Endo visit and we get the big examination room in the corner. Windows all around on the 2nd floor. It feels like a fishbowl. Win for us! Grace starts to dance around the room, showing off what she's learned in dance class. Teaching me to do 'The Pelican' which involves kicking one leg up, all while throwing your hands behind you. I realize I am not good at The Pelican. Grace is though, and we laugh.
Give us the big room in the corner, and we are gonna dance, baby.
Her blood draw is good. Her triglycerides are great. Her celiac is negative. Looking good. She's grown an inch in three months. Her endo marvels at the hint of mascara she wears, asks if she's dating anyone and Grace dutifully rolls her eyes. Six years after we started this business, and who knew I would be in this room when I actually laughed about it all.
I was in this fishbowl room six years ago, with a newly diagnosed six year old. I was scared and I felt alone and I felt I could not do it. I did not even think of, or envision, a moment like this in my life. Six years from now? I didn't know if I would make it the next six days, let alone six years.
Funny how a room can bring it all flooding back.
Grace mentions it to me.
'Mom, the last time we were in this room, I was little. I remember the windows and how big the room was. And we talked about food.'
'Correct you are, my gal. We did. We talked a lot about food back then.'
And then it's over. Her remembrance of it all is that of a six year old. The food, she recalls we talked about food. I guess that's good. She doesn't say I looked scared back then. She doesn't say, 'and Daddy was with us, you remember Mom, and he looked so very sad.' She doesn't talk about how she used to scream and scream and scream when we gave her shots. Remembering some things when you six is selective. I thank God for small miracles. She remembers the food.
The nurse peeks her head in and says '5.9.' I must have looked shocked, cause she says after it. 'Really, 5.9.'
Grace looks at me. I smile. She says 'Is that good?' and she smiles. We've never gotten below a 6.0 A1C yet. 6.2, yes, Mostly we hover in the 6.4 area. I'm fine with that. I wasn't even trying for tighter control and finer tuning, yet here we are. 5.9
I tell her endo when she enters that the machine must be broken. She asks me how I do it. She tells tales of teens with 9.5, 10, 11 A1Cs and she looks worried. I tell her I spend time fine tuning, I don't let highs hang out and mostly, and here is my key, I attack night time with a vengeance. I have the least variables at night. I can control more. I tighten the reins then. It's a huge part of her 24 hours, those 8-9-10 hours she sleeps. I try to always be in range then. Then I tell her once again her A1C machine is broken and it can't possibly be right.
I scroll through her PDM. 40% of the time we are in range (80-150), 40% of the time we are high (above 150) and 20% of the time we are low (below 80). I think, well, it's good, the 20% of the time low. And I wonder what Grace's standard deviation is. Aw hell, I'm not gonna look that up, it is what it is.
That's all I got, I say. I impart no wisdom beyond that. Her endo looks at me, 'that's it?'
'Yep, that's it. I'm afraid I haven't anything else to add.'
'You know what? I do have something else to add. This is a great room for dancing.'
And we ask her to join in.