The female driver tried to make small talk to take my mind off of my crying baby in the back, but not much could distract me. Through the small window separating the front from the back, I spoke words of encouragement to H. I hoped they would help her get through the pain but it turns out, at that moment she didn’t need me. The paramedic was distracting her and making her laugh through her tears and at the end of the ambulance ride, she wouldn’t let go of his hand.

Our next stop was the ER; the doctors got caught up with her case and tried again, to get an IV in her arm. After what seemed like hours, they were finally able to find a vein. They explained that she was so dehydrated that it was difficult to get her stuck. That seemed odd to me, because the last couple of months she had chugged water like she couldn’t get enough. They explained to me that since her body wasn’t creating enough insulin to break up the sugars, few nutrients and hydration were getting to where they needed to go. After that, they tried to get a reading on her sugar levels and did a series of other tests. Her numbers were so high that their meters couldn’t get an accurate reading. Since her levels were so off the charts, they decided that she needed to be admitted to the PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit).

We spent the next 48 hours there. She couldn’t eat or drink anything until her levels were stable, so since she couldn’t eat or drink, neither did I.  I slept in her bed in the PICU, held her hand and kissed her tears as they poked and prodded at her. She was so scared and so little, I hated what she had to go through and every time they came in my heart broke that much more for her.  Visitors were limited to one at a time, it would have been two, but I refused to leave her.

K came and went as much as he could, he had the other two girls to look after. Even though my mother and other family members stepped in he seemed to know that since I wouldn’t leave H’s side he would have to play Mommy and Daddy for a while.

I remember walking through the halls of the PICU, focusing on the floor as I walked to the bathroom and back to H’s room. I had learned my lesson the first time, when K forgot to warn me not to look into other children’s rooms. I saw things that would give me nightmares for years to come. Children with tubs coming in and out of their bodies, sick little beings that barely looked human at all. It was so much worse then I could ever describe, the pain in their parents faces were the worst of all. Right then and there, I was thankful my child had Diabetes. It was the first time, but not the last that I would be thankful for that.

After two days in the PICU, H’s numbers were where they needed to be. She had to go to the main floor of the hospital for a couple more days, but we could have more visitors!

Things got harder and easier for us. H hated her shots and getting her blood taken, but we were learning about the disease and the ways to help make this whole thing easier for her. We took 3 classes before she was released from the hospital and 2 more in the months to come. Our friends and family jumped in without missing a beat. They brought presents, meals, fun activities, and watched our children for us. They were lifesavers, as were the people at the hospital. We were so blessed to have such an amazing tool at our fingertips whenever we needed help. The nurses brought movies and games for her to keep her busy and always explained things to H, not just to us. Many of the staff actually had Diabetes themselves and never got tired of the countless questions we asked them.

Finally, after 5 days in the hospital, H could go home. It was exciting and terrifying all at once. We were armed with all the knowledge and tools we would need, but somehow we knew that the road ahead would not be an easy one. There was so much to remember and so much to do, how could this ever get easy? But it did. Time passed and routines were made. We called the doctors many times in the first couple weeks, but after that learned her body and how to maintain her levels.

I think the hardest thing for me to remember is that H’s body is not a machine. I know that sounds silly, but if you think about it, it might make sense. We take her blood sugar and get a number. Based on that number and the amount of carbs she will be eating, you calculate how many units of insulin to give her. Then, when it’s time to check her blood sugar again, she should be within range, right? Sometimes that’s true, other times she’s really high or really low. I blamed myself for every high and every low, thought I was doing something wrong. I used to get so frustrated and felt like I could never get this whole process right. Then it dawned on me. Her body isn’t a computer that you put your calculations in to and everything runs smoothly. Her body gets sick, runs around, plays and uses different amounts of effort. So depending on what her body was doing in-between those blood sugar tests makes a difference on how her levels will be later. I can’t control her body, I can’t make her always be in range. She will go high and she will go low, but I can’t fix that perfectly every time, no one can.

Some days are hard, some days are easier, but I am thankful every day. It doesn’t matter how strong or weak I feel, I can be thankful that My H is still with me and is not only managing her Diabetes but thriving! 

