Up high ... Down low

Walk the Walk

2008-10-28T10:08:00.000-07:00

Minimed Users!

2008-08-26T06:00:00.000-07:00

I need to quickly finish printing training materials for the school nurse for a meeting in a couple of hours. Without having the pump in front of me, I can't recall the exact steps to lock the pump. Where the hell is Susanne? Press "ACT" I think. Go to "utilities" maybe? Pre-heat to 375 degrees? I just can't recall. Can someone please help me out? Need to print this out and leave work soon for our meeting. Thanks very much!

Brunch

2008-08-19T06:08:00.000-07:00

I call this one, "Praying Mantis Eats Butterfly While Daughter Weeps Uncontrollably."

Meeting Shannon

2008-08-13T07:19:00.000-07:00

We spent Saturday with Shannon and her wonderful family. Check out I Met a D-Blogger and Lived to Tell About It over at Blogabetes. Thanks.

Set List

2008-08-01T06:35:00.000-07:00

You know that peculiar, tingly feeling you get underneath your chin?

You know, just before you throw up?

I have that.

Me and a friend have a coffeehouse gig tonight. I haven't performed live in a long time. Here's the set list:

Volcano - Damien Rice
Fake Plastic Trees - Radiohead
One Place - Everything But The Girl
Space Oddity - David Bowie
Walking On The Spot - Crowded House
To Love Somebody - Bee Gees (yeah, that's right! I said The Bee Gees)
The Way I Am - Ingrid Michaelson
Hackensack - Fountains of Wayne
There is a Light That Never Goes Out - The Smiths
I'll Follow You Into the Dark - Death Cab for Cutie
Private Universe - Crowded House
Crazy - Patsy Cline
Everybody's Talkin' - Harry Nilsson
Take on Me - A-Ha
Better Be Home Soon - Crowded House

Oh God! I'm gonna vomit!

I Love The Gap!

2008-07-28T07:46:00.000-07:00

Watching the news on the latest election poll figures, I holler to Susanne, who is in the kitchen preparing breakfast for the kids.

"McCain is closing the gap!" I say.

"What???" my daughter Maeve says, stunned.

"He's closing The Gap? I love The Gap!"

Yet another reason to oppose John McCain.

And We Walk

2008-07-09T08:40:00.000-07:00

We are getting set to walk in our fifth JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes. Read about it and watch the "Charlie Video" over at Blogabetes.

I Forgot to Mention We're Lying

2008-07-02T06:34:00.000-07:00

At $700 for a family of four to join the swim club, I had no problem saying that the little guy was 2 rather than 3. 2 and under is free.

Unfortunately, I forgot to mention this to Maeve and Charlie when we went in person to register and pay for the membership.

"OK," I told the two guys behind the counter. "We'll take the family of four membership. I have a little one at home, but he's only 2."

Maeve and Charlie in stereo ...

"Noooooooooo!!!! Dad. He's 3!!! He's 3!!! Don't you know your own son???"

Barely able to look at the guys behind the counter, I say, "well, he just turned 3."

Maeve and Charlie in stereo ...

"Noooooooooo!!! Dad. He turned 3 a long time ago!!!"

At that point, all I could do was drop my head down in shame and slap my forehead while the two guys cracked up behind the counter.

"You got to teach your kids to lie a little better."

Finding Test Strips in the Strangest Places

2008-06-18T13:53:00.000-07:00

This was by far the strangest place I've ever found a test strip. I promise you, this was not choreographed. Looked down while watching TV and saw the little sucker wedged between my toes.

Slip 'n Slide

2008-06-10T09:48:00.000-07:00

Last night was the best!!! It was so awesome, I wrote a poem about it.

Happy Birthday, Principessa

2008-06-02T05:46:00.002-07:00

Happy Birthday to my princess who turned 9 today.

I'm a Weirdo

2008-05-19T10:01:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Shannon for the tag. You'd think after all the memes, I'd have no more weirdness left to reveal. Alas, here are ten more.

1. I married my first wife in the woods by a big old tree. It was a small impromptu ceremony during recess, officiated by a third-grader on a large stump. Her name was Renee. I really didn't want to marry her, but I had to if I wanted to be a member of the "gang." Everyone in the gang had a woman. It was amazingly sexist.

2. At age 16, I was a busboy in a hotel restaurant. Too lazy to "break down" the salad bar the correct way (making several trips to remove the ice cubes in big buckets), I decided it would be much easier to melt the ice with scalding water from the coffee machine. One night, I slipped while carrying a bus pan of hot water over to the salad bar. I had 2nd- and 3rd-degree burns up and down both legs and spent the summer on my back in pain while my skin reformed. You'll see a recurring theme in this list regarding my severe lack of judgment.

3. In real life, I'm pretty quiet and shy. Takes me a long time to feel comfortable around people.

4. In my early teens, I had trichotillomania. You can look it up. I'd rather not define it. Was hard enough just admitting this.

5. My favorite flavor ice cream has been the same since I was a kid. Chocolate chip mint.

6. In 1980, I was a 10-year-old disco god. In my powder blue suit with white satin tie and matching cap, I worked my mad dance skills at a school show, dancing to 'Pop Muzik' by British new wave band, M. "New York, London, Paris, Munich. Everybody talk about pop muzik."

7. I was quite the entrepreneur in high school. For just $200, my friend and I invested in a fake ID operation - a large cardboard replica of a Vermont drivers' license. We bought it from a couple of upperclassmen looking to lay low and get out of the ID game. It looked awful. We hung it on a wall at my friend's townhome when his father was away on business. Customers forked over 30 or 40 bucks and then stood in position to have just their head photographed with a Polaroid. Half of the students at my central New Jersey high school lived on Pinecrest Avenue in Vermont.

8. I am unhandy. My neighbor will often ask for my help while he's building something elaborate. He's currently building a wooden castle for the kids. He asks me to hand him a three-quarter-inch something-or-other and I shuffle through the toolbox, eventually handing him something completely wrong like a tape measure or a bottle of glue. "Whoa!" I stand with Charlie in awe as my neighbor operates a circular saw. A chainsaw. A ladder. A hammer.

9. I am the king of corny. I wrote a song for Susanne and sang it to her at our wedding reception with my trusty guitar. Despite #3.

10. I'd like to swim with dolphins, see a UFO and write a book. Not all at the same time though.

Diabetic Pie

2008-05-01T09:03:00.000-07:00

I've always been envious of people who speak and understand multiple languages. Not because it might give me an edge in the business world or so that I can teach English to those who have just arrived in America. Neh. My reasons are much more shallow. Drives me nuts that these three French guys get together in the cafeteria here at work popping fresh fruit in their mouthes and speaking French. Their conversation is completely shielded by the fact that no one else knows what the hell they're saying. They must love that. What are they saying? Dammit, I need to know!

Back at my desk, I realize I do speak another language. I speak diabetes and not everyone knows it. I'm undercover.

One woman, about three cubicles to my left, mentions something about a diabetic pie, to which the woman next to her jokingly says ...

"What's it made with insulin needles inside?"

They all have a good laugh and then the joke is repeated to another woman just getting off the phone.

Why are they even talking about a diabetic pie? Maybe one of them has diabetes? Do your ears prick up like mine when someone mentions diabetes in a non-diabetes environment?

I must investigate.

Slip n' slide on over to Blogabetes and check out my latest drivel, Asleep at the Wheel. Thanks.

Baggage

2008-04-16T10:59:00.000-07:00

Where the hell is Charlie's diabetes bag? Still in the car? By the snack bar? On the bench where we put on skates? Did I even bring it at all? Still at home in the kitchen? In the Sahara Desert? Are delinquents rummaging through it as we speak? I have no friggin' idea!

To read more of Baggage, hop on over to Blogabetes. Thanks.

"Charlie! Time For a Site Change!"

2008-04-09T06:21:00.000-07:00

My Memoir in Six Words

2008-03-25T15:38:00.000-07:00

Thanks for the tag, Kerri. Here's mine.

I Don't Know What I'm Doing by Ace Hotspray

If you enjoyed I Don't Know What I'm Doing, pick up some of Ace Hotspray's other six-worded memoirs including ...

I'm Totally Clueless About, Well, Everything
or

Sorry, I Still Don't Get It
or

the New York Times bestseller, Act Smart, Dummy. Pretend You Know.

Since I may have been the last one picked in this game of literary kickball, I'm taking the easy way out and tagging anyone who still wants to play.

D-Tour: Change for a Dollar

2008-03-13T06:22:00.000-07:00

I was just reading Sandra's post over at Shot in the Dark. Damn you, diabetes! You make me mad! I thought we could all use a little laugh. Ever have trouble getting change for a dollar? This is one of my favorite Mr. Show skits. Warning: Some bad language toward the end of the skit.

The Sweet Sound of Seven

2008-03-10T11:24:00.001-07:00

We've finally made it under 8.0. Check out Let's Hear It for the Boy over at Blogabetes. Thanks.

D-Tour: Heavenly Soda Bread

2008-03-04T10:27:00.000-08:00

Something other than diabetes.

With St. Patrick's Day fast approaching, I would be remiss in my responsibility as a benevolent human being if I didn't share this with all the "foodies" out there.

For the most amazing Irish soda bread in the universe, you must check out William Mauceri Specialty Baking & Catering. Last year my family gobbled up every last crumb.

I'm ordering mine today.

His Guglhupf is also to die for. But to really do it right, you need to have your Guglhupf with Schlagobers. Say that three times.

Guglhupf with Schlagobers.
Guglhupf with Schlagobers.
Guglhupf with Schlagobers.

Co-workers giving me strange looks. Maybe shouldn't have done that out loud.

