I remember the very first shot I had to give.I hated it. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. My husband was so cool about it all. If he was scared, he didn’t show it. He grabbed that needle and bam, done. I on the other hand, had to give my first shot into an orange, then a couple more practice ones into my husband’s arms. The emotions ran through me like a wild fire. I couldn’t douse the fear. I couldn’t stop the anger, the sadness, the confusion…I was sure I would poke him too hard. I was sure I would do it wrong. I dreaded that bubble of insulin that would sometimes rise out of the needle hole in J's flesh. He got such a small amount of insulin…who knows how much of his dose that bubble held? How could I do this? How could I hurt my baby multiple times a day? At the time it seemed impossible. I was sure he would grow up hating me. It all seemed so surreal.Ten thousand shots later…we got the pump. By then I was desensitized. Shots were nothing to me. It helped that my baby was a veritable Mighty Mouse. He was stronger than me. He accepted his lot before I did. It was his acceptance and his strength that helped me succumb to the numbness. If he could live without complaining…so could I.I don’t think I’ve ever thanked J for that.So here we are 12 years later and tonight I had to insert a new pump site into L. His came off after his bath and my husband was out of town...
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