Lately it seems Type 1 diabetes has been in the news, the worst kind of news: the reports are of new cases only diagnosed after a child has died. It seems implausible to me that this could happen, and I really don’t like to focus on the negative of anything, but the fact is… it has happened. How could it get that far? And more frightening of all… how could a physician, any physician, miss the signs? Or, at the very least, consider all of the possibilities? That just one finger stick and a tiny spot of blood could rule out this chronic and debilitating disease?
- Extreme thirst (as in, your child cannot get enough to drink)
- Frequent urination (as in, your child is constantly in the bathroom, or saturating diapers more than several times a day)
- Drowsiness, lethargy (as in, your child doesn’t want to get up, and is very very tired, or sleeping a lot)
- Sudden, unexplained weight loss (as in, your child looks thinner than usual)
- Increased appetite (as always hungry/eating, but still losing/not gaining weight)
- Fruity, or sweet-smelling, breath
- General feeling of unwell, or, in some cases, obviously ill in combination with any of the above mentioned symptoms
- Lack of appetite
- Pains in the stomach
- Vomiting or feeling nauseous
- Blurry vision
- Difficulty breathing
- Feelings of weakness
- Fever, warm, dry, or flushed skin
- Stupor, unconsciousness
- A journal my mom gave her, which she has filled with hundreds of words (which I have not read….. what kind of mother do you think I am???), and a pencil crowned with a heart shaped eraser marking where she left off.
- A 7-pack of mini bottles of shimmer nail polish, one bottle is missing. Hmmm…. I find this curious, given that I have a rule for nail polish use limited to bathroom or kitchen.
- An unopened can of Play Doh. No one in this house has played with Play Doh in 3 years.
- A pack of 4 mini pens in purple, green, pink, and orange.
- A mini notepad promoting breast cancer awareness. Must be another Nannie cast off.
- A deck of playing cards I haven’t seen since we lived in the old house.
- A box containing Staple’s talking “That was easy” button. Yes, they really do exist, and yes – your kid could potentially press this button enough times to make you want to throw it into oncoming traffic outside your house.
- 2 Strawbery Shortcake notepads from McDonald’s. Unused.
- One of my old demonstration mirrors from my Mary Kay days.
- A furry, plush Hello Kitty zippered purse.
- A mini, unopened can of generic “Wonder Dough.” (A leftover from one of those Supermom goody bags.)
- 6 Tegaderm films, 2 IV-Prep wipes, and 1 Unisolve medical adhesive remover wipe. (You know you have diabetes when…..)
- An i-Carly change purse.
- A pair of American Girl doll ice skates.
- A headband matching a SpongeBob nightgown she hasn’t worn in 2 years.
- A pair of American Girl doll purple Capri pants and matching shoes. (At this point I had to look for the doll, to see if she – unlike the majority of Barbies living here – actually has pants on.)
- A plastic sliding Christmas puzzle. (And, judging by its appearance, has never been played with.)
- A book of Pokemon stickers. (The Pokemon phase is, thankfully, over.)
- A broken ankle bracelet.
- A pair of plastic tweezers, clamps, and scalpel. (Accessories to an anatomy toy my mom bought her, with rubbery organs and stuff that are removable – thankfully, she never did, because I’d never be able to figure out how to put all the organs back in where they belong.)
- 2 Barbie shoes that don’t match.
- “Girly” legos.
- A mini (teeny tiny) digital camera. (It really does work, although I doubt she’s ever taken a picture with it.)
- One – count it – ONE Reading Phillies trading card. (And it’s not even a player, it’s manager Steve Roadcap. Which, by the way, opens up a whole other line of questions… like, is he a real person? What kind of name is “Roadcap”? It’s like his ancestor stepped off the boat from fumff—land and when they asked his name he just picked two familiar words and slapped them together. Wham! Name’s Roooaddd…uh,…. cap.)
- A tiny rubber rat. (Most likely hijacked from one of her brother’s junk drawers.)
- A silver plastic ring with a crown on it. (A cupcake topper from one of those hundreds of infamous school birthday treats.)
- A rubber Justin Bieber wristband.
- A glue stick, nail file, 3 orange sticks, and a nailbrush.
- 2 frou frou hair bands with sparkly, dangley ribbons on them. Never worn. (Another of those items she refuses to wear, but won’t part with.)
- 4 crafty necklaces she made in PRESCHOOL, 3 years ago.
Today is the day!
A tournament of balls.
All men and 1 woman
Come to throw in these halls.
It is loud, very loud –
Like the rolling of thunder,
Though not earth and clouds,
But 10 pins falling under.
Old men, young men
And those in between.
Tall ones, short ones
Fat ones and lean.
Not a spectator sport,
Or athletes on tv.
This isn’t a sport
Groupies group up to see.
No cheerleaders cheer,
No shouting of mothers.
Just a whole lot of high-fivin’
From this weird band of brothers.
The smell of oil and sweat
Fills this great hall of halls,
Only scattering pins echo
From red, white, and blue walls.
There’s beer! We have beer.
And big pitchers of water.
Bring your son and your mom,
Great granddad and daughter.
So come one and come all,
With your balls drilled, un-oiled.
Come with precision and speed
Before the lanes be spoiled.
You don’t need a new shirt
Or some fancypants’ shoes,
Or a mouthful of teeth,
Or a pill for your blues.
Cause there’s no better place
For showing style, skill and grace.
Entertainment is waiting,
At a grass-growin’ pace.
This is what I composed on Dr. Seuss’ birthday, during a 6-hour long bowling tournament. I embraced my love for my husband and rose at 4:45 am on a workday to drive 2 hours with him for his tournament. What I saw that day was both eye-burning boring and hilariously entertaining, and provided me enough blog fodder for a year. Whether it is entertaining to anyone else, well… that remains to be seen. He wanted me to read it aloud to some of his teammates, but I – in a rare show of shyness – refused out of fear of embarrassment. I dedicate this to my Nana, who shared a birthday with the great Seuss, and probably never picked up a bowling ball in her life.