Low in the Snow

2008-02-25T08:08:00.000-08:00

Hypoglycemia or coordinates for an alien rendezvous? I'll go with 64

When life hands you low blood sugars, make juice box rockets in the snow

Check out The Low Snow Angel over at Blogabetes. Thanks.

The F Word (really)

2008-02-13T11:47:00.000-08:00

Charlie: Dad, don't tell mom I said this, but I think "fuck" is not as worse as "stupid" or "dumb."

Me:What!!!??? (I can't believe that word is leaving my 6 year old's lips)

Charlie: "Fuck" doesn't sound so bad to me.

Me: Charlie!

Charlie: Huh?

Me: It's way fuckin' worse!

Kidding about the last line. Check out No Pizza for You! over at Blogabetes. Thanks.

Friday Political Spoutage

2008-02-08T11:35:00.000-08:00

Not to get all political on you on a care-free Friday afternoon, but something noteworthy ocurred to me when Mitt Romney ended his presidential campaign yesterday.

The three remaining candidates with a legitimate shot at taking the presidency (no offense Huckabee), support lifting the restrictions George Bush has placed on federal funding of embryonic stem cell research.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. Thanks Mitt.

6

2008-02-01T06:40:00.000-08:00

I didn't exactly have my 'A' game when Susanne started going into labor at about 11 pm.

"Carey! My water just broke! Call the hospital, pack your bags!," she urged from the bathroom.

"Wuh? OK," I told her slumberly as if I had been drugged, and then crashed right back to sleep.

[5 minutes later]

"Carey! Let's go. Did you call the hospital? Are you packed?"

"Wuh?"

"Carey! MY WATER BROKE!"

"Are you sure?"

"Carey!"

As the contractions got closer together in the 21st (yes, 21st) hour of labor, we watched TV as Rachel (Jennifer Aniston) went to the hospital for false labor on the show Friends. That was odd.

It was a really busy night in the hospital. Babies were popping out like crazy. Which could explain why, right in the middle of very intense pushing, the doctor and nurse simply dropped Susanne's legs and walked out of the room. Astonished, Susanne and I looked at each other like WTF? Was it something we said? When the next contraction came and the doctor and nurse still hadn't returned, I took matters into my own hands. I lifted Susanne's leg and did as the doctor was doing.

"OK Susanne. Push and hold it. Oneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, twoooooooooooooooooo, threeeeeeeeeeee."

We never got to four. We burst into laughter and Susanne told me to please stop.

After 22 hours of labor, I had me a baby boy. We had us a Charlie.

Happy 6th Birthday, Charlie!

Charlie's Shadow

2008-01-30T12:02:00.000-08:00

Whether Charlie is walking from his classroom to art class or sitting at an assembly or standing in a badly formed line for a fire drill, he's always being followed. Mrs. D is never more than a few feet away, her eyes locked upon him.

To read more, check out Charlie's Shadow over at Blogabetes.

Slice of High

2008-01-24T12:40:00.000-08:00

Pizza parties were delightful as a child. Now they're just hateful and cruel. Check out The Works over at Blogabetes.

Basal Testing Superstar

2008-01-22T11:37:00.000-08:00

I did it. After three long weeks of failed basal tests filled with F-bombs aplenty, I have finally made it through a full night of testing Charlie's basal rates. Check out the results in my post The Very Hungry Vampire over at Blogabetes.

Hypo-Sniffing Ghosts?

2008-01-18T11:12:00.000-08:00

Why can't our ghost do its part around the house? Maybe pick up some dirty underpants or wake us when our child's blood sugar is low? Levitate on over to Blogabetes and check out We Have Spirit.

Drinking Problem

2008-01-16T13:47:00.000-08:00

I confess. I have a drinking problem. I don't react well when my non-diabetic kids get thirsty. Check out my latest post over at Blogabetes.

Happy Holidays

2007-12-22T20:42:00.000-08:00

Have Yourself a Merry Little Bolus

2007-12-20T06:28:00.000-08:00

Have yourself a merry little bolus
Let your carbs be light
From now on tube bubbles won't affect your site
So have yourself a merry little bolus now

Take a short sleigh ride over to Blogabetes and hum along to more of your favorite diabetes Christmas songs such as Bet He's Low.

Children's Book Ideas?

2007-12-05T10:44:00.000-08:00

I will be the "mystery reader" for my daughter's third-grade class on Friday. I need to pick a book. I'm leaning strongly toward Neil Gaiman's The Wolves in the Walls, but I could face angry phone calls from parents whose children experienced horrible nightmares following my visit. Do you have any picture book recommendations for the third-grade crowd (8 yrs)?

Ideally the book will be not so well-known. I won't react well to the know-it-all heckler in the back of the room who constantly tells the class "I know this book. I know what happens."

Sorry, not so much a diabetes post.

Diabetes blows! How about that!

Tag

2007-11-20T10:36:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged by Vivian to reveal seven random things about myself. Thanks Viv. I think you know the rules by now.

7 Random Things About Me

1. When I was 12 or 13, my friends, brother and I attempted to build the biggest snowman ever constructed in the history of the world. When we realized there was no way we could lift the second giant snowball on top of the first, there was only one thing to do with the two mammoth snowballs that sat side by side on my front lawn. Make a giant snow penis! Yes, there's even a photo floating around somewhere of me proudly standing behind the huge white genitalia. Frickin' delinquent.

2. I worked in a large fancy hotel when in high school and when home from college on summer break. I delivered room service to Joan Rivers and some other semi-celebrities not even worth mentioning. I think she ordered the strip steak. She didn't tip well. I also got a nod from Hillary Clinton one night when secret service ushered her in through the kitchen and right passed me. I remember thinking her skin looked terrible up close. But I always preferred when the hot Virgin Atlantic stewardesses were in town. "Are you sure you didn't order the strawberries in whipped cream?"

3. For the longest time, I thought the logo of the United States Postal Service was an odd little cartoon guy with a huge pointy nose. Sort of like Ziggy. I remember seeing the logo of the little troll-like guy on the side of the mailman's truck in the 70s, never questioning why he stood for "the mail." One day, I think when a freshman in college, I looked at it from another angle. "Oh! It's an eagle!"

4. I once tried out for a reality show. I went up to NYC with my guitar and auditioned for Rock Star: INXS. I was doing fine with my nerves when two of the guys from INXS decide to walk in the door just as I took the stage. Crap!

5. My college roommate and best friend used to ask for my advice regarding the girl he was seeing. I gave him advice but secretly wished for the relationship to end. That girl became my wife.

6. I have a scar on the inside of my right wrist. You can see four prong marks from the fork my brother whipped at me from across the room when we were kids. 20 years later, I still have numbness on the inside of two of my fingers and if someone grabs my wrist in that spot, I feel a sharp surge from the nerve damage. Nice.

7. I can listen to audio of footsteps on hard floor for hours. I'm a sucker for songs that include "real-life" sounds like doors opening and closing, liquids being poured into a glass, etc. Don't know why. Just love it.

I tag anyone who hasn't been tagged yet.

Addicted. Happy D-Blog Day!

2007-11-09T12:25:00.000-08:00

I was only looking for an easy way to distribute my JDRF fundraising letter to friends and family when I stumbled across Blogger. I wasn't looking for a support group. I wasn't looking for a life-changing moment.

I came across Sandra's A Shot in the Dark and was immediately riveted by her posts. I was captivated by struggles so painfully similar to my own. I read each post so closely, I practically crawled into my computer screen. She was the first one to welcome me to the online diabetes community just over a year ago. And then I discovered the goldmine that is all of you.

A crystal ball that showed me what Charlie could be at age 15, at 27, at 45. No doctor, or diabetes specialiast, or book can give me what you've given me.

I've become addicted to your lives, addicted to your wisdom, addicted to your humor, addicted to your strength and addicted to the support you continue to give me. It's not at all easy having a child with diabetes. Thank you for making it a little bit easier.

Carey

Five Years After the "Berry Cure"

2007-11-08T11:23:00.000-08:00

What if Halle Berry did cure diabetes?

What would the D blogosphere do with itself in a post-diabetes world?

Check out Five Years After the "Berry Cure" over at Blogabetes.

The Rookie Reliever

2007-11-07T09:56:00.000-08:00

"Yeah, I'll do it," Maeve said, quickly unzipping the black diabetes bag and removing the contents onto her lap.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

She was a little too eager to get her hands on a sharp foreign object and take blood from her little brother.

To read more, check out The Rookie Reliever over at Blogabetes.

Corpse Bride, Anakin Skywalker and Bones

2007-11-05T06:23:00.000-08:00

The Walker Family

2007-10-30T05:37:00.000-07:00

It was a brilliant day for the JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes. It was truly heartwarming to be amongst so many others fighting the same fight and to have the continued support of friends and family. Read about the walk and view photos over at Blogabetes.

Walk the Walk

2007-10-26T06:20:00.000-07:00

We ain't just walkin' on Sunday. We're gonna win that mofo. Check out Charlie's Angels Primed for Four-peat over at Blogabetes. Have a great weekend.

The Sellout

2007-10-23T05:24:00.000-07:00

A certain someone has called me out. Saying that I've sold out by abondoning my blog here at Up High for the bright lights of Blogabetes. I just have to say, that couldn't be more true.

It's been a whirlwind of photo shoots, anorexia and all-night partying since I joined the Blogabetes crew. What with the blog signings (where I sign peoples computer screens with black sharpie) and the orgies (with some VERY well-known celebrities that I promised not to mention. OK, fine, I'll give you one. Bronson Pinchot) and the Blogabetes 2007/2008 South American tour which begins this weekened in Rio De Janeiro, my agent hasn't given me a moment to return to my humble beginnings. Sorry, gotta go. I have to be at rehearsals for Conan by 2 pm.

