Hungry for Spring (and Summer and Fall)

Winter is nature's way of saying, "Up yours."  ~ Robert Byrne

This is what it looks like outside today. Sunny and bright, yes, but almost colourless.

February 12, 2012 in Ottawa
Temperature: -10C | 14F

It is cold. The world seems dead. And, even though we've been blessed with a relatively mild winter (Winterlude has been a bit of a bust), I am BEYOND ready for it to be over. For colour to come back into our world.

Every winter,
When the great sun has turned his face away,
The earth goes down into a vale of grief,
And fasts, and weeps, and shrouds herself in sables,
Leaving her wedding-garlands to decay -
Then leaps in spring to his returning kisses.
~ Charles Kingsley, Saint's Tragedy (act III, sc. 1)

I am so eager for spring that I stopped at Michael's yesterday and bought some peonies (my favourite flower) and dogwood. Artificial, yes, but still beautiful for all that.

Instantly, my heart lifted a little. Beauty has such a powerful effect on me. 

I still can't wait for the REAL peonies in our garden to make their way through the thawing earth and taunt me with their swollen buds for weeks (it always seems so long, as I watch the ants crawl across the sepals, birthing the extravagant blossoms within).

And then I sliced myself a pear [Yay for me: healthy snack!] and was grateful for the fact that here, in the depths of winter, I can still enjoy a succulent fruit.

It was neither organic nor grown within a 100 km radius, but I enjoyed every last sticky drip of it.

All of this is my way of telling winter, "Up yours." ~ Wynn Anne Sibbald

Wake-up Call

I was diagnosed with Type II diabetes, oh, three or four years ago. At first I was panicky, and tested my blood sugar several times a day, only to find that it was really fairly stable. It would spike after a meal, but then gradually settle down.

As a little background, here are some numbers for everyday blood sugar:

Description		Max mmol/L (units used in Canada and the UK)		mg/dL (units used in the US)
Normal		<6		110
Target for diabetics		<7		130

At the time of my diagnosis, my fasting results ranged from 90 mg/dL to about 150 mg/dL. Eventually, I saw an endocrinologist who suggested that I could probably just test my blood once or twice a week. Which, in my case, translated into "never."

Because, whether I like it or not, I am a creature of habit. If it doesn't happen every single day, it is likely never to happen at all. (Except Tiramisu, which I will take at random intervals.)

Then we moved back to Canada and finding a good family doctor was a pain. I visited our old family doctor who wasn't too concerned and suggested I check in once a year for an A1C test. (A blood test that gives a 2-to-3-month snapshot of what's going on with your blood sugar.) A healthy A1C is below 6.5%. Mine was about 7%. So, high, but not scary.

My diabetes was considered "diet-and-exercise controlled." Which, if you know me, translates to "Really not controlled at all. Pretty much random. Might just as well prepare some burnt offerings."

About six months ago, I thought I should probably start monitoring my sugar again. But I procrastinated. My old test strips were expired; my old monitor used U.S. units, not Canadian. I was feeling okay, and my doctors didn't seem too concerned ...

Well, today, I finally got around to buying a new monitor and test strips. Because I like playing with new toys, I immediately tested my blood.

My jaw just about hit the floor when I saw the result on the monitor.

That's 19.5 mmol/L = 351 mg/dL

I had NEVER, EVER had results that high. And I didn't feel ill. (Well, except for the constant thirst and the continual emptying of the bladder ... but those are also side effects of some of my meds and, um, middle age, right?) But there is no arguing with the meter. Yes, I tested again just before lunch because ... neurotic! The number had fallen to 13.4 mmol/L. Still not good.

For the record, I had not had a heavy "binge" the night before, and I'd only had a PB&J sandwich with coffee for breakfast.

I couldn't believe my pancreatic health had gone from "worrisome" to "we are having an emergency" in one short year.

To further feed my neurosis (and because I had just "broken up" with my old doctor so that I could  get a better one, and because the better one had not officially accepted me as a patient, so I was stuck in limbo as to OHIP-covered lab tests), I purchased an at-home A1C test.

