Tuesday, October 30, 2012

A Less than Perfect Storm: Day 1 of the Italian Challenge

Okay, I'm writing to you in English. And I am hoping that none of our readers in the United States are knee deep in water or feeling the crisp sting of 85 mile an hour winds on their dear faces while I do it. But I am not actually speaking English for five days because I set myself a challenge and because T will not get the army jacket she so badly desires if I do. That is the deal.

After a night of six or seven night terrors, I drank double my normal amount of caffeine and limped to work with a pulled muscle in the arch of my foot. I taught a class, gave a massage, and started to give another version of the same class to my lone follower at three o'clock when a man entered. I thought he just wanted to share the room with us, but he had come for class. My class is really training for women and is very feminine so I had to change everything, and when I ran out of butch things to do, I concentrated on teaching them exercises for his tennis elbow and giving him a massage. The lady gave up her massage because she wanted to coerce him to coming back next time so they don't cancel our class. It was exhausting. Then T's math professor called me and said that our meeting with the principal, the same one I curtsied in front of in year one, which was only marginally better than peeing myself in terms of the accompanying embarrassment quotient, had been rescheduled for today.


It turned out that the principal fears that Italy is taking a page from America's book when it comes to suing your neighbor and wanted me to write a letter giving the professors permission to get information about diabetes from our doctor since otherwise due to privacy issues she would not have the ability to do so. She also wanted me to understand that the law says that the teachers don't have the legal responsibility to give T an injection of glucagon to revive her if she should become unconscious at school due to hypoglycemia. The math professor who is one of my favorites really is scared sh*tless of the syringe, but I got the feeling that if T was lying there long enough she would give her the injection, the way she would for her own child in that situation. She was very understanding about what a remarkable job T is doing in school and how diabetes might effect her concentration at times.


While I was waiting to go into the meeting with F, we got a call from T that her blood sugar was up to 280. The insulin was not coming out of the pump and the insulin we were using might not have been functioning properly, although the expiration date was still good. I sent F home to her and she then got up to 350. I called the hospital. (Don't worry for this next part . . . ) I came home to find my daughter was green with horrible bloody marks on her face, but that turned out to be her Halloween costume for the party tonight. A dead give away was the fact that her friend Giorgia was also green and scarred and scary looking. I sent them to the party with instructions to bring home a goody bag, but, sadly, not to indulge in sweets tonight. It's not even the real Halloween yet so that wasn't so horrible as it sounds. I then ate a huge hunk of bread with butter and pretended it was vodka. That is harder to do than it sounds. Especially, in Italian.

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