Check out When Mexican Lizards Attack over at Blogabetes and do try to catch the Blogabetes tour when it comes to your neighborhood.

Silver Lining

2007-09-28T10:35:00.000-07:00

A big Up High, Down Low thank you to Beth for turning my wife's doodles into a beautiful necklace that she truly cherishes. Beth and Daniel over at Monsoon Artisans do absolutely amazing work.

Thank you to Beth and Manny for selecting mine amongst so many other wonderful contest entries.

Bad Case of Diabetes

2007-09-26T13:58:00.000-07:00

I think Charlie may have a bad case of diabetes. He may have also caught a touch of the disease from a diebetish looking kid at the playground. To read more, hop on over to Blogabetes.

Now Playing: Blogabetes

2007-09-23T20:20:00.000-07:00

"A masterpiece!" says George Simmons of the San Jose Mercury News.

"It's the little blog that could," says Michelle Kowalski of The Sedalia Democrat.

"Nicole Purcell has given what could be the performance of the year," says Kerri Morrone of The Providence Journal.

Marvel & Hudson give Blogabetes two huge thumbs up. So huge that it's very likely infected and in need of an antibiotic.

"Deliciously romantic," says Lori Rode of The Oregonian.

"Visually stunning," says Kim Doty of the Telluride Daily Planet.

"A thrillride from start to finish. I threw up in my mouth," says Rebecca Abma of the Arizona Republic.

"I haven't seen it!" says Julia of the Harvard Crimson.

"The most spine-tingling and terrifying blog of 2007," says Andy Bell of the Kansas City Star.

"Not enough boobs," says Carey Potash of Maxim magazine.

Courtesy and Coconuts

2007-09-11T10:16:00.000-07:00

Courtesy: Given or done as a polite gesture;Willingness or generosity in providing something needed.

I just went out in the torrential rain to drop off JDRF canisters at a supermarket near my office. The woman behind the courtesy desk was "having one of those days," she said to anyone who walked by.

She wasn't pleased from the get-go. She interrogated me on whether I had permission to have the store collect donations. She complained that the lack of lids on the canisters would be a problem. A quick call to corporate cleared me, but she kept a suspicious eye on me as she hung up the phone. Her irony as office manager of the courtesy desk was outstanding.

I thanked her and walked away but not before hearing her say "this sucks!" as she carried the stack of canisters to the back room.

No. I'll tell you what sucks. Having a child with diabetes. That sucks. Testing your child this morning before leaving for school and seeing a blood sugar of 598. That sucks. All because he was excited to go to library for the first time in his life. He gets excited and potentially damages his organs. Yeah, I'd say that sorta sucks.

If I only I had the buy one get one free, clubcard member, 3-day sale, Florida fresh coconuts to tell her this.

The Meeting and First Day of School

2007-09-06T09:02:00.000-07:00

The meeting on Tuesday went very well despite the noticeable absence of the Newark Boys Choir. Susanne and I met with the principal, Charlie's kindergarten teacher, the guidance counselor, a guy from the district, the nurse, the gym teacher, the art teacher, the music teacher, the librarian and the nurses aide, who first found out as she sat down, that starting the next day, she would be Charlie's shadow. The meeting lasted three hours and I think we expressed our concerns well - scaring them shitless in the process. Priceless looks on all the faces when we broke out the Glucagon.

So they assigned Charlie a one-to-one health aide to be Charlie's point person (pardon the pun) for finger pricks and bolusing. We're thrilled about this. We hope she'll just blend in the background in the classroom and not be so obtrusive in caring for Charlie. To make the testing process more seamless, the principal decided to have an IP phone installed in the classroom so that the aide can easily consult with Susanne and the nurse. Or was it IT phone? Hi-C phone? ET phone home? I don't know. Whatever it is, sounds good. The 504 part of the meeting was a non-event. I pictured us going through it line by line and it becoming similar to a cantankerous divorce settlement. Not the case. We just all signed some papers and that was it. We're very pleased with how accommodating and flexible the school has been and Charlie's teacher is great.

Charlie really enjoyed being in school, but it was sort of a rough first day. He was very high I think because of the mix of excitement and nerves. It was agreed upon that Susanne would be there for the first few days to show them the ropes. So Susanne was in the classroom, testing him at 9:30 am and again at 11:15 and taking him down to the nurse's office to test for ketones after a couple consecutive high 200s. Charlie wasn't pleased. He was really excited about being a big boy and going off to school. He just wanted to enjoy the experience, it seemed, without the constant distractions. He wanted to be like all the other kids. Regardless, he loved being there and can't wait to go back tomorrow. He's off today.

Susanne is driving out to Long Island tomorrow to visit her grandmother who has become very ill, so I'll be the aide to the nurse's aide tomorrow.

This is going to be an interesting year.

Freak Out

2007-09-04T05:20:00.000-07:00

In a couple hours we go to the school to iron out the 504 and then stand before the teacher, the principal, the guidance counselor, the gym teach, the art teacher, the janitor, the mailman and possibly the Newark Boys Choir to teach Charlie 101.

From the amount of instruction we've printed out for the staff, you'd think Charlie was going away to a boarding school in Antarctica with no communication allowed between us and the school. In reality, he's going for only 2 1/2 hours each day to a school I can see from my bedroom window.

Still, it's freak out time! School starts tomorrow.

Fright Night

2007-08-25T19:25:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1 - A Horrid Black Smudge

I've learned to take Susanne seriously when she wakes up in a panic in the middle of the night.

"Neh, come back to bed" was not the best response when she said her water broke when pregnant with Charlie. I may have even said "are you sure? Shake it off," before rolling back to sleep.

So, when she nudged me last night at 1:30 am to tell me there was something in the bedroom flying around, my eyes popped open immediately like a horror film killer that you thought was dead . I mean, you shot him 17 times! He's got to be dead! Right?

There it was, a small black smudge in the darkness flying erratically from wall to wall – making a V shape back and forth. It was horrid.

We thrust the comforter over our heads.

"What is it?" Susanne asked. "A bird?"

I pulled the comforter down just slightly – to the bridge of my nose. And then back under the covers, fear-stricken.

"It's a bleeping bat! It's a bleeping bat!" Only I didn't say bleeping.

"Bleep!" I said.

"Bleep!" I said again.

"Bleep! Bleep! Bleep!"

"What are we going to do?" Susanne asked.

It was getting steamy and warm under the heavy comforter.

Once I was done bleeping, I thought of our options. I tried to picture myself battling the bat with a broom or a tennis racket. Neither of which was handy. I was not faring well in the vision in my head. There was nothing around that I could use anyway. A clock radio? A brown sock?

"We have to get out of here," I said.

"OK," she said in a determined whisper, but what do we do about him?"

We looked down at Ben, our 2 year old, wedged tightly between us with big, curious eyes staring up at us, sucking away on his binky, not making a peep.

Chaper 2 - It's a Bat Alright

"Ooh, the under the covers game. I love that," Ben probably thought. "It's a bit late though, no? Ah, what the hell, I'm in. Dad, hit me with a little peek-a-boo action. Mom, how about a little 'Where's Ben?'"

We put our plan into action. We melted low to the floor and slowly scooted along the carpet like a three-headed ghost with the comforter still over our heads.

We traveled as blind as the bat that circled our heads, navigating our way around laundry baskets and plastic toy vegetables. The comforter lifted just slightly and I squealed.

"My back is exposed!"

"Keep moving!" Susanne barked.

Susanne tore down the baby gate at the top of the attic stairs like it was made of tissue paper and we slid down the stairs to safety, slamming the door behind us.

"Bleep!"

A quick visit to Charlie's room for some blood. 85. We give him a few squirts of apple juice to hold him over.

I searched the Yellow Pages for emergency pest control and found one that could come, but not until 3 am. So we waited. And waited. At 3:45 am I had the frazzled bat man on the phone.

"Dude, I'm soooooo lost. I've been driving in circles for the past 40 minutes. If I ever get there, I am so gonna take out my frustration on that bat."

I was exhausted and pissed that he was so late, but his bat trash talk won me over.

He finally arrived at 4 am, dust pan in hand, and I took him up to the door that leads up to the attic.

He opened the door very slowly and took one step in.

"I sure hope he's not hard to fin…" I said as the black smudge flapped its horrible wings and darted from one room in the attic to the other.

The bat man jumped back and slammed the door, clearly nervous.

"OK, I'm going in," he said, clenching his dust pan. "You coming up?"

"Neh, I'm cool here, thanks."

He went into the room the bat had flown into and closed the door behind him. "Oh yeah, it's a bat alright," he yelled down. "Fully grown."

I listened at the foot of the stairs as he sprayed spurts of poison from an aerosol can. He kept spraying and spraying. Meanwhile the doorknob kept twisting as he held on, I suppose, for a quick getaway. I kept staring at the closed door that kept jerking, the knob that kept twisting, more spraying. Was he OK?

He opened the door and closed it behind him, coughing hard. His eyes were terribly bloodshot. He walked down the stairs toward me, not saying a word. His red eyes met mine as he leaned close to me and sunk his sharp teeth into my neck.

Sorry. Poetic license. Actually, he did lunge at me, but it was to give me a bill for $265. Just as painful.

He left at 5 am. Just about time for me to get ready for work. Up all night and we can't blame diabetes this time.

Since our little incident, I've been doing a little bat research on the Internet. I learned that we could have all been bitten by this potentially rabid bat while we slept. Furthermore, it's possible that it could have done this without us even knowing.

