Here Comes The Sun

Yesterday Dan and I drove up to Primary Children’s hospital for Dan’s appointment with the team of endocrinologists who serve the kids in the area with Type 1 (juvenile) Diabetes. The beltway circled up towards the mountains. It was about three in the afternoon and the sun was shining brightly in the west, and stretching across the banks of the mountains.

Dan said, “It feels like morning.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s because it’s so bright!”

He was right. Everything sparkled. When we arrived at the Eccles wing of the hospital, the sun poured into the rounded windows. It’s a children’s hospital, so everything is designed to honor and comfort children. It’s great for adults who worry about children too.

We took the elevator up to the 3rd floor and walked around to the Diabetes Clinic.

I kept thinking of all the ways I’ve failed Dan as a mother. I handed the nurse his little receiver that documents all his blood sugar numbers with a twinge, knowing that in just moments she would know how many times his blood sugar soared above 300 over the past 3 months since our last visit.

Dan held a drawing he had done while in school. He was determined to show off his talents to any and every adult he could. Soon, we moved into a colorful room with a super white counter. The nurses listened and taught, and listened, and comforted. The doctor was a small pregnant woman. I told her my worries about his late night spikes. She smiled and explained that often hormones mess with the blood sugar.

“But will there be lasting damage if he goes a few hours with those high levels?”

She smiled, “No. If he goes months with those high numbers, than we’ll see damage to organs. But just a few hours at night is okay. Just keep checking the ketones, and I’m going to make an adjustment to his long lasting dose.”

I sighed. The weight lifted. The room got lighter and brighter.

Another nurse came in with his A1C and a picture of a mountain, illustrating how he was doing with his diabetes. If your A1C is 7.5 or lower, you’ve hit the top of the mountain. If it stays below 10, you qualify to get an insulin pump. She was smiling. “His A1C is 7.4! You’re doing so good Dan!”

Dan beamed and then showed her his drawing. I sighed and relaxed into the chair. We’re at the top of the mountain!

As we left the office, we felt the sun shine through the windows again. We took the stairs down to the clinic where we both got a flu shot. Last year, Dan threw a fit when they tried to give him the flu shot. This year, he sat there like a pro. “This isn’t a big deal to me. I get shots all the time now.” And he showed her his drawing.

Today, I went to visit my therapist. I felt this obligation to be a good patient and improve in a certain way to make the most of there time and my money. I tried to think of things to share. She got right to business and pulled out the EMDR doohickythingies. I held one in each hand. Thoughts and images came into my mind. After holding the thingies for the allotted time, I tried to speak truthfully and be as present as possible. I didn’t know if I was doing anything right. Some of the things I thought of were hard to find words for. Some of the pain I worked through wasn’t about events, but rather a lack of events. I felt sorrow for experiences not felt, not enjoyed. Love, not given. Love, not received.

After 30 minutes of work, my face was swamped with snot and tears, and my heart felt lighter and brighter.

As Dan and I drove home yesterday, I turned on a Happy Mix I made on my Youtube music channel. Dan relaxed and began to sing out softly with The Beatles, “Here comes the sun, do doo do doo doo. Here comes the sun and I say, It’s all right.”

And it is.

I don’t have to be perfect. I’m doing okay. I am all right. We’re going to be all right. And the sun is coming, whether I’ve earned it or not. The sun is coming.