It is amazing what I know this evening that I didn’t know this morning.
I now know that a blood sugar of 29 is classed as diabetic, I also know that a blood sugar for a six-year-old girl should be five. I now know that my lovely eldest girl is terrified of needles but can paint the bravest of faces.
I now know how it feels to have a diabetic daughter.
I have to be honest, I am not a fan of my new-found knowledge. In fact if we are talking about being honest then I am completely fecked off. The past two years have been interspersed with visits to hospitals, nights on wards and ambulance rides .
I thought it was over.
BB is well on the road to recovery and only a little limp remains to document the traumas her body went through at the start of the year.
But once more as the nights start to darken earlier I find myself blogging from a hospital cot settling in for some new life changes.
Twin girl has caused me to panic for a while, the house move didn’t seem to make her smile and night-time brought wet beds and sad tears.
We thought it was the move, the changes in our lives, we didn’t realise the wetting of the bed was a sign of something darker lingering in her body.
It seems when we moved house we left her pancreas behind.
We went to the doctor as a routine check, just to make sure all was well and the problem really was mental.
She drinks so much to combat the dryness left by an absence of insulin, she drinks so much she can’t make it through the night.
We left the doctors directed straight to A and E and suddenly I saw my child. Pale with brown hollows round her eyes, cracked lips, lethargic, always thirsty…
How did I miss the signs? Was I so busy working that I didn’t see my daughter going rapidly downhill. Is it possible to appease that guilt?
We are here for a couple of days until the sugar is controlled and then Twin Girl faces a life of injections until medical science figures out a better way.
Phrases like ‘hypo’ ‘diabetic coma’ and ‘blood sugar’ already feel common place on my tongue.
I remind myself once more that it isn’t cancer, it’s not curable but it could be worse.
But for one day I want to tell the world to piss off and leave my kids alone, I want to wrap up my health and leave it for my girls under the Christmas Tree.
I don’t want this for her.