How adorable is that?

Spare a Buck?

2007-08-21T13:22:00.000-07:00

Hi. Our team, Charlie's Angels, is gearing up for our fourth JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes. In three walks, we've done very well, raising more than $50,000. Please see our letter over at www.charliewalk.blogspot.com.

I must say, though, asking people to donate money is not much fun. It tends to get very awkward at times despite the fact that it's for such a good cause. It's difficult to seek money from friends who contribute so generously year after year.

It forces us to try new things. Get a little creative. I wanted to do a baby olympics fundraiser, but a doping scandal put an end to that. Lawn dart tournament (with syringes) flopped miserably and not one person signed up for the "Fix my Gutters and Paint my House for Diabetes." People accused me of having ulterior motives.

So, in trying to avoid the awkwardness, I'm attempting a little experiment. How about a buck? One dollar? One franc? One krone? Strength in numbers, right? If you do choose to donate, it must be one dollar, not a penny more. I'm serious. Must be one dollar. If you attempt to give more than one dollar, your diabetes license will be revoked and you will be removed from my tudiabetes "my friend" list for at least thirteen business days. No, that wouldn't be a good thing!

Thank you so much.

Not Dancing in the Aisles

2007-08-10T05:23:00.000-07:00

like Kevin Bacon in Footloose, BUT Charlie's A1c came back at 8.2.

An 8.2 is the best we've ever had since being in the diabetes business and it comes after a 9.6 three months ago. Like I said, I'm not loose, footloose and I haven't kicked off my Sunday shoes, but it finally feels like we're heading in the right direction.

Going to see Neil and the boys tonight (Crowded House). My favorite. Can't wait! A rare night out with the Mrs. - seeing a band we mutually love so much.

Have a great weekend.

Mr. Sad Hand

2007-08-06T10:24:00.000-07:00

Earlier in the day we bantered back and forth with faces we drew on our hands in black marker. The baby gets an enormous kick out of this.

Later that night when we tested Charlie as he slept and had to give him some juice, I was greeted by an unusual and sympathetic stare from Mr. Sad Hand. I just had to take a picture. It was very strange.

Unplugged Beach Fun

2007-08-02T08:25:00.000-07:00

Great day yesterday in Point Pleasant. Charlie was 115 when we detached him. 8 carbs without insulin and 2 hours of pumpless, rollicking beach fun, and Charlie coasted into dinner at 99.

99 never looked lovelier. And the smiling faces will stay imprinted in my head for many days.

The Ashtray Says ...

2007-07-23T08:13:00.000-07:00

There's a song by the band Wilco with the opening line:

The ashtray says, you were up all night.

Well, here's our ashtray and yes, we were up all night.

The title of the song happens to be "A Shot in the Arm."

And yes, we had some of that too.

What Would You Do?

2007-07-16T06:46:00.000-07:00

As the great thespian, Keanu Reeves, pondered in the movie Speed, what would you do? What would you do?

I'm curious to know what you would all do in this situation.

Susanne dropped Charlie off at art camp at 9:30 am. This was 2 hours after a 52 carb breakfast of pancakes, small banana and 4 ounces of milk.

At 9:30 am his blood sugar was 160 with 1.2 units of active or "on board" insulin. The class ends at 11:30 am.

So I won't tell you what we did next. I'd like to know what you'd do. I'll tell you what happened later. Let's see who would have made the right decision.

It's worth noting that Charlie is hardly ever out of our sight. The art teacher happens to be a mother of a 20-year-old girl with diabetes and she knows how to test him if necessary. Still, these two hours, a precursor to kindergarten in the fall, have us both on edge.

So, let's see it. What would you do?

Bush Bans Destruction of Pumpkins for Science

2007-07-10T05:51:00.000-07:00

In an impromptu press conference this morning in the White House rose garden, President George W. Bush banned the use of pumpkin extract for medical use, citing "moral concerns."

The following is a transcript from this morning's press conference:

When I was a boy. A long, long, long time ago, [laughter] I remember sittin' down at Thanksgiving dinner - a great American tradition - with a plateful of my momma's pumpkin pie.

[rubbing his tummy] Now this pie was so good, people claim they could smell it as far as Fort Worth [laughter].

Researchers are now sayin' that compounds in pumpkins could possibly regenerate pancreatic cells and boost levels of insulin-producing beta cells, giving hope to many with diabetes. I have no idea what I just said.

I appreciate that we are a nation that has a deep desire to advance science and cure diseases, but I cannot ethically support the deliberate destruction of pumpkins. [applause]

It's a life. One of God's glorious creatures. [applause] I believe it may even be a mammal. It is a moral line I cannot cross. Pumpkins are a symbol of America. [applause] A symbol of our freedom. [applause] Freedom to carve Jack-o-lanterns on Halloween. Freedom for the great farmers of this country to enter contests to grow massive pumpkins weighing more than 1500 pounds. [applause]

Pumpkin soup, pumpkin seeds, mashed pumpkin, pumpkin pudding. [continued applause]

The Great Pumpkin! for Pete's sake [heh, heh]. Laura loves that Linus. [laughter]

What about those gourds. Those are pretty funny when you draw a face on them. I got one of those dried out gourds as a gift last Christmas and I keep it on my desk. I talk to it sometimes. I swear it looks just like Henry Winkler. The resemblance is amazing. [heh, heh].

After talking on the phone with world leaders such as Polish Prime Minister Jar-o-slaw Kac-zyn-ski or Italian President Gee-or-gee-o Nap-ol-itano, I like to look over at the gourd, knodding my head with two thumbs up and say, "Aaay!" Just like The Fonz.

Lastly, I'd like to remind you all that pumpkin extract has not been proven to be an effective treatment for diabetes. I think it's important that our researchers and scientists pursue alternative methods on mammals that are not as, uh, cool [heh, heh] as the pumpkin.

Have we tried radishes?

Thank you all for coming. God bless the United States of America. [applause]

The Auction

2007-07-09T12:59:00.000-07:00

So we hosted our first auction fundraiser for juvenile diabetes at the house on Saturday. Sorry, I didn't even take one photo. Shameful. Too busy running around, filling mimosas, etc.

One of our contributions to the auction was an old 1960s-ish child's school desk. The old desk had been collecting dust in our basement for years. Finally an opportunity to do something with it. I pulled hundreds of pounds of boxes off of it. Walked through layers and layers of cobwebs. Came very close to killing myself lugging the extremely heavy desk up the basement stairs ...

only to have my son bid for it and win it for 8 bucks.

Unfortunately, no one had the balls to outbid the kid with diabetes at a diabetes fundraiser. Cowards! Even after our auctioneer (my friend Mike) embellished the item, declaring it a desk used on the set of Little House on the Prairie.

Great day though. It was a small invite-only gathering of friends and family yet we still raised about $800 for JDRF.

And I bought this awesome desk!

Bid Diabetes Farewell

2007-07-03T07:13:00.000-07:00

To kick start the fundraising season, we will host Charlie's Angels' inaugural 'Bid Diabetes Farewell' charity auction this Saturday.

People are donating some very cool stuff for the auction. We have digital cameras, an mp3 player, brand new tennis rackets, tickets to a NY Red Bulls soccer match and much more.

A huge "thank you" to painter Michael Wommack for donating a beautiful piece to the auction. Check out some of his paintings and pastels. Very nice.

Strawberry Luna, an amazing designer of posters for bands and artists such as The Decemberists, Iron & Wine, Death Cab for Cutie and a ton more, was also very happy to contribute to the cause. I received two wonderful prints in the mail. Thank you to her.

If you're ever in the Princeton or Philly area, stop by Triumph Brewing Company. Great food and great homebrewed beer. I recommend the Bengal Gold IPA. The good people at Triumph forked over a very generous gift certificate without hesitation. All for juvenile diabetes research.

Lastly, thanks to Manhattan Bagel for providing the grub. These guys rock. Happy to help. No questions asked. Other than, "how much you want?"

Looking forward to great day on Saturday. Photos and recap forthcoming.

The Company Picnic

2007-06-27T09:02:00.000-07:00

The ferry ride from Jersey City to Randall's Island

Creepy statue fountain women with water spurting from their fingertips

Surely one of the kids would have nightmares later that night

That is, if rock man doesn't beat them to it. He was actually very cool.
He would stand motionless for a while and then he suddenly started to

walk VERY slowly. Charlie tried to engage him, but he wasn't much of a conversationalist

Triceratops, on the other hand, waddled over with much to say

As did the plant from Little Shop of Horrors

Maeve, statue woman and tents with steel drums and exotic birds

With a gazillion kids running around the pirate ship, it was tough

setting up this shot. I looked down at my camera for a moment,

looked back up and Jack Sparrow was holding Maeve and a little

blonde-haired boy. I shouted to Jack, "That's not my son!"

You may be wondering why there's no pictures of the baby.
I know, you never leave a man behind, but .... let's just keep
the picnic our little secret. Ben sat this one out at home where
temper tantrums are more accepted

A slight drizzle as we made our way home

On the Eve of the Veto

2007-06-19T11:57:00.000-07:00

I'd like to say thanks again to Mr. Bush. You're making the right call.

You're absolutely right. The trash is the best place for the massive surplus of human embryos. Why all the hype in possible cures for juvenile diabetes, Alzheimer's and Parkinson's anyway? Seems a bit much.

I say, don't mess with success. We've been tossing hundreds of thousands of embryos in the garbage since the late 70s. Why stop now? Embryos are flushed down sink drains at in-vitro fertilization clinics while still alive. Others are incinerated while still alive. Other clinics decide it's best to expose the embryos to the air and let them just die over a four-day period. I say leave 'em be. It's a winning strategy.

