Why did the insulin die in my pancreas?

This is a post that I have wanted to write for a long time, but I felt that the topic could be slightly cringe worthy.

I still feel that way, but I’m going to continue this time, instead of writing a draft and deleting it the next day.

In case you aren’t aware, I am a single, 31 year old mother. I have one child, Lance, who is the epicentre of my existence. We have lived through almost six gruelling years together, battling against severe hypoglycaemia, and more recently, wildly fluctuating blood sugar levels that were attributed to the release of growth hormones.

It hasn’t always been this way. I was once a happily married twenty-something when I discovered that I was pregnant. Life was peachy-Scott, my then-husband and I lived in a fabulous home, and wanted for nothing. We were not planning to start a family so quickly, however, as soon as we both saw the two “pink lines”, we were consumed with the thought of new life entering our little world.

We had an incredible first year with our gorgeous son. Lance was meant to be with us-he would gaze at me as if he had known me for years, even as a newborn. If I heard him crying, I only had to soothe him with some soft, comforting words or a lullaby, and he would settle immediately, soaking in my essence. We were incredibly close, we had bonded whilst Lance was in-utero. He knew me from the moment he was handed to me.  Without a doubt, the most incredible experience of my life.

Fast forward 1 November, 2002. Diagnosis Day. Hurricane Mellitus.

After a week in hospital, we returned to our house. It didn’t feel like “home” anymore. There was evidence everywhere of the chaos that had overwhelmed us prior to hearing “those” life-changing words.

That’s when the cracks began to show. I became so protective and vigilant of Lance, and without even realising it, I began to focus all of my attention onto Diabetes.  Whilst Scott slept alone, I would be lying beside Lance’s cot-observing, watching, testing..trying to avoid disaster or the possiblity of more distress in hospital for Lance.

A huge, jagged welt had divided the amazing relationship that Scott and I once had. He bottled his feelings, and never displayed any grief or remorse about this devastating misfortune that had been inflicted upon our son. I resented him for that tremendously. (It wasn’t like I wanted to see him sitting around, paralysed with heart-wrenching pain or in a constant state of distress, but his ability to move on seemed so callous to me.)I mistook his way of coping as not caring.

On 8 April, 2003, I lost my older brother to a horrific, aggressive cancer. He was diagnosed soon after his birthday in February, and died an agonising death five weeks later.

On May 23, 2003, Scott and I officially separated. We knew it was a permanent decision, and that there was no going back.

I left our family home, and returned to my hometown with Lance to be with my parents.

Scott left for Melbourne-again, I was full of resentment that he had the ability to abandon us, when we needed him the most. (I now realise that he spent a year there in complete devastation. He returned to Queensland one year later.)

I soon felt strong enough to find my own accommodation, and it was really important to me that Lance felt like he had a home again. Within the space of six months, I found myself existing as a single parent, with a baby who had a relatively short honeymoon period, in a city that had limited medical professionals/facilities for infants with Type 1 Diabetes. I spent that spring following a meticulous routine, in an attempt to create some stability for myself. The upheaval of my son’s diagnosis, the ruination of my marriage, the death of my brother and living a completely foreign lifestyle had left me longing for each day to end, so that I could disassociate myself from reality by sleeping.

Fast forward to 1 September, 2008. The first day of the season synonymous with new life. Spring has officially sprung.

My baby is almost 8 years old, and has grown into a fine young man. His Dad and I are still fantastic friends. I have a network of supportive and kind friends around me. However, despite a huge improvement in my quality of life since the train wreck that was 2003, I am desperately lonely and crave the company of a man.

There. I said it.

It’s not like I haven’t attempted dating, either.

For the past two years, I have felt reasonably safe leaving Lance in the care of my parents or Scott. I have had a few opportunities where I have been asked out for dinner, or to catch a film. The first few times were atrocious..I was sitting in the female toilet,mobile phone in hand,  whispering to my father to do a fingerprick so I knew what Lance’s level was.

 However, with time, I soon began to unwind and relax about leaving Lance for a few hours here and there.

I was lucky enough to score a date with someone whom I had admired from afar for years. He approached me, which was even better. We had a fabulous night out-a brilliant meal, no awkward pauses, much laughter and upon leaving the restaurant, I felt my heart THUD THUD THUD as he slipped his hand into mine.

All weekend, we exchanged text messages. There was a huge va va va voom factor going on. I was so incredibly excited. I knew that this guy, Callum, actually liked “me”.

I was even more impressed when he asked to meet Lance. (As Lance is such a huge part of me, a man who asks to meet him automatically gains mass credibility.)

I suggested that we meet up at the park on a weekend. He was more than happy with that suggestion.

The weekend finally approached, and I was sick with nerves. Lance was a little too young to realise how I was feeling. We arrived at the park, and there he was, sitting at a picnic table with his back to us. He had a huge bucket of KFC and their many various MSG laden side dishes laid out. Taking a deep breath, I held my head high, and approached him. He put out his arms for a hug, and I briefly had fantasies of swiping the food of the table and..well, you can fill in the blanks.