H on her 6th Birthday

11 months and 13 days 

after being Diagnosed

Converting to Donutizm – The Beginning

-->

As I sat down to write my backstory for my weight loss journey, I realized that everything I wrote down was just an excuse and has probably been heard a thousand times.

I could tell you about how I was always told  I could lose some weight by family, or the diet pills I was on at 17 (at 135 pounds) and again after the birth of my first child (at 170 pounds). I could talk about not feeling comfortable in my own body or that I never have had self esteem. I could write a 3 page blog on how my depression after the birth of my second baby shot me up to 204 pounds and then, after a year of being that weight, decided to do something about it, worked for a month to lose 9 pounds and then found out I was pregnant again. I could also say my body doesn’t lose weight while breastfeeding; I just don’t have that gene. 

Yes, I could say all of those things, but honestly they aren’t really reasons why I let myself get to heavy. I could have chosen to work out more, even in high school. I could have decided I should be loved for me and not for what I looked like, I could have said I don’t care what other people think and lived the way I wanted, but I didn’t. I let others dictate the way I looked and how I felt about myself.  Food has always been my go-to for everything. If I’m happy, I celebrate by eating. If I’m sad I eat my feelings instead of talking them out.

Food and shoes would never leave me or tell me that I wasn’t good enough. 

So instead of boring you with all the poor me details, I am going to tell you where I started, where I’m at now, and move on. Yes, I am taking responsibility for my actions today and continuing on my journey. I know I’ll fall on my face. I’ve done it before and most likely I’ll do it again. But the difference is, I’ll get back up and I will be A Donut!

(Pause for effect) – just kidding, but those words are important, so let them sink in.

I began this journey at my biggest, 210 pounds. It was the beginning of this year, (2013) and my youngest was 14 months old when I heard my best friend would be getting married in June 2013. I was determined to not be that heavy when I waked down the isle as one of her 8 bridesmaids. 

First things first, how do I lose weight?

It’s something I’ve struggled with my entire life and truly had no idea where to begin. I’d tried diet pills, like I said, and had also tried every other fad, quick fix diet out there. However, I hadn’t really tried actually counting my calories, eating right and working out. Well, I’d thought about it and started it for about a month before I got pregnant again, but the whole idea seemed really hard, so why do that when I could lose weight “the easy way”. (I would later come to find, that there is no such thing as an easy way to lose weight, it takes hard work.)

For me, simply drinking a shake or taking a pill with every meal didn’t work.  Now, please don’t get me wrong, if any other method has worked for you, keep doing what you’re doing. I am a firm believer in doing what works for YOU. Wish someone would have told me that a long time ago. I do take peoples advice and turn it into something I will actually do and use, but just because it has worked for them doesn’t mean it will work for you.  For example, my sister in law can say, “I will not eat sweets! I will basically live at the gym and I will not eat carbs!” and just like that, she will go to it and stick with it! That, however, does not work for me. I want my carbs and my sweets and I don’t want to live at the gym.  I do want to lose weight, but I also still want to be able to go out with my husband and enjoy pizza and beer. I didn’t want to become a person that dieted constantly, complained about missing pizza and talked about how much weight they’d lost so far all the time.

In January 2013 I started slow. I counted my calories first (baby steps), which was a lot harder then I thought. Much to my surprise, I was eating so much more than my body needed to every day. No wonder I was gaining weight. I lost 10 pounds in a month by counting calories alone.

Then once I was confident in this new skill, in February 2013 I started eating healthier (yes, I did have cheat days). A fruit or veggie with each meal, no pop, replaced a fruit or veggie as my snack in the afternoon instead of chips or pop, and I watched my sugar intake.

