Irony can be, well, an ironic bastard.
Remember, back on Halloween 2012, when my eldest girl got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes?
Well, it put my smallest girls nose a little out of joint. BB has been jealous of her older sister’s new found incurable condition and has been trying to rectify the situation ever since.
Despite having physio weekly, plus x rays, plus hydrotherapy. BB still seems to crave the attention of a hospital referral. When a letter from the NHS arrives on the mat for the attention of “Miss Molly Blackmore” she turns a shade of green. When we pop to the surgery to collect our weekly supply of needles, insulin and test strips, she eagerly asks if it is her turn. Then throws a princess style tantrum when she discovers she is playing second fiddle, medically speaking, to twin girl.
I on the other hand, have been enjoying not having to rush into hospital by ambulance. Even though we live with the shadow of DDH and with the day to day coping of type 1 diabetes; the last couple of months have been medically quiet.
I may have even been foolish enough to joke that we might see 2013 out without a overnight stay courtesy of the NHS.
I think BB heard me, and she didn’t like what she heard.
BB has hypoglycemia (click link for medical interpretation). Whereas Twin Girl has sod all of her own insulin, BB has too bloody much.
As I said, ironic.
We have not worried overtly about BB’s new found condition. It is cured by sweets, so nice and easy to treat.
However when her blood sugar is low, she looks shocking, lacks energy to move, and sleeps for England.
As much as we were enjoying the lie ins, we thought it would look poor on our parenting if we didn’t at least tell the GP we had Google diagnosed our youngest.
BB saw the doctor, she cheered as we entered the surgery once she realised it was all about her.
The doctor referred her to the pediatrician, she celebrated with cake.
The pediatrician said she wanted to investigate and promptly booked us in for an overnight stay with tests as a pre-booked extra, right in the middle of the summer hols.
BB almost burst with excitement. The referral was good enough on its own, but an overnight stay during her siblings school holiday was equivalent to toddler heaven.
All she heard was a night in hospital, all I heard was hormone imbalance, or pancreatic tumour, or kidney troubles. I remember faintly hearing, ‘it is most likely nothing Mrs Blackmore’. But, in the words of Jerry Maguire, she had me at tumour.
I am sure it is nothing, I hope the tea has improved, I will be taking my own brand.
It’s only one night. And BB is delighted.
Wish us luck (again).