I digress.

The moment arrived when I introduced my boy, to a man who that I could imagine sharing something special with. Callum got down to Lance’s level, and shook hands, and playfully ruffled his hair. Lance seemed to like him, he chattered away, asking many questions and making fine small talk.

Callum opened his bucket of KFC. (Naturally, I had told Callum all about why I was suddenly single, and living alone with my son. He knew about Lance’s condition, and had shrugged it off as being ”no drama whatsoever.”                                                                                                                                                             

“Here buddy, put your plate out and dig into some chicken,” Callum gestured enthusiastically.

“No, thank you Callum. I have my own sandwiches and fruit salad here with me. Thanks for the offer though.” Lance replied.

“Whaaaaaaaat! A kid who refuses KFC? You don’t know what you’re missin’ out on mate! Come on, your Mum and I are going to have some, I don’t want you to miss out.”

 (I wanted to ask a kid in the sandpit to bury me.)

“No, it’s fine. Thanks anyway. I don’t eat takeaway. It’s not good for my diabetes.”

There it was. The truth.

We sat in silence, eating our chosen meals.

Lance asked if he could go and play, and I gave him the go ahead.

“I thought you said his diabetes had nothing to do with diet!!” Callum said with an unexpected tone of  exasperation.

“Oh, it doesn’t. Well, not really. It’s good to encourage healthy eating habits, that’s all. Junk food plays havoc with blood sugar levels, too.” I replied innocently.

About 30 minutes later, I called Lance over for a fingerprick. He was panting and laughing, and out of sheer habit, wiped his finger on a serviette, ready to be tested. I got a droplet of blood, got a decent result, and told Lance to return to the playground.

(The following really hurts to write.)

“Whoa, what the heck was that? You should have prepared me for that! That was so WRONG! What sort of diabetes does he have if you have to do that to his fingers? Never do that in front of me again, hey. It’s so wrong that he was so relaxed and calm about it! So much for my lunch, my appetite is gone.  That was just SUCH a spinout.”

I was devastated. This man was prepared to accept me and my son as a package, but, as Diabetes wasn’t welcome, that meant that we weren’t going to be welcomed either.  Soon after his “spinout”. he yawned and said that the “sun had made him feel seedy.” (Or maybe it was my son and his fingerprick that made him feel seedy….) He grabbed his chicken, hugged me again, this time like there were metal bars between us, and said, “See ya babe. I’ll call you.”

After his little outburst, I was completely over Callum.

( I received an email two days later, telling me that he had dreamt of a future with me, but he couldn’t cope with having a “sick” kid in the picture.)

After I had recovered from my shock and disbelief, I decided that I wasn’t going to let one bad experience deterr me from dating. I let a friend introduce me to her brother, Jayden. We had a lot in common, but there wasn’t a lot of spark. However, I was happy enough to make a close male friend. He was a winner with Lance-he would read him stories and wanted to learn how to do fingerpricks. My faith in humanity was temporarily restored.

One weeknight, he appeared at my doorstep quite late, as he knew that I am a chronic nightowl. He slipped of his shoes and handed me a DVD and a bag of popcorn. This was the quality in a man that I love. Someone that is willing to be throw caution to the wind, and be spontaneous and fancy free. I was suitably impressed.

We sat together, and began watching the film, complete with subtitles. Ahhh..a man with eclectic taste in film. Had I been too judgemental with Jayden? He had definitely impressed me; he even put a cushion on his lap and told me to lie down whilst he gave me a temple massage. I was in sheer bliss until I heard a stifled cry.

I was up as quick as a flash, and hit the pause button. It was Lance. I turned on the night light. His hair was clamped down to his forehead with sweat, and his limbs were twitching.

BSL: 1.8mmol/L. It made no sense, especially as he had gone to bed at 9.3mmol/L after a suitable supper, only two hours beforehand. He was staring straight through me, and I knew it would be hopeless trying to coax him to drink. I assembled a glucagon injection and planted it into his thigh.

I caught a glimpse of Jayden out of the corner of my eye. He appeared as though he may faint.
“Ahh..Kate, don’t you think I should call an ambulance or something? That was really disturbing to watch!” he jittered.

“Well don’t watch, then!” I snapped back. I held Lance close to me, and sang softly as he sobbed.

After ten minutes, his blood sugar had climbed to 5.2mmol/L. The fingerprick was enough to set off the shock, and Lance began screaming and writhing.

I could see Lance turning a whiter shade of pale, and I knew that he was going to be sick, a common reaction from an emergency injection of glucagon.

“Jayden! Could you please grab some towels from the linen cupboard and..”

Too late. I wore most of Lance’s supper all through my hair and down my neck.

“Listen, Kate, I’m going to take off, okay? I’ve called for a taxi, and I’m going catch up with you really soon. Hope the little fella is alright-what the hell happened just then?” His voice faded away, and was followed by the distinctive sound of my front door closing. I had no choice but to take Lance into the shower with me, and clean us both up.