Eating healthier and counting calories rewarded me with the lost of 5 more pounds! I was on a roll, or so I thought. I decided that I next needed to start working out so for the next 7 weeks I worked out 3 times a week, ate pretty healthy (still had my cheat days) and counted my calories. Much to my surprise I didn’t lose any more weight, Ok I lost 2 pounds, but that was the week I was sick and barely ate anything and didn’t work out. Needless to say, I was beyond frustrated. That is when a recent friend informed me that I might not be eating enough calories each day to support my new workout habits. Once I went up to 1325 calories each day, instead of 1200, I started losing weight again. 2 pounds per week and I continued to lose weight. At the end or March 2013, I was officially down 28 pounds!

When Easter hit, however, I was PMSing, about to start my period and munched on way too much yummies over the holiday weekend. Since then, I have had a really hard time getting back on track. I have gained 4 pounds back, making my weight 186 again.

As of the beginning of May 2013, I have started over again. The thing about falling off the wagon is, as long as you get back on you’re still on track. No one is perfect and that’s okay. 

 

The above picture is from August 2012 

The Glow Run

My very 1st 5K

  

The above picture is from May 2013

The Color Me Rad Run

My 3rd 5K

Meet My Lively League!

Me - This is MY year! Its time, its passed time. I want to do it all, and I will. I spent too much time letting my life pass me by and I am finally ready to really live!

I am a twenty something Mama with a hubby, a dog and three beautiful girls.
I'm also a multi-tasker, I don't EVER do just one thing at a time. I have to keep busy, stay on my toes and drive my husband crazy with all my lists. So, in true "me" style I am embarking on several different journeys at once to end up where I have always wanted to be, Happy with just being Me.

K (Babe) – The husband. He is my rock and my other half; he is loving and caring … yada yada yada, blah blah blah.  (insert eye roll)

He IS all of those things and more. I love him dearly, really I do, but he is also kind of like another one of my kids. I always say I have 5 children: my 3 girls, my dog and my husband. He asked me once why I put him last in that statement and the only thing I could say was that if I put him before the dog it would ruin the punch line.

I love him unconditionally, even with all his rough spots (I have a few too).

H – My first-born and a mother hen to the others. She knows all of the rules and rarely breaks them. H is also Type 1 Diabetic, which makes things more challenging, but it has also opened our eyes to so much. She is bossy, but loving and very stubborn. She is, for better or worse, My Mini Me. 

C – My Little Mischief Maker, our second daughter and a bull in a china cabinet. She’s our entertainment more then half the time. C doesn’t stop until she is asleep. She is a dancer, a class clown and as stubborn as they come (See a pattern with the stubborn yet?). This little one is a tornado, monsoon and earthquake all rolled into one. 

R – Two words: Daddy’s Diablo. I love my baby girl, I really do, but she is definitely a little devil. This Daddy’s Girl is ultra sweet until something doesn't go her way and then all Hell breaks loose. R is definitely the baby of the family. Her big blue eyes and snuggly personality make it really hard to stay mad at her. She is very quick to smile, tries to act shy and loves to laugh.

Most of all, R is way too smart for her own good and uses those brains to push me a little more insane each day.

I have an antidote, its called alcohol.

My Captivating Little Con Artist 

Stella – Our 3-year-old Lab mix. “The Middle Child” as I call her, Stella is definitely one of my children (or she thinks she is). She’s my co-pilot on car trips, our protector, my foot warmer and my baby dog. Stella loves everyone, but will be quick to warn you if you’ve gotten too close to her home. She loves the kids, knows to be gentle with them and would follow them to the ends of the earth. She loves us all and we love her. Stella completes our little clan perfectly.

What is a Donut?

Nope, not the food... trust me when I say that I know what the food is.

My kind of Donut came from when my mother and I used to watch a lot of shows together. Even now we watch similar shows and have to call each other when something mind-blowing happens.

During a particular show, in high school, there was a commercial for an online computer game. The object of the game was to throw junk good at models as they came down the runway. Every time you hit one, their body would bulge out where the food hit. This was hysterical to my mother and me. Soon, it became our inside joke and every skinny or in shape person we can across became“a Donut”, as we imagined throwing sugary sweets at them in order to see their body bulk out.

While it is, to this day, still lots of fun to imagine throwing food at people, I have a new fantasy in mind.

I want to be that fit person, I want to be A Donut.