He was peaceful.
His long blond eyelashes framed his round eyelids.
Pink cheeks. Full, soft, relaxed lips.
As I picked up his black freckled fingertip, I paused to give him one more moment of calm.
His breathing was slow and shallow. His entire body relaxed in its slumber.
I pricked his fingertip, laying another dot on the landscape. A bead of bright crimson blood appeared. I quickly pressed the test strip against it and watched it suck up most of the red. I smeared away the remaining blood from his finger, wiping it on the inside pocket of my jeans. The countdown ensued...the result was a surprise.
It is always a surprise.
59. With insulin on board no less.
This meant a couple of things. First, a temp basal. I followed his pump tubing with my fingers, only to discover the pump rested securely beneath the weight of his body. I adjusted my position. Teetering on the edge of the mattress below him I immediately questioned my decision to let him have the top bunk. Retrieving the pump meant moving my 8 year old son and disturbing his respite from the storm.
I hoisted his arm towards me, and the whole of his torso followed. Fishing blindly in the blankets I finally retrieve my prize...a blue Medtronic pump.
He stirred only slightly, turning his head to a more comfortable position.
My fingers found their familiar rhythm on the pump buttons. It took seconds to change the settings. I made my way down from my perch and walked purposefully towards the kitchen.
Opening up the low cupboard door, I let out a big sigh. Which carb to pick?
I grab an apple juice box and a banana and head back to the bunk bed. Breaking the seal on the apple juice box, I slip in the straw and touch the end of it to L's lower lip.
His body goes into survival mode as he anxiously grabs the box and takes a long, encouraging sip. He pushes out the straw with his tongue and rolls over the opposite direction of me.
I rub his arm. "L, you need to drink sweetheart." I gently turn his head back towards me and press the straw to his lips again.
He takes a small sip and turns his head away again. We repeat the process a good six times before I give up. He's drank 3/4 of the box. We'll move on to the banana.
I break off half of the banana and rub it against his full sleeping lips. He anxiously takes a bite and chomps contentedly in his sleep. His hands grasp the air as if trying to find another bite of the banana. He eagerly eats what I offer him, and when I am finished he brings his hands to his face and continues to eat the imaginary banana in his hands.
I gently hold his hands to make the charade stop, and rub his forehead to relax his body and help him return to his deep sleep.
I check the other two boys and find them to be in range with no IOB. A battle won within the war.
Gently closing the door to my room I turn to knell at my bed to pray. I offer an earnest prayer, praying for joy. Praying for understanding. Praying for peace.
And most importantly...praying for my boys safety until I check them again in a few hours.
Dream my dear boys. Dream and escape your diabetic life.
I'll live it for you, for now.
Relish your escape while you can.