The next day, Jayden’s sister called, asking after Lance. I told her that her brother did a runner, something I didn’t really expect, considering that we were spending a lot of time getting to know each other.

“Oh yeah, he said that he would feel too scared to be around Lance in case that happened while they were playing or something. He’ll be in touch, though.”

(I saw him last Christmas in the mass crowds..I called his name, he turned around and grunted, “Oh, Hey.”)

Merry Christmas to you, too.

I’ve since found out that I’ve been described as a “great chick, heaps of fun, but with wayyyyy too much baggage..”, “she’s someone who I would definitely consider dating, but I’m not interested in having dates if she’s got her mind on her kid instead of me.”

So, this is my dilemma. I don’t have a problem meeting single, impressive-at-first-glance guys. I always assess them first, ie: genuine, sincere, honest-along with the ability to accept the good in every situation. I may have a son who has Type 1 Diabetes, but in total honesty, between the both of us, we are a really good catch. As much as I engage in “Dad” activities, I can’t possibly replace his Dad. Lance misses that, despite the fact that he is willing to spend time with me and do whatever I’m doing, without a complaint. If a male ever comes to our home, whether it be a tradesman or the guy who mows my lawn, Lance will quiz me later that day on whether I would “go out” on a date with said person. I always answer his questions as honestly as I can, and usually I reply that I don’t know about “his” personality, so I couldn’t possibly make a judgement based on the fact that “he” was polite/friendly/gorgeous.

As soon as the question, “So, what school do you go to?” is brought up, things usually go downhill very quickly.
“Why would you want to do homeschool when there are so many great little schools here?”

It’s then when I have to launch into the spiel about Lance’s vulnerability regarding hypoglycaemia. Like a reasonably ditressing percentage of straight males, they will appear concerned,shake their head in disbelief, offer a “tisk tisk” or two, or a “poor little guy”, when in fact, they are thinking..”Uh oh…high maintenance alert, no private time for sex, she’s going to be exhausted by the end of the day, there’s going to be interruptions galore when I’m trying to get busy with her..” Even the most genuine of men that I have met eventually show their true colours. They are single, therefore they want a low maintenance girlfriend who will slot easily into their already established and inflexible lives. 

I simply don’t fit into that category.

At the beginning of this year, I attempted to go on one more date. His personality was quite ordinary, his favourite singer was Dolly Parton, and he wore socks with sandals. However, I do try to treat everyone equally, and I hoped that he may be an amazing conversationalist or incredibly charismatic..

As the night progressed, he interrupted me mid-sentence and exclaimed, “Wow, your life is much more exciting than mine. I think that you’d be bored stupid by me.”

“So, is that what you really feel, or is code for how you REALLY feel?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m not the best with kids, I’m sorry. Plus I am in recovery, I am an alcoholic, and I don’t think I would  be a very good person for you to associate with.”

“Okay…Well, I do appreciate your honesty, I really do. Can we at least be friends, do you think?”

He left his mobile number on the table. He also forgot to pay his bill.

(Oh, and his mobile number was a fake. I can’t believe I thanked him for his “honesty!”)

So, I decided a few months ago, “no more pre-organised dates.” I believe that the right man will come along, but ideally, I would prefer it to be sooner than later. I have worded up all my friends, and they know not to attempt anymore set-ups.

So now I just have to wait for the Universe to deliver a genuine, sincere, kid-friendly, stable, extroverted, intelligent man, who won’t run a mile at the thought of being with a woman who is very closely associated with a chonic condition.

I know you’re out there somewhere!!

 If I’m not concerned about being with a man who has a child with a medical condition, then there just HAS to be single fathers’ out there who are unphased by a treatable condition being part of the package.

P.S. I have been composing this post for a few days now.In an incredible twist of fate, there is an exciting conclusion to my tale of woe!

 Lance ALWAYS greets our postman. As soon as he hears his motorbike approaching, he’s outside giving the postie all his latest news.

Today, Lance bought in the mail. It was bound together with a rubber band. As I flicked through it, a piece of loose paper with the Australia Post letterhead fluttered to the floor.

It read:

“Hi, I’m Thomas, your postman. Would you care to have dinner sometime? I’d like to get to know you and your boy is welcome to come too. Speaking to him is the highlight of my day, he’s one amazing kid. He mentioned that he thinks your (sic) lonely. Well, so am I. I have always wanted to date a redhead.Lance assures me that you’ll love to come on an adventure with me. Here’s my number. Leave a message if I don’t answer.. I really hope that you’ll ring and that I haven’t been too forward.

Regards, Tom.

PS. I’m so glad Lance got his pump. It’s pretty flash! I hope this makes life easier for you both now. I’d like to learn about it, too. T.”

My face aches from smiling. I’m going to call him tonight.

He was certainly right about something-Lance IS one amazing kid.