30th December 2010
Good friends of ours were due to visit on 30th December for some festive fun but I thought Amy would want to cancel as it was the day she left hospital with Type 1 Diabetes. Instead she surprised us all, saying she didn’t want something else ruined over Christmas, so they came.
It was all a bit weird, something akin to the fear we had when we brought home newborn Emilia but without the joy. Our friends turned up and the atmosphere was (very unusually) a little strained as no-one really knew what to say. We were all exhausted but we put a brave face on it and tried to pretend everything was normal. The evening was fine until Amy had to do her Levemir. We went upstairs to her bedroom and then followed a couple of hours of hell.
The last injection Amy had done in hospital had not gone so well, it hurt her. Therefore when she came to inject at 8pm she had that memory vivid in her mind. Mixed with the exhaustion and emotion of the last few days I should have realised there might be trouble, but I was totally unprepared for what followed. Amy had seemed so confident in hospital but when she tried to inject at home she freaked out.
It was heartwrenching as a parent to watch your child psyching herself up to do her injection. She had the needle poised over her leg, taking a deep breath then she would burst into sobs saying she couldn’t do it. Each time I suggested that I could do it but since I hadn’t practised (on her) in hospital, Amy was adamant, “No, you might hurt me!” I started off calm, eventually explaining to Amy that she had to do it or we would have to return to hospital and she didn’t want that. Kev came up after about 20 minutes and he tried to reason with her but by this time she was overwrought and emotions were running high. We cuddled as she sobbed, her face all blotchy and red. Once Amy was calm we tried again to no avail. After nearly an hour I started to loose my patience I’m ashamed to say, but I was exhausted and I knew she had to do this injection. I raised my voice and told Amy that she would have to let me do it. More tears.
Thank goodness my best friend, also called Jane, was there. We went downstairs as we were getting nowhere upstairs. That was the best decision of the night. Jane’s daughter had given Amy a small beanie that resembled Bagpuss and Jane distracted Amy suggesting she thought of a name for him. Then Jane laughed, saying “I know Diabetes is a right bugger. So lets call him Little Bugger, but you best call him Little B for short, especially at school.” That was the first time Amy had laughed since being diagnosed. It was like a breath of fresh air. Jane also said to Amy that she should feel angry and sad and that anytime she wanted to scream and swear about diabetes she could phone Jane and swear to her heart’s content.
Jane, being not so emotionally involved, defused the situation and brought laughter at a much needed time for which I will always be eternally grateful. She thought of using bribery saying “You know, you should be using this to your advantage. You could get anything out of your parents if you do this injection.” Amy smiled and said she would love to go to build a bear. Jane then offered to pay for her to get one and arranged for us to meet up the very next day. Thank you Jane.
Amy managed to do her Levemir injection with Jane and me beside her. What a relief.
Little B went to bed with Amy and to school until she sadly lost him on the school playing fields about 6 months ago. She still misses him.
Amy never has had to phone Jane, to swear down the phone, but she knows the offer is always there. Friends are a pillar of strength in times like this when you just can’t think straight anymore.