These are a relatively new thing in Canada, and I'm sure the medical labs all scoff at their reliability, but I very carefully followed the instructions. My A1C was 9.6%.

In the orange zone.

Suddenly, this shit got real, in a way that the original diagnosis never did. It's time to give that diet and exercise regime a serious effort. Cuz the burnt offerings aren't working.

Crap.

Affection

A token of romantic love.

The prompt for this month's Gratitude Journal entry is "love - of all kinds." In her note to those of us who have subscribed, Karen Walrond (a.k.a. Chookooloonks) writes,

Yet, it seems to me a pity that we devote an entire 24 hours to celebrate romantic love, and no time at all to celebrate all the other types of love that are all around us -- love that, let's face it, is at least as plentiful (if not more so) than romantic love.

So, although you all know how nuts I am for Stephen, for my post this month, I'm focusing on storge, "fondness through familiarity, especially between family members or people who have otherwise found themselves together by chance," according to Wikipedia.

Often, while I am sitting in my living room reading or surfing the net, I'll hear my kids in the sunroom kibitzing, joking (sometimes making fun of good, old Mom), and it warms my heart. I love the relationship my kids have with each other. Sometimes, it is intense; sometimes it is not much more than background music, but it is always There.

Three of our four: Peter, Emily, Brian (Katie wasn't available)

They aren't saints or best friends, and they don't usually snuggle this close, but they care about each other.

And I am so grateful for that. I've seen siblings who don't treat each other with respect, let alone with affection. That doesn't happen often here, thankfully.

A Different Lifetime

Peter, age 4

Do you ever look back on certain periods of your life and wonder how you coped?

Today, I read Ruth Schwarz's blog, "the mom" where she outlined just ONE of her days caring for her special-needs daughter Davy as well as her three sons, and it brought back memories. She writes,

I had to leave the house by 8:30 to get to Davy's first therapy (OT) at 9. had to secure a sitter (thank you Heather) and a ride to and from preschool for Harper. Went to Davy's second therapy (pt) at 10. Then had to jam over to CHOC by 11:15 for her feeding therapy. Then had a speech evaluation right after that.

And that's just her morning; she and Davy didn't make it home till six.

Such is life when you have a child with special needs. And it is exhausting, completely draining.

I have a frozen-in-time image of sitting in a waiting area at the Ottawa Children's Treatment Centre (OCTC) (about which I cannot say enough good things!). Peter, who has Asperger Syndrome, had back-to-back appointments for occupational therapy, physical therapy, and speech therapy.

Emily was just a toddler and she was bored. As a single-income family, we couldn't afford to hire a sitter while I took Peter to his appointments.

What others may not realize is that all of these therapies for a child require parental involvement. I was not just sitting in an uncomfortable lounge chair reading year-old magazines. I was learning and working along with Peter, and was expected to continue these exercises at home between appointments. (I failed so often, though I always started out with the best intentions.)

It is not physically arduous, but it is emotionally draining: my inner dialogue kept hoping he would surprise us. My outer dialogue quietly encouraged him without making him feel like he was disappointing us. I was also conscious of wanting to impress the professionals by what a Good Mother I was, or at least have them feel I was adequate.

And, really, Peter's needs were quite minimal, compared to many of the kids seen at the OCTC. He was able to walk, dress, and feed himself. He could talk in full sentences and make his needs known. But he was behind on all the milestones, and there was an emotional/psychological aspect to his disability that I found hard to explain.

This was at least a year before he was diagnosed, so at the time, we were just dealing with an interesting array of challenges. In some ways he was so close to "normal" that I wondered if I were not making things up or exaggerating things. But, to me, he seemed vulnerable, so I kept pushing for help.

Peter has made great strides, and we are so proud of him. Those days are so far away, but surprisingly immediate in my mind. I sometimes still feel like that exhausted, young mother.

Silly Conversation

Steve (reviewing his bank statement online): Yay! I got paid.

Me: Oh, right. Today is the day you get paid.

Steve: Yup.... They should have a word for that. Paying-day?

Me: Day-o-pay?

Steve: Salary-day?

Me: Salarday!

Steve: Yes!

And that is why we stay married.