Anything else would be, well, unethical.

He's Number One

2007-06-15T06:10:00.000-07:00

We met with the guidance counselor and the school nurse in a tiny, cluttered room. 2 v 2 like a doubles ping pong match.

"So, tell us about Charlie," the guidance counselor says.

Where do we begin. Once we got rolling, Susanne and I were throwing everything at them. Over three and a half years of observation of what diabetes can do a small child to be summarized in about an hour. We were finishing each other's sentences and we were a bit all over the place, but we stayed on the same page.

The two ladies tried to keep up with us, scribbling feverishly in their notepads.

Glucagon

Call 911

Check ketones

Rub cake icing on inside of his cheeks

There was some heavy gasping at times from the guidance counselor, who we happen to like a lot. They tried to play it somewhat cool, saying they've been through emergency situations at school before, but their body language was more like, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. I've said this before. That's OK with me if they're scared. I want them to be on heightened alert. And to be fair, we were throwing some frightening possible situations at them and talking in a language of blood sugar numbers and boluses that they are not familiar with. It was literally a crash course. They have every reason to be nervous.

Early on, we almost went into attack mode when the nurse sort of questioned why after all this time, he didn't have better control. Susanne slowly retracted her claws and explained to her how he is a growing boy and his insulin needs are often changing. She also explained the gazillion variables such as stress and sickness that could wreak havoc on his blood sugar.

At one point Susanne told them he's a good boy. He doesn't have many friends (who are boys) and he's just so excited to go to school. Please just treat him like a normal boy. He's not normal though, she said under her breath. Her voice quivered a bit. I looked to her to see her eyes get glassy and tear. In doing so my eyes did the same.

In the end, they told us what we really wanted to hear. No matter what, Charlie will be number one. He comes first. They mentioned they have a child with a bee sting allergy and also a 4th grader with diabetes who is apparently on auto-pilot. Never any issues. But, Charlie's needs will always come first. They also mentioned that Susanne can come into the school anytime. We all agreed that it would be beneficial for all involved if she did this for the first week or two.

And then a couple things we really didn't want to hear. The questions of the day from the nurse.

"When you give the Glucagon, do you inject right through the clothing?"

"So just to be clear, we give Glucagon if he's under 80?"

Uh, no and no. Oh dear. Should be an interesting school year.

Last thing. When we handed a copy of our proposed 504 plan over, the nurse asked incredulously, "How did you? ... Where did you? Who helped you with this?"

Thank you to all of those trailblazing parents of children with diabetes. You have given us rookies the resources and the words of wisdom to fight the good fight for our children's rights.

Sending Charlie to School - Seeking Advice

2007-06-12T09:23:00.000-07:00

On Thursday we will meet with the school's guidance counselor and principal to discuss Charlie, who will be entering kindergarten in the fall and leaving our sight for the first time.

This is just the initial meeting. In phone conversations with my wife, the guidance counselor admits they're a bit scared. They've had a couple of kids with diabetes in the past but never as young as Charlie.

We plan to come to this meeting armed with a 504 plan and will basically just explain to them how we expect them to care for him while he's in school.

Obviously this is very new to us. If anyone has any advice for this initial meeting, I would greatly appreciate it. Are there questions we absolutely should be asking? Demands we should be making? As part of the 504 plan, is it alright to insist that "mother will have full access to school grounds where she will sit perched in cherry tree outside Charlie's classroom with binoculars for duration of school day."

I've certainly read some of your horror stories on the topic and that makes me uneasy. But, for now, we're not there yet. They just want to know all there is to know about Charlie.

Dream a Little Dream of Dead Sharks

2007-06-07T07:50:00.000-07:00

Thank you to those who offered their support and suggestions in what was the worst 48 hours of high blood sugars we've experienced with Charlie since just after diagnosis. I'm thrilled to report that things are back to normal. And of course by normal I mean 50 percent of the day in range, 25 percent high and 25 percent low. I suppose we'll never really know why it happened. Although, we're keeping a close eye on his poop. Recent suspicions have floated to the surface. (Sorry, couldn't resist. What's wrong with me. Filthy animal).

Anyway, on to the dead sharks. In the second night of horrible highs, Susanne and I were up all night checking his blood sugar, checking level of ketones and correcting. In the midst of this awfulness, I did manage to get intermittent sleep between the hours of 4 am to 6 am.

I dreamt I was in a car trying to get home. The road cut right through a large body of water, so I had water all around me. Up ahead was a large obstacle in the middle of the road. From the distance it looked like a mountain. I approached it to realize it was indeed a mountain. A mountain of dead sharks and killer whales. Hundreds and hundreds of dead sharks piled on one another with their menacing mouths agape. Trying not to drive on the dead sharks, I drove along the side of the mountain at an impossible angle, defying gravity, where a narrow strip of sand met the water. And then I awoke.

The dead sharks was a jarring image, like a mass grave. I think I even stepped outside of the dream for a moment and said, "holy shit!" We've talked about dreams before. Why did I dream this? Why did I create such an image? Is it related to what was going on with Charlie? Or was it the result of the acid I dropped earlier that evening? Any thoughts? Any theories?

A Heaping Batch of Burning Eyes

2007-06-05T07:34:00.000-07:00

We had several helpings of highs at La Pièce de Charlie last night that began with a lovely complimentary appetizer - fresh infusion tube stuffed with a light burgundy ègoutture de sang (blood dripping). Out of this world!

Oh, hi. My son Charlie will have the number 320, the number 380 and then the number 410. I know, he's very hungry. Sorry, I hate to be a pain, but can he also have a syringe on the side? With 1.5 units of insulin? Yeah, you can just bring it out with the 410. Thanks.

How are your ketones here? Large? Mmm, sounds really good. Hmm, we DID just have large ketones the other night. What to choose, what to choose. You know what? That's fine. We'll take the large ketones. We'll make room for it.

Do you recommend anything that goes well with the large ketones? Ooh, sounds so exotic. Sure, we'll try the projectile vomiting. I suppose 8 ounces will be plenty. Oh, and a bucket. Does that also come with dry heaves? Cool.

Well I guess that covers it. Wait, sorry. One more thing. I don't see this on the menu, but we had this once before and absolutely loved it. Do you think the chef could whip up a small portion of crying baby who refuses to go back to bed? Preferably while we're having the projectile vomiting. 2 am? Perfect.

OK, last thing. I promise. What time do you guys start serving room service in the morning? 6:30 am? Super. If possible, my wife and I would like to share a heaping batch of the burning eyes.

Fantastic. Thank you.

Pretty in Pink

2007-05-30T11:59:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I have an 8 year old. Happy Birthday, Maeve Amelia!

Charlie finds a reprieve amongst all things pink

Good Dog

2007-05-18T08:16:00.000-07:00

While we change Charlie's site at 1 am because he's stranded for hours at 300, I think about this diabetes life. I think about Maeve, sleeping in the next room.

What's it like growing up in this house of horrors, where every so often she's awakened by sounds of torture. Her little brother thrashing around, crying and begging for it to stop. She often sleeps right through it, but perhaps it seeps into her subconscious, marring her dreams of unicorns and royal weddings.

"Break! Break!" Charlie cries.

Charlie usually pleads that we take a break from the site change process. He makes this request before we even begin.

We tell him he's not alone. We tell him about all of you. We tell him there's another little boy out there somewhere going through the same thing this very minute. Tears slowly spill from his deep brown eyes.

"I wish I can take this from you," I tell him.

Generally, Charlie is like a happy puppy. All he wants to do is play all day. His tail is always wagging. And yes, he sometimes pees on the floor. But, he's not a happy pup when it is site change day.

He's 5 now. Not so young. I think about how Charlie doesn't talk so much about diabetes. He tends to change the subject quickly when we try to talk to him about it. He's happy to show people his pump or invite people to watch him get his blood sugar tested, but he doesn't express his hatred of the disease. We've even told him that it's OK if he wants to say he hates it sometimes.

But, he chooses not to.

For a while I thought he just couldn't really express himself. But he has no trouble expressing his hatred of broccoli. I figured he's just young and not really interested in serious conversation. I do feel that is mostly the case, but maybe there's more than I think going on in that head of his. Maybe he does see diabetes as part of who he is. Maybe he knows exactly what he's doing when he's reluctant to dis his disease.

Good dog.

There Was a Young Lad From PA

2007-05-04T13:49:00.000-07:00

There's a great contest over at DIABETEStalkfest for funniest diabetes poem. I was very productive at work today.

There was a young lad from PA
Whose urine could fill a small bay
His mum feared the worst
When his insatiable thirst
Had him slurping from the bidet

When the doctors said he was Type 1
We all grew uncomfortably numb
We took the syringe
And together we cringed
As we plunged it right into his bum

His blood sugars have never been great
And we worry about Charlie's fate
But we don't need a cure
You see, my neighbor is sure
He'll outgrow the disease by age 8

My son wears a pump – Minimed
All these gadgets befuddle my head
I thought he was getting
A new basal setting
But I opened the garage door instead

But I tell you, this pump is premier
Its convenience I hold very dear
I just need to run
A cord through my son
And my TV comes in crystal-clear

I envision a day without shots
A diet of Skittles and Dots
And if he is high
There'll be no need to cry
It's just that he's smoking pot

There is a young lad from PA
Who hopes he'll be cured someday
He faces his plight
Like a brave Jedi Knight
And nothing will stand in his way

The Soccer Team

2007-04-25T06:31:00.000-07:00

"We have something very important to discuss," I tell the sweaty, red-faced shorties on my soccer team.

"Guys! Come on in! I need you to listen for a couple minutes!"

