Tonawanda News —
I generally am fairly good at describing situations. But not today.
This just plain sucks.
I am sitting with Penny in a room at Women's and Children's Hospital. She got here with her mother yesterday. She went to the pediatrician with complaints of frequent thirst and a couple irritations.
She was supposed to get a medication or whatnot and then make it for her soccer game.
Instead, she's been diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.
So, instead of spending our day at Fantasy Island or down by Niagara Falls, we are playing Uno on a hospital bed while I await the next part of my training on how to treat my daughter's diabetes.
Not exactly the way I thought my week would go when it began.
Now, I know we can handle anything. That's what we Lanes do. But the more I learned about The Artist Formerly Known as Juvenile Diabetes, the more my head spun.
One unit of insulin for every 20 grams of carbs consumed. Got it.
Try to avoid carbs at snacks. Not that hard.
When the blood sugar measures above 240, subtract by 150 and then divide by 150 to determine the corrective dose of insulin to inject. Um, OK.
Here's a handy book containing roughly 17,000 food items and their carb counts so you can constantly monitor what Penny is eating. Uh ...
The proper spot to prick Penny's finger is just off the tip. And make sure you give the insulin injections in the back of the upper arm, upper thigh or top of the butt.
OK. "Butt" is still kinda funny to hear, especially when a 5-year-old (6 by the time you read this - happy belated birthday, baby girl!) giggles uncontrollably upon hearing the word. But I have to stick needles in her?
Neither of us liked that idea. It seemed to hit her worse, though. The first injection I gave her yielded a shriek that would have scared away the hungriest flesh-eating zombie. The next few times weren't quite as bad, but she was still quite apprehensive.