Why did the insulin die in my pancreas?

I have a list of humourous diabetes-related slogans that I endeavour to print on t-shirts…that’s a dream for when Lance is a little older, and the current dramas of oscillating BSLs and waiting-for-the-pump become issues of the past.

On a particularly miserable Monday morning, my extremities were about to snap. Yes,despite living in a sunburnt country, we happen to reside in a notoriously cold city, known for its westerly winds and early morning frosts.I had just muttered a list of expletives as I tiptoed across the icy floorboards to grab Lance’s insulin. The reason being that my 2am bsl check that I perform on Lance nightly flashed an offensive 19.5mmol/L at me. I couldn’t believe it. He was 7.7mmol/L before we went to bed. I began assembling the insulin pen it so I could administer the life-serum to my sleeping son. Before I left the kitchen, I held it at eye level, whilst checking for air bubbles, and said out loud, ” Pleeeease do your job, you’ve been terribly slack lately!” in an exasperated, pleading tone.

The insulin was delivered into a perfectly exposed spot on Lance’s tummy, thanks to a button that had come undone on his Tranformers pyjama shirt. I was thankful that I didn’t have to put my icy hands on his warm little body. I was too wired to go to sleep, so I plotted a few days blood sugar trends on www.sugarstats.com. All done. I googled the word: “pancreas” just for the hell of it. I had already had a conversation with an insulin pen, found myself drumming out the rhythm of the theme song that gets so much airplay at our house-…Transformers, more than meets the eye..” with two innocent pencils on a stack of books, so why not look at a bunch of pancreas pics whilst I was at it? I mean, I know it isn’t standard 2am behaviour to engage in, but after the craziness of the past weeks, it made sense that I appeared to be somewhat delirious.( My only witness was our devoted whippet, He isn’t going to tell anyone about his Master’s mother and her early morning cuckoo antics…)

The nights events came to an unexectedly hilarious peak when I discovered this.

I was so intrigued to see such creative and hysterical use of a pancreas! I chuckled quietly to myself as I read on. The folks at www.iheartguts.com are devoted to making internal organs come to life with snappy little catchphrases, and their products are perfect for those with a troublesome condition that is usually wrapped up in a stockpile of seriousness and only ever mentioned in hushed tones.

 They boast an impressive range of t-shirts, featuring all of your favourite organs for men and women. (Lance is getting the “Gimme Some Sugar” shirt in a ladies Size Small.) They have stickers, pins and even plush, colourful replicas of your sick, tired, or damaged organ, all with a guaranteed belly laugh or two.

 Why not give his pancreas a voice? It may as well be used for something..

Ha. I just imagined a sad little pancreas with a weather-beaten, six-year-old “For Lease” sign stuck in the middle of it. The humour is rubbing off!

For anyone who has problems with their liver, pain from their kidneys, a literally “broken” heart, a devastatingly vacant uterus, synapses that are slightly askew in their brain,or a spleen that is more trouble than it’s worth, you must visit www.iheartguts.com , even if only for a good old-fashioned guffaw. (However, something tells me that the uber cool design, plus the given ability to have a laugh about your imperfect organ, and the passion shown towards guts in general will find you with your credit card in hand, ready to purchase a rib-tickler. It worked first shot with me!

I’m tired of Diabetes being so serious and overwhelming. I caught myself frowning in the mirror recently, and I actually gasped aloud at the deep folds of skin that have developed in my brow. ( I quickly made an appointment and dashed off to get a professional sea weed facial and a miniscule jar of cream that allegedly “plumpens prominent wrinkles with continual use”… It worked psychologically anyway..) The first thing that came to mind was Botox,( I then slapped myself for being so absurd and narcissistic,) and just a few seconds later, I decided that I really need to concentrate on how a quality of life that Lance doesn’t  know exists, and  that I have long forgotten existed will be handed back to us significantly, once we commence insulin pump therapy, and, that one day, Lance’s pancreas will welcome a bunch of excited, lively, brand new islet cells that will deliver insulin when required without any intervention from him or me.

Thank you SO much to the team at I Heart Guts.

You are the first to make me laugh-out-loud and slap my thigh at my son’s defunct pancreas. :D