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I Hate That I Feel Like I Must Apologize For This Post.

I’m tired...

  • I hate waking up to a quiet house and wondering.  Fearing.
  • I hate that I feel relief when I hear her stir in her bed and begin singing.  I’d far rather just delight in the adorableness of the moment, like other moms can.
  • I hate being compelled to wake her just to make sure she will indeed wake up.
  • I hate holding my breath as the meter counts down the three seconds to see the results.
  • I hate the feeling in my chest when the number that appears is stupid-high or scary-low.
  • I hate the guilt.
  • I hate being driven, like a woman possessed, by the thought that my tireless diligence in managing her diabetes now could very well buy her years later.  
  • I hate that people don’t really understand this.
  • I hate that I feel like I am complaining when I do decide to vent.
  • I hate that some people, because of ignorance, will read this and deem me a complainer.
  • I hate that the worry lines above my nose are so deep now that even when my face is expressionless they are clearly visible.
  • I hate how vain that makes me sound.
  • I hate how horrible a high blood sugar can make her feel and the behaviour that can ensue.
  • I hate that sometimes I miss it and get frustrated with her behaviour when I could have been more understanding.
  • I hate trying to distinguish regular 5 year old behaviour from hyper or hypoglycemia-induced behaviour.
  • I hate how long it takes insulin to work to bring down a high.
  • I hate how alone I feel sometimes.
  • I hate even more how alone she will no doubt feel sometimes.
  • I hate that her first school experience was by far more stressful than enjoyable for me.
  • I hate piercing my child’s fingers with needles 8 to 10 times a day and squeezing blood from those sweet fingers.
  • I hate feeling misunderstood and judged.
  • I hate that she may one day feel misunderstood and judged.
  • I hate the idea of her going forth into a world that has such harsh preconceptions and misunderstandings of her disease.
  • I hate the sudden, profound, sobering sadness I feel when she says in a moment of pure frustration how she wishes she didn’t have diabetes.
  • I hate how it makes her feel so angry, uncomfortable and full of rage sometimes that she tells me she hates me.
  • I hate knowing how bad she feels when the moment of rage passes and the guilt sets in.
  • I hate the politics of health care.
  • I hate fearing for her future.
  • I hate this post.
  • I hate diabetes.

I’m so tired.

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