Snooze… Snooze… Oh No!
The alarm had been buzzing for a while before I finally moved. Snooze… snooze again… and again. I lost count. When I finally lifted my head from the pillow, it was 6:30 AM. Oh no! I missed waking Kendall up for school.
I staggered into the bright living room, dazed and confused, ready to do damage control—while looking pretty damaged myself—only to find Kendall sitting calmly on the couch. Dressed. Lunch packed. Bag ready. Scrolling her phone like it was any other morning.
“Kendall, I’m soooooo sorry! I didn’t wake you up to get ready. I missed the alarm.”
She gave me a look that said, Yes, I can see that. You’re ridiculous, Dad, while secretly assuring me she was fine.
“It’s okay, Dad. I didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you were struggling. I got ready on my own.”
At least I don’t have to hide it, I thought.
Screwing up the morning routine: 1. Brian: 0.
After Kendall left for the bus, it was Peyton’s turn. Getting a 15-year-old boy out the door is always a battle. Deodorant and teeth brushing don’t stand a chance against five more minutes of sleep. But somehow, we managed it.
Then, as I opened the cupboard to grab a coffee mug (the one I was using had mysteriously disappeared), my eyes landed on the medication bottles. I had forgotten Peyton’s morning meds. Great. I’d have to drive them over later, after dropping Owen off.
Screwing up the morning routine: 2. Brian: still zero.
Owen was next: lunch packed, snack packed, everything ready. Or so I thought.
Sitting in the car line, Owen said,
“Dad… I forgot my diabetes phone.”
That’s something I always check for before leaving the house.
Morning routine hat trick: 3. Brian: goose egg.
We couldn’t pull out of line without going all the way through, so we rolled right past the puzzled-looking teachers and back home. Armed with the diabetes phone, we returned—only to find car line closed. Which meant parking, walking in, signing him in, and acknowledging to the staff that no, nothing was wrong—just me being a disheveled mess.
At this point, forget the scoreboard.
Ok, with all of the kids at school, it was time to do damage control.
On the 20-minute drive to Peyton’s school to deliver his medication, I muttered, Wow. This was a master class on how not to get the kids ready for school.
Mission accomplished, Peyton medicated, I headed home—just in time for the phone to ring. Owen’s school.
“Mr. Foster, Owen forgot his iPad.”
Of course he did. And of course I forgot to check his bag.
When I finally made it back to the couch, I dropped my head into my hands. Why was this morning such a disaster?
Two words: diabetes sucks.
Oh wait—I never actually mentioned diabetes, did I? That’s because the story really started last night. For the full story, we need to jump in the Wayback Machine (for you fans of Mr. Peabody & Sherman ).
Dinner was pizza. No problem, I’ll combine a big salad and a slice. That made perfect sense. The lettuce in the fridge however was wilted (I’m the only one who eats salad, so it usually wilts before I can finish it). What else could I do but have another slice? And when nobody claimed the last piece, well—dads can’t let perfectly good food go to waste.
I knew three slices was pushing it. I thought about using a combo bolus, but I didn’t want to take my pump out of automated mode right before bed. I’ll just check at 11:00 PM and correct if I need to.
Fast-forward: I didn’t check at 11:00 PM.
At 2:00 AM, I woke up cotton-mouthed and fumbling to the bathroom. Blood sugar: 301mg/dl. Yep, that tracks. Correction bolus given. Back to bed.
At 4:45 AM—my usual wake-up time—I checked again. 307mg/dl. Still high. Another correction, another bathroom trip, then back to bed, too wiped out to function.
By 6:00 AM, when I was supposed to get Kendall up, I was useless. The day had already slipped away.
And you know the rest…..
Diabetes: one bad blood sugar away from making you feel completely incompetent.
(Now that’s a t-shirt just waiting to happen.)