"Please take your soccer balls out of your shirts! We're not playing the "Mommy's Knocked Up Again" game right now. We'll play that later."

"This is important. We need a team name."

"How about The Stripes?" a towering 6 year old says.

"Yeah, The Stripes," seconds another.

Unimpressed with their creativity, I ask, "does anyone like Star Wars?"

Charlie's fingertips touch the clouds.

"How about the R2s?" Charlie says, the excitement building in his voice.

I sell the R2s (R2-D2s) to the rest of the team, going way over the top with how cool a name it is. Most are onboard, but one kid isn't going for it.

"Don't you like Star Wars?"

"No!"

"Do you like robots?"

"No!"

"Androids?"

"No!"

"George Lucas's not so subtle thematic reference to Nazi Germany?"

"No!"

"Well, what do you like?"

"I like rocket ships," the sunburned boy says with a lisp.

"Close enough."

"OK boys, we're the R2-D2s!"

OK, so I rigged the vote. Not the most democratic process, but tough. My kid is out there lugging a pump around his waist, stopping for fun "blood breaks" and hauling ass at 414 mg/dl. I'm the coach. If Charlie wants to be the R2s, then dammit, the R2s it is.

This was my first real experience testing Charlie in front of a group of kids his own age. I was amazed by their reaction. They crowded around us like we were giving away ice cream – firing off question after question. They were fascinated.

"Whoa, cool! What's that thing? What's that? Does that hurt? Why are doing that? What's that tube? Whoa, you're brave!"

Even more amazing was that Charlie wasn't embarrassed nor did he feel the need to conceal his pump from the curious crowd. It's one of those moments as a parent when as much as you know your own kid, you just don't know which way it's going to go. Phew! He actually loved the attention.

At half-time, Charlie - normally painfully shy - yelled out, "Hey! Anyone wanna see me get tested?"

No Comment

2007-04-13T06:24:00.000-07:00

Charlie's quarterly doctor's visit came and went about a week and-a-half ago, but I didn't feel like talking about it.

He hasn't gained any weight since December, but I didn't feel like talking about it.

He was as strong as ever while they took his blood, but I even didn't feel like talking about that.

His A1c was 9.6.

Nine point friggin' six!

Charlie's been on the pump for about 6 months. We're going in the wrong direction.

We're starting from scratch. A clean slate. Throwing away our gazillion insulin-to-carb ratios and basal rates. Fresh start. Talking with pump educator every day as if we just started on the pump.

Ever the optimist, I'm anxious to get to work on this new plan of attack.

Gotta go make my 10 am phone call to my wife to see if Charlie is in range 3 hours after breakfast. Crossing fingers.

Have a nice weekend.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blood sugar update: 158

BUT ... that was after 4 hours. After 2 hours, he was 400. That's the thing we've noticed about Charlie. He will eventually fall into range, but it usually takes 3 hours or more to get there. So, he's high for quite some time. Do most of you fall into range after 2 hours? I know adults and kids will differ on this. Also, curious to know what percentage of your total daily insulin is bolus and what is basal. That may be an issue for us as well as Charlie's intake is very bolus heavy.

Finsky

2007-04-11T07:45:00.000-07:00

1) If you could have one super power what would it be and what would your Super Hero name be?

My first thought was the ability to fly. But thinking further, it could be a drag once the novelty of it wore off. At first, kids would be like, "hey, there he is!," jumping up and down and waving to me as I flew by. "Woohoo! Yay!" But after a while, they'd get bored of my aerial antics and make a sport out of my demise. They'd wait for me, hiding in bushes with BB guns and rocks, living out their video-game fantasies.

"This is Action News coming to you live from Marion County, Florida, where the infamous Flying Man has graced our skies for the last time - shot down by a 13-year-old Cub Scout. Just last week his left eye was shot out when flying over Bristol, UK. Recent reports indicated that he had been flying low and erratically the last few days leading to today's discovery in the Oklawaha River."

Breathing fire could also be cool if my kids are ever picked on at school.

"Dude, my dad could soooooooooooo melt you."

But, I'll have to go with the power to find missing socks. It's the most practical choice. Without exaggeration, I have about 18-20 stray socks. Not white athletic type socks. I mean Gap-type socks that I wear to work. Blue, brown, black, grey socks. A good 20 of them orphaned in my top drawer. It just doesn't make sense. Where could they ALL go? Drives me insane.

My name will have to be something clever yet intimidating. Masculine yet mysterious.

Sock-Finding Man.

2) If you could only listen to one band/singer for the rest of your life, who would it be and why? This one's easy. Neil Finn. His lyrics are beautifully descriptive and poetic, he constructs gorgeous melodies and his voice just magic.

From When You Come:

She came out of the water
Into my horizon
Like a cumulo nimbus
Coming in from a distance
Burning and exploding
Burning and exploding
Like a slow volcano

From Distant Sun:

Seven worlds will collide
Whenever I am by your side
And dust from a distant sun
Will shower over everyone

From Pineapple Head:

And if you choose to take that path
I will play you like a shark
And I'll clutch at your heart
I'll come flying like a spark to inflame you

3) When you were little what did you want to be when you grew up?

I wanted to play professional soccer for the New York Cosmos and be the fourth member of the rock band Rush.

4) If you could be another person for one day, who would it be and why? (they must be living in the present-day)

Hmm, does that mean the person would become me just as it happened in Like Father Like Son, starring the versatile Kirk Cameron and Dudley Moore or the movie Freaky Friday?

I would be Charlie for a day. A site-change day. I'd like to feel what he feels on a daily basis and give him a one day vacation from diabetes.

I'd be Susanne during childbirth. Ideally for one of my kids. Swollen boobs, contractions, fat ankles, needle in my spine … the whole kit and caboodle.

I'd be George W. Bush. I'd get into that itty bitty brain of his and have a change of heart by allowing federal funds for embryonic stem cell research.

5) How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsi roll pop?

It's a good question. An important question. I'm glad you asked. Unfortunately it will remain one of the world's great unsolved mysteries. I tried this experiment while carpooling to work with my friend Mike. Judging by the look he was giving me, it is not socially acceptable to repeatedly lick a lollypop in such a fashion. Better to just gnaw on it I learned. So there you have it. I still don't know how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsi roll pop and Mike is now afraid to get back in the car with me.

Thank you Penny for the great questions. This meme may have seriously run its course, but if you'd like some questions, send me your email.

His Royal Highness

2007-03-27T08:26:00.000-07:00

I don't have type 1 diabetes like many of you do. I don't know what it feels like to be up high or down low. I cannot feel the sting of insulin or the discomfort of going from 50 to 400 in a matter of minutes. But I value your vivid and heart-wrenching descriptions of "how it feels" more than you know. Charlie is only 5. He can't describe it like you do. The pain I feel is different. It hurts in different places.

Friday night was a horrible night of high blood sugars for Charlie. We couldn't bring him down all night. When you expect to see 150 or 180, numbers like 344 just reach in and twist your innards. 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 …. FUCK!

So we put our faith in the correction. We correct and pray that the pump does its thing - that everything does what it's supposed to do. We pray that in an hour, he'll start to come down. Waiting, though, is excruciating. The waiting tears apart your stomach. It makes me want to crawl inside his blood stream like an insane, militant, sweat suit wearin', vein-poppin', whistle-blowin', beer-gutted, spit-flyin' high school football coach. Or better yet, ex-Pittsburgh Steelers coach Bill Cowher.

"COME ON INSULIN! YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF SHIT! MOVE YOUR ASS! LET'S GO! LET'S GO! LET'S GO! NO WALKING OUT THERE! MOVE YOUR ASS! LET'S GO! LET'S GO! LET'S GO!"

WHO ARE WE?

Insulin: insulin

WHO ARE WE?

Insulin: insulin

I CAN'T HEAR YOU

Insulin: insulin

NOW GIVE ME FIVE LAPS

An hour later, I test him. 5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1 ….. FUCK!

347.

We recently moved our bedroom to the third-floor attic due to the accumulation of all these kids. I talk to Susanne via the baby monitor. Surely she heard my "FUCK" through the monitor and knows it's not good. "He's 347," I say almost robot-like towards the white plastic receiver. "I'll test for ketones."

The big red plastic Dixie cup reminds me of warm, watery beer and drinking games; standing in a long keg line at fraternity and sorority parties so many years ago.

Now I'm pressing his itty bitty junk down like it's a faucet on full blast, using the red cup to collect a hot, rapid stream of pee from a 5 year old at 2 in the morning. My hand warms. I hold my breath as it slows to a final drip just before reaching the brim. He has slight ketones. The site looks fine and it was fine earlier in the day. Of course we consider changing the site, but Charlie's blood sugar skyrockets for hours after site changes. We don't want to compound the problem, so we give the site and his pump one last chance to redeem itself.

One hour later.

Susanne takes the next blood sugar check as I listen to the baby monitor from the attic. The creaking of Susanne's footsteps breaks the white noise hum coming from the monitor.

"Snap!" goes the pricker.

Silence.

"Sigh" goes Susanne.

"413."

"Beeeeeeep" goes the ear thermometer.

No fever.

We decide it's time to inject with needle.

"No!" goes Charlie.

"Please hold still" goes Susanne.

I hear Susanne making her way back upstairs. I hear too much. Every little moan from Charlie. Thrashing around in his sheets. Discomfort.

I feel it in my heart. Like a slow nail through my heart.

Even the needle injection doesn't bring him down enough. Finally, one last correction brings him to 98 by the morning.

A new day brings an opposite battle. Low blood sugars all day and into the evening.

Oh, Diabetes. You are one sick bastard!

