Those of you who are lovely enough to listen to my Facebook rambling already know this week has been one of THOSE weeks. You know, THOSE weeks which test your physical, intellectual and emotional well-being? This week could certainly fit into that category much like hopefully due to stress, I can fit into my skinny jeans sometime in the very near future!
Many of you have heard this story already, but here’s a more elaborate version for those of you who are like me and need to KNOW-IT-ALL. :)
Bug hasn’t been feeling well for a few weeks, but his symptoms were so subtle we figured he just had the Winter Blues. After all, HOW MUCH MORE SNOW can we Kentuckians endure this year?!
Geez.
In any case, he woke up one morning this past weekend feeling really not-so-great, and told me he was “shaky”. Being the hypochondriac-neurotic-person-I-am, I convinced him to let me check his blood sugar. I had a very old tester because I often get low blood sugar when I forget to eat, but we very rarely use it. Now that I know how to recognize the feeling of low blood sugar without needing the tester and understand the best cure for low blood sugar is EATING...it's been pretty useless to us.
Of course, I am constantly TRYING to get someone to let me use it on them. Anytime a visitor to our house complains of feeling a little dizzy, shaky, nauseous, (insert ANY feeling here from tired to hungry to heartbroken), I offer to check their blood sugar. It’s the one and only medical related thing I know how to do and darn it, NO ONE ever agrees to let me showcase my skills!
That being said, I have never checked Bug’s blood sugar. Ever. I don’t play that come-on-let-me-check-your-blood-sugar-because-it’s-fun-to-watch-grown-adults-squirm-at-the-sight-of-a-tiny-needle-and-an-even-tinier-amount-of-blood game with children. I might be crazy, but I’m not mean. Well, not to children anyway.
Since when my blood sugar levels get low I get shaky, his description triggered me to think about the meter. He immediately declined allowing me to prick his finger but thankfully he’s very easily bribed by money. The kid will do almost anything for $1, including giving foot massages, shoveling snow and other useful tasks sweat shop workers in third-world countries wouldn’t even agree to for this low of a wage. He’s cheap labor…and in the USA. What could be better?!
(Before you start getting all easy-parenting-is-lazy-parenting on me or bribing-your-child-with-$1-to-shovel-your-entire-back-porch-is-unethical, calm down and get your hand off the Child Services speed dial. He loves to “earn” cash and he’s ridiculously spoiled overall. The kid has an amazing life where he wants for absolutely nothing!)
Being able to easily bribe him with small amounts of cash right now makes parenting a little easier, but it might end up being a REAL problem when he hits his teens and young adult years. I’d better start praying about that NOW!
After convincing him $1 was a good trade off, he happily obliged. While I was expecting low blood sugar levels, we got the exact opposite. Since Hubbit was working, we decided to head to the firestation to get him re-checked by professionals.
I’ve said it one million times before: Firewives can testify to this. If your kid is going to randomly get a concussion at the swimming pool at the hands of a pretty little Asian 6 year old girl, if your dog is going to completely bite through your hand (accidentally) on Christmas Eve, if your only toilet is going to quit working OR if your washing machine is going to flood your house… IT WILL happen on the 24 hours your husband is on shift. It’s like a law of nature. I learned to accept it within the first year of him being on the line.
Anyhow, after some phone calls and a visit to the after-hours pediatrician (since it was the weekend), we ended up in the UK Emergency Room, the UK Children’s Hospital and ultimately with a diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes. Sigh.
While this was a very stressful event where smiles weren’t freely abundant, there were a few interesting highlights to this week that made me giggle. So, in the spirit of finding the humor in EVERY situation, here’s my humble attempt.
1)When we first arrived at the hospital, we had to wait for a short time in the ER Waiting Room before we could be admitted. We sat down in a fairly unoccupied area with only one other woman nearby. The ER Waiting Room furnishes public telephones on the tables for visitors to use and she was talking on one. Being the nosey people we are, Hubbit and I immediately tuned in to her conversation.
It went a little like this…
Crazy Lady: Look, the police department is corrupt! Ever since that plane went down in 1983, they’ve been after me.
Me: ---Leaning in closer, trying to remember if there really was a plane that went down here in 1983, giving Hubbit the “this-is-better-than-the-new-90210” look---
Crazy Lady: They knocked on my door back then and Cletus and I had to slip out the window. I had to go on the run!
Me: ---quickly realizing this lady was a nutjob, turning my head and covering my mouth to keep from laughing out loud and being exposed by the Lady on the Run.---
(The bad thing is, I’m pretty terrible at stifling laughs. I can hang on for a few moments but if I have to go more than 60 seconds without laughing out loud, I fail. Miserably. What usually happens is my laugh ends up coming out as a loud and obnoxious snort-cackle. It’s really UN-attractive and Flea has grown to be completely embarrassed by it when he’s around.)
Hubbit: Geez. ---Showcasing his absolute inability to say anything quietly enough to be considering “under his breath”.---
Me: ---Stifling laughs, heaving of my body, trying to keep it all under wraps before Crazy Lady caught on.---
Crazy Lady: Listen, you call the FBI and you tell them I have information for them that will blow their minds. Yes, it will blow their MINDS.
--- She hung up, looked at us directly in the eye and left.---
Hubbit: How much do you want to bet there was no one on the other end of that phone line?
Me: SNORT/CACKLE!
2) Backstory: When Bug was about three-years-old, he went on this tangent where he didn’t like his name. He would ask us to call him other names, with his all-time-favorite being “Max”. In fact, there were several times where he cried for lengthy periods of time, asking us why we didn’t name him Max! It was funny...and ridiculous...all in one. But, there were also times in between where he’d go for weeks wanting to be called names other than "Max".
The absolute BEST name he ever demanded to be called was Old Ham Lincoln. He was obsessed with Abraham Lincoln at the time, but for some crazy reason was convinced his name was not Abraham, but Old Ham. He would argue with us endlessly when we tried to correct him, so ultimately we just gave in and for about three weeks we called our precious three-year-old, Old Ham Lincoln.
Exchange this week involving Bug and his new Diabetes Doctor, Dr. Smith
Dr. Smith: Hi, I'm Dr. Smith. What do like to be called, young man?
Bug: ---Shrugs his shoulders as if saying “I don’t know”---
Dr. Smith: Well, what does everyone else call you?
Bug: You tell him, Mom. ---looks at me---
Me: Riley, Ry, Ry Bug, Bug?
Bug: NO, Mom! That’s not what people call me!
Me: ---confused---
Dr. Smith: Well, what do they call you then?
Bug: Ry Fry
Me: I’ve never once in a million years EVER heard someone call you that. Seriously. NEVER.
Dr. Smith: Ok, Ry Fry…
While we’ve once again been reminded this week that life can change in an absolute instant and how sadly you can’t do-it-Marty-McFly-style and jump in a DeLorean to go back in time to stop it, we’ve also been reminded…
Some things never change. Thank God for that.
Whitney
No matter how bad things get, you got to go on living, even if it kills you. (Sholom Aleichem)
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