Sunday, June 3, 2012

Scheduling Appointments (Or Cocking a Snook)

From Wikipedia  ]Thumbing the nose is a sign of derision in Britain made by putting your thumb on your nose and wiggling your fingers.[5] This gesture is also known as Anne's Fan or Queen Anne's Fan,[31] and is sometimes referred to as cocking a snook.[32]

In the beginning, right after youngest daughter was diagnosed, I started growing my hair long. 

It wasn't a fashion choice.  More of a survival strategy.  

I was paralyzed with the fear of leaving our home, our daughter, our diabetes.

Yes, it was "our diabetes" as she was just a mere three years old, obviously way too little to be able to manage any of it.

During those early months, I stopped scheduling appointments of any kind.  Haircuts were the least of it.  No more doctor appointments.  No car maintenance appointments.  No social gatherings. 

No Nothing.  Zip.  Zilch. Nadda.

Mostly because I was paralyzed with the fear of what would happen if I was actually stranded in the appointment and something went wrong with our diabetes care plan. 

What in the world would I have done?

And so my hair grew. 

I even (feeling very ashamed to admit this) completely wasted a gift card for a hair cut from my dear husband because at the time, I was just too overwhelmed with trying to figure out one.more.thing. 

Now to be clear, diabetes did not stop me from doing for the children.  Kids first, diabetes second.  I continued to push to have them do everything that they wanted.  They needed haircuts?  Done!  They needed play dates?  Done!  Preschool?  Of course! 

Just me.  I couldn't walk away for a moment.
And I didn't feel very good about myself.  Not at all.  Already flirting with a little sadness induced depression from having my baby girl diagnosed with an incurable and extremely life-altering auto-immune disease, I knew that the clock was ticking towards a full-blown meltdown.

I had to get a handle on getting my MOJO back.  (I also wrote a little bit about finding TRUST again here.)

It started with a hair cut and establishing a plan for what to do in case diabetes decided not to behave.  Part of the plan was realizing that things won't go smoothly every time I step away.  That fact is just part of life but I had to re-learn it through actually putting myself out there and stepping away.

And believe me, even with a plan, the diabetes monster struck loudly.  Times where I have squirmed in my chair willing the clock to hurry so that I could rescue my child (or now children with type 1 diabetes).

I was once again reminded of this as I had my hair cut today.  My phone is set to "chirp", each time our beloved Miss D (youngest daughter's aide) calls with diabetes questions.  Just as I am having my hair cut and in the position of  DO NOT MOVE OR YOUR EAR WILL BE SNIPPED OFF LIKE VANGOGH, the phone releases it's diabetes swan song.

I wait for the natural pause in the cutting before going after the phone, which is tucked into my bag (and at the same time cursing myself for not holding it in my lap - even though I despise those trendy I-Phone people who carry their phones everywhere) and trying my best to not look alarmed in front of my hair stylist.

After a moment, I realize that the message is about a minor low at 68 and the correction food given.  I know that youngest daughter is safe and our care plan is working, but even with that calming thought, I am still tense throughout the rest of the appointment.  Mostly because I am reminded that the diabetes monster is lurking constantly.


To the People of the World:  No type 1 diabetes does not go away because I am at the hair salon. 
Perhaps it will always be a struggle to not let my MOJO get taken away.  I honestly do not know.  It would be so tempting to revert to those early days where my girls were with me constantly and the only appointments we made were ones that we attended together.

Moments later, my salon chair is turned back around and I am offered a hand held mirror to see the difference in my curly locks.

Suddenly, I am ten years younger and no longer look like the Shaggy Dog.
My hair is beautiful; cut and styled perfectly which makes me smile happily.

I deserve this.  A moment to feel beautiful.

Screw you diabetes monster. 

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