The Muppets Take Manhattan

2007-03-22T07:01:00.000-07:00

A New Glu

2007-03-13T06:02:00.000-07:00

Step aside glucose and glucometer and glucagon. There's a new glu in town and its name is gluten.

We just learned that Susanne has Celiac disease. She'll be a glutton for gluten no more. We have spent the last few days scouring the Internet and buying books to see what she can eat and what she cannot.

Her body cannot metabolize gluten, resulting in malnutrition and a constant feeling of shittiness. To control this disease, she must eliminate all foods from her diet that contain gluten... FOREVER! Gluten is in almost everything. No bread. No beer. No fried foods. No pasta.

Susanne calls me at work.

"I'm never going to have pizza again. Never."

Sigh. "I know."

She calls again (2 minutes later).

"No hotdogs, no hamburgers, no sandwiches, no normal cereal."

Sure, there's gluten-free foods and Susanne has already been to Whole Foods. It seems the gluten-free foods are also yummy-free. It tastes like dirty rubber bands. The gluten-free foods are also very high in fat content and hard-earned dollars.

Looking at the bright side, algae, hemp, cowpea, mung bean and vodka is on the safe list for the gluten-free diet.

Susanne calls again with a much more serious tone.

"No more Christmas cookies. No more linzer tarts. No more double chocolate clusters."

Oh, gluten. This just got personal. If Susanne stops baking her cookies ... I will, I, I ... sorry. I just don't even want to imagine a world without Susanne's cookies.

What a pain in the gluteus!

If anyone out there is gluten-challenged or knows someone who is, I'd appreciate any decent recipes or tips on restaurants with gluten-free menus. I know of P.F. Chang's, Chili's and Outback Steakhouse. Thank you.

Seven

2007-03-06T12:07:00.000-08:00

I'm a little late to the party on this tag from Kerri. Here it goes.

Seven Things To Do Before I Die:

1. Remember to unplug the iron.
2. Travel around the world with Susanne. Though not in a hot-air balloon.
3. See my children grown; meet my children's children.
4. Learn to snowboard; Go on snowboarding vacation with kids.
5. Write a great song. Write a great children's book.
6. Go white-water rafting along New Zealand's Kaituna River.
7. Save the cheerleader. Save the world.

Seven Things I Cannot Do:

1. Tie my shoes like an adult.
2. Snap my fingers like an adult.
3. Go one month without running out of gas.
4. Avoid sarcasm.
5. Make everyone happy. Though I try.
6. Count without using my fingers.
7. Speak publicly without nausea and loss of all motor skills.

Seven Things That Attract Me to… The Mr.

1. His red dragon tattoo.
2. His gentleness.
3. The smell of motorcycle exhaust and Tabasco sauce on his breath.
4. How he lifts me up in his big strong arms over puddles in the rain.
5. His ability to bounce his pectoral muscles up and down to Def Leppard's "Rock of Ages."
6. His bowling trophies.
7. Shoot! Was I supposed to change this question to "The Mrs.?" Yikes. How embarrassing.

Seven Things I Say:

1. “Oh for the love of God!”
2. “You get nothing. You lose. Good day, sir!” (Thanks Willy)
3. "You bet your sweet ass." (I'm lying. I don't say this. But dammit, I wish I did. Is there anything better than that? Am I gonna start using that line more often? Oh you bet your sweet ass.)
4. “Hey, it's me. I ran out of gas. I need you to come and get me.”
5. “Yes, I ran out of gas AGAIN.”
6. "No, not that mother-scratcher." (Thanks Coen brothers)
7. “I fucking hate diabetes!”

Seven Books That I Love:

1. Chronicle of a Death Foretold (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
2. Death in the Andes (Mario Vargas Llosa)
3. Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim (David Sedaris)
4. Atticus (Ron Hansen)
5. The Things They Carried (Tim O'Brien)
6. Maus (Art Spiegelman)
7. The Beet Queen (Louise Erdrich)

Seven Movies That I’ve Loved (at different times and in no particular order):

1. Schindler's List
2. The Corpse Bride
3. This is Spinal Tap
4. Iron Giant
5. Shawshank Redemption
6. Amadeus
7. Rushmore

D-Tour: Kiss Me I'm Cesarean

2007-03-01T12:46:00.000-08:00

This is something I wrote several years ago, but was published by a local parenting magazine about a year ago. I recently received a couple unexpected and amusing emails related to this piece.

Kiss Me I'm Cesarean

When Susanne was 37 weeks, the doctors informed us that our baby was in the breech position. It was butt down rather than head down. We learned quickly that breech was a hideous word; a word not to wave around vociferously.

People constantly asked how Susanne was feeling. “Terrific. Outstanding. In pregnant splendor,” I would boast publicly. Then I would lower my voice to an unintelligible mutter as if consummating a drug deal. “Well, actually we found out that the baby is, well... you see the baby is (whisper) breech. The next dirty word that follows breech is Cesarean, which of course is sequential if the baby refuses to turn to the proper position or “zero station” as they call it. Zero Station it turns out is not the name of an 80s new wave band that toured with Flock of Seagulls - just the fetus settling into its captain's chair for the big ride down the canal.

As a Cesarean candidate we felt as if we were our own subspecies – a fledgling race inferior to humans. Looking for support, we sought out other Cesareans, often collecting under moist, mossy stones or inside damp driftwood. At one of our last doctor appointments, the receptionist gazed mournfully at us as we signed in.

“You the Cesarean?”

“No!” I barked.

“We're the Hungarians.”

We all enjoyed a faux chuckle and then went down to the corner deli for some tuna sandwiches on Cesarean bread.

Once it was confirmed that the baby was indeed breech, we tried every measure possible to get our stubborn baby to engage in some gymnastics. I tried shining a flashlight on the lower section of Susanne’s belly. “Come to the light,” I begged. Nothing. Then the doctors attempted a very painful procedure called an external version in which the doctor dug her hands into Susanne's tender, swollen stomach, trying to turn the baby manually. It was very much like kneading pizza dough, only more painful and less flour. Needless to say, baby didn’t budge. Then we strung up my wife to a Catherine wheel and tinkered with some other medieval torture devices before driving some bamboo shoots under her fingernails just for the sake of it. When all else failed, I got down there and shouted “Dammit, you turn around this instant or march right up to your room!” In hindsight, I guess it didn’t make much sense, but I was frustrated and I figured it was good practice.

One day I was feeling a bit less optimistic about the baby turning and I fell into a lethargic depression, as I crashed spiritless on the couch. “Why won’t the baby turn? Why? Why? Why?” I demanded. Then I looked at myself, half of my body sucked under the cushions, just lying there like a fat, dead horse. Susanne tried all sorts of techniques to get me off of the couch and into the car, but I wouldn’t budge. That’s great, I thought. The baby has inherited my slothfulness. Super.

Undeterred, we have dedicated our lives to the fight against bigotry and injustices that Cesareans endure each and every day. We dream of a day when Cesareans and vaginal birth parents can live together in harmony. A day when the snickering and cruelty ends. A day when a Cesarean woman can perhaps vote or even get a job. We are a small yet determined race and we have made great strides in our communities. Just last week we launched our first dating service/support group called SCAR (Single Cesarean Astronauts for Romance). Sure, it's a miniscule demographic percentage-wise, but it's a start. Coming soon in January will be the Latin-Cesarean music awards on Fox Television hosted by dancer Ida Carlini, former lover of late mambo legend Tito Puente. Ida once had her nails done by a Cesarean.

As for us? We're making our way to Washington, D.C. this weekend for the Million Cesarean March. If you're in the area, come on by to say hello. We'll be the couple in the matching yellow T-shirts that say "KISS ME I'M CESAREAN."

* And now for the emails, verbatim.

"Hi, My name is Ida Carlini and I don't remember ever hosting a Fox tv program..Where did you get that info? Please contact me to clear this up....Ida Carlini"

And a couple days later ...

"I AM IDA CARLINI AND READ THAT I WILL BE HOSTING A SHOW....I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO, WHAT OR WHY AND NEVER HEARD OF THIS OR GIVEN MY PERMISSION...CAN YOU PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHERE YOU GOT THIS INFORMATION..."

Oh, Ida. Sweet Ida. There's no Latin-Cesarean music awards on Fox TV. I'm so sorry.

Not Real Blood Though, Right?

2007-02-22T07:04:00.000-08:00

I was in New York City, meeting up with my brother for lunch.

While I was waiting for him in the lobby of his office, two of his associates struck up conversation with me.

They liked me.

They really liked me.

They tell me to hang around for a minute, and then scurry away.

They invite me into a room with a large round table.

Soon, about ten people file into the room and sit down at the large round table.

They ask me questions. Random questions. "Tell us about yourself," one faceless person says.

Charlie appears. I have to test him.

I prick his finger and squeeze. A clear, water-like glob oozes from his finger.

It doesn't look like blood, but I fill the test strip anyway and get an error alert on the meter.

I nervously pull another test strip out of its canister and prick his finger again.

People around the table sense my growing panic.

This time a blue glob trickles from his finger.

I leave the room, I think. I can't remember. A thin young man in a red v-neck sweater calms me.

"It's OK, it's OK. He's 133," he says, meter in hand.

He looks like Justin Timberlake. He's holding Charlie. "I'm type 1," he reassures me.

A woman at the table mutters suspiciously, "that's not real blood though, right?"

I roll my eyes and think to myself: man, wait until I tell the OC about this lady.

I wake to a 25-pound drooling baby riding my incredibly full bladder like it's a Hoppity Hop.

Weird dream.

The Girl

2007-02-13T05:52:00.000-08:00

The monkey. The Maeve-inator. Principessa. Maeve the Brave.

