Six more days until I see the endocrinologist. I’m actually excited to see what normal BG numbers feel like. I hope that I’ll be able to feel energetic and hopeful. I want to feel better. Who knows how long my BG numbers have been off? Could this have been going on for years? I’ve struggled with being in and out of depression for a long time, and I hope that getting my body into the proper ranges will give me some stabilization on that front. Brenda has been awesome with allowing me to deal with my challenges and has been a good support in this one, too, even though it isn’t easy sometimes.
Today was a rough day. I didn’t feel good. At all. I felt nauseous. I had a headache that just grew all day. And it felt as if the blood in my veins was a stream of volcanic lava waiting to erupt. I don’t know what was causing it, but physically I just wasn’t doing well. My BG wasn’t crazy. It was as normal as it’s been, which is still higher than it should be, but par for the course for now.
I wish I could say that I handled it well. I want to say that I realized what was going on and worked out a way to find solace for the day. But I can’t. My temper flared over the smallest things. I yelled. I made mountains out of molehills. I was a Grumpy Gus who couldn’t find his way back to happiness if he had a GPS unit and a map.
There was a point, though, where I caught myself. It was way too far in for me to feel like I saved the day, but I did gather enough of myself to be honest about it. School was cancelled because Pennsylvania is trying to win some cockamamy contest with, oh, the entire country of Canada to see who can have more snow in the months of February and March this year, so my daughter was at home. I work from home. This is good a thing because we don’t have to go through the decision process of what to do when things like school cancellations happen. It’s also a challenging thing because an eight-year-old, single child is constantly looking for someone to join her in activities.
We kept tripping over each other. I was already not doing well, and I snapped at her. More times than I want to admit. She was just being a kid, but I was struggling with my own junk of not feeling good and trying to push through to get stuff done. It was a little after lunch time that I realized what I must have seemed like to an eight-year-old. I don’t want that kind of relationship with my daughter. I want her to know that she’s precious to me. I want her to laugh and have fun — not feel like she’s in trouble every time she turns around.
I sat down at the kitchen table and asked her to come sit with me. She looked at me sheepishly as she sat down. She thought she was in trouble again. I began to tear up as I apologized to her for my behavior. “I’m not doing well today,” I said. “I don’t feel good. Physically, emotionally, I’m just not feeling good. And I’m sorry for the way I’ve been.”
I could see the change come over her face. The worry faded away as her tears began to swell around her eyes. “It’s okay,” she said.
I said, “Let’s start over again.” She came to my side of the table, sat on my lap, and gave me a hug. And I hugged her like I’d never let her go. I told her that I was glad she was my daughter, and that I was proud of her. I told her I loved her, and that I really want to be the best Dad I can be. She leaned her self backwards out of our hug, looked me square in the eyes, and said, “You are the best Dad.” I love that kid.