Maeve was just 4 years old when we rushed Charlie to the hospital in the middle of the night. She stayed with her Aunt Kimmie for five days, unaware of what was suddenly happening to her baby brother.

Everything revolves around Charlie. The forecast of the day is set by Charlie. It consumes us. It must consume us. It will consume us today, tomorrow, the next day, and all days after that. When we're not talking diabetes, treating diabetes or blogging about diabetes, there's 20-month-old Ben, wanting every ounce of excess attention. So, where does that leave the monkey?

This post goes out to the girl.

Maeve has a heart as big as Alaska. She'll compliment you on your hair. She is compassionate and kind. She's a daydreamer. She would share even her most special thing in the world with you without hesitation. She cries when she's happy. She's been planning her wedding since she was 2. She called movie theaters "movie gators" until she was about 5. She says "deal with it, dad" with a giggle, when talking about liking boys. She wants to author and illustrate her book, "The Dog with a Purple Ear."

Maeve is beautiful.

Maeve has been witness to thousands of Charlie's finger pricks. She's rubbed his head or held his hand for thousands of needle injections. She's seen way more blood than a child should. Always there. Always good. A good girl. So good that we've lost sight of how she has been affected by this disease.

Early in the school year, out of the blue, Maeve broke down crying in the arms of the guidance counselor. She said she was worried about her brother. This was a shock to us. She had never expressed this to us nor did she show signs of worry.

Since then, she has had a few big cries, sobbing about the boys getting all of our attention. We tried to explain that she wouldn't want the kind of attention that comes from having diabetes. But, she was clearly sad and had every reason to feel that way.

With large, gasping sobs she said, "why does Charlie always get his food and his drinks first?"

It was a very good question. She was right. Her snack and meal schedule became contingent on her brother's blood sugar. And when they did sit down to eat, I found myself stuck in the routine of getting food to Charlie first all the time. Even when it wasn't necessary.

We sometimes role play on weekend mornings where I play various waiters, taking the kids' breakfast orders and delivering their food.

There's Pierre, the French waiter (real original, Carey); Godfrey, the grizzled old Scottish sea captain who tells scary stories; Sebastian, an insecure, overly apologetic, odd sort; and Cowboy, who, uh, sounds like I suppose a cowboy would.

Just a few of the horribly stereotypical and culturally insulting characters that I play.

So, it's not too uncommon for me to enter the dining room with a Texan accent like Flo Castleberry from the TV sitcom Alice.

"Reckon y'all wanna start with some coffee while yer lookin' at the menu?"

I'm going to try very hard to break the habit of serving Charlie first. It's Maeve's turn. She deserves it.

And ya know what? I may not even spit in her pancakes this time when she sends it back because it's too cold.

Our Meeting With Gary Scheiner

2007-02-07T07:45:00.000-08:00

We met with Gary Scheiner yesterday afternoon in his office just east of Villanova University.

Charlie, who is quite shy with adults, warmed up after Gary took him on in a game of tic-tac-toe. Still, I served as interpreter.

"Tell him if he likes Star Wars," Charlie whispered hot and steamy in my ear.

"You mean ask him?" I whispered hot and steamy back in his.

(whisper) "Yeah."

Gary and his staff were great. He got right down to the business of making things better and we felt immediately confident that he could do so. He downloaded the data on our meter and printed out the problem areas in what looked like a constellation of high BGs. We rejiggered bolus levels slightly, talked about the importance of basal testing/fasting and discussed Charlie's diet.

"Tell him I like bananas cut up in a sandwich," Charlie whispered hot and steamy in Susanne's ear.

Gary explained things clearly and used simple diagrams to illustrate, for example, why Charlie has very high BGs on site change days. It's something that has stumped and frustrated us for a while. We had thought it was the stress of the site change. Gary pointed out that we weren't changing his site in conjunction with a meal bolus. A timing issue. He illustrated how it was taking a long time for the basal drip to make its way through his fatty tissue. Changing the site just prior to a meal bolus could likely get that insulin stream flowing.

Yes! That makes sense! Something makes sense! I got slightly teary.

He also mapped out an effective way to move sites around the landscape of Charlie's butt. Charlie liked Gary's illustration: ( i )

Though I listened intently, I did find myself looking around like a tourist. I spotted signed posters of professional athletes and one of Nicole Johnson Baker that said "Gary, God Bless You." On his "Wall of Fame" in the waiting room area, there was a clipping of Allison and I spied with my little eye something else in Gary's office - Scott's WTF Did You Eat? meter picture. Gary mentioned that he was going to pass that around at the next support group meeting.

Near the end of our session, Gary showed us clippings of many professional athletes, pointing out to Charlie that they all had type 1 diabetes.

"What do you want to be when you grow up, Charlie?" Gary asked.

"A fireman ..."

"But without a mustache."

In just our first visit, I feel our diabetes doldrums lifted. I feel hopeful that we can do more, we can do better.

Happy Birthday, Smoochy Cabrera!

2007-01-31T07:12:00.000-08:00

Charlie ...

(a.k.a. "Choo Choo," a.k.a. "Chooch," a.k.a. "Charleston Chooch," a.k.a. "Charlie Horse," a.k.a. "Chachi," a.k.a. "Smooch," a.k.a. "Smoochy," a.k.a. "Smoochy Cabrera")

...turned 5 today. Happy Birthday, Charlie. We love you.

I Also Shuffle ... Trusted!

2007-01-24T09:25:00.000-08:00

I spotted this at Nearest Distant Shore and Thyme Moves On. I just had to play. It doesn't always make sense, but it's pretty cool when it does.

The Rules:

Put your music player on shuffle.
Press forward for each question.
Use the song title as the answer to the question.

What does next year have in store for me?

Winning a battle, Losing the War – Kings of Convenience
(Yay, I win!!!!... Oh, crap!)

What's my love life like?

First of the Gang to Die - Morrissey
(Kinky. Don't ask)

What do I say when life gets hard?

As Sure as I am – Crowded House

What do I think of on waking up?

Hewlett's Daughter - Grandaddy
(Unfortunately, my father-in-law is not named Hewlett. I may have some explaining to do)

What song will I dance to at my wedding?

Tombstone – Crowded House
(Ah, cheerful. Father-in-law's choice)

What do I want as a career?

It Looks Like Love – Josh Rouse
(Well, the male escort business is quite lucrative)

Favorite saying?

Trusted - Ben Folds

Favorite place?

Somewhere Only We Know - Keane
(Cool!)

What do I think of my parents?

Ugly Love - Eels
(Cool again! Parents divorced when I was 7)

What's my pornstar name?

Wind Up – Foo Fighters
(The name's origin of course comes from a move I, uh, well, perfected)

Where would I go on a first date?

Don't Let Me Down - Beatles
(Exactly what happens when I attempt "The Wind Up")

Drug of choice?

Jetstream – New Order
(Slang for milk mixed with Mountain Dew. It's addictive)

Describe myself

No Reason – Ben Kweller
(Right on the mark. I'm completely unreasonable and according to the dictionary, I do not have a normal mental state.)

What is the thing I like doing most?

I summon You - Spoon
(That is, when I'm not summoning evil spirits)

What is my state of mind like at the moment?

Janice's Party – Fountains of Wayne
(Praying Janice has cereal storers this time. Tupperware parties rock! Also, I'd like to use my new favorite saying, "trusted," with rapper-like attitude. "Yo, Janice, these stackables are TRUSTED!"

How will I die?

Independence Day – Elliott Smith
(Damn. Death by firecracker. That gives me only 6 months. Damn! I need me some Jetstream quick. Trusted!)

Hopefully His Blah Blahs Will Be More Blah

2007-01-17T07:04:00.001-08:00

I appreciate that friends ask routinely how Charlie is doing. I really do. I just don't know what to say anymore. I really don't know how he's doing.

"Well, he's not so good right this minute, but in 45 minutes to an hour he should be fine. Later tonight he'll be bad again for a while, but come morning, he should be good."

There's no short answer. There's no "fine" or "OK." I'm just tired of the long answer - hearing myself repeat the same thing every time someone asks.

"Well we have our blah blahs and our blah blahs. Today is a blah blah. Hopefully, now that he's on the blah, his blah blahs will be more blah."

At the playground the other day, Charlie hopped off his bike for a pit stop and a blood sugar check. He was 55. I gave him 4 ounces of grape juice and a couple crackers. Not too uncommon.

Charlie finished quickly and hopped back on his bike, pumping his small muscular legs to catch up to his sister who was rounding the far corner of the oval path. I stare at Charlie as he pedals. I zoom in on him closer. Closer. I stare with X-ray vision into his skin, down his esophagus and to his stomach. I scan his organs. What's it doing, I wonder. What's going on in there? Did his blood sugar slam the brakes with a screech and reverse direction when the juice came flowing in? Is he 75 now? Is he 40?

How many other dads at the playground are staring into their children's insides with X-ray vision while they play?

One night last week Charlie peed in his bed. I peeled off his wet pajamas and walked him into the bathroom. With no clothing for Charlie to fasten to, I held his pump and walked behind him like he was a dog on a leash. Charlie was whimpering and half-asleep throughout the whole episode. Seemed surreal.

I really don't know how he's doing.

The Best Thing Since Sliced Chicken Breast

2007-01-08T10:51:00.000-08:00

Charlie ate a sliced chicken breast sandwich! He ... (tears) ate ... (more tears) sliced chicken (sobbing now) breast! Maybe you didn't hear me. Charlie ate a sandwich comprised of SLICED CHICKEN BREAST!!!!

Big friggin' deal you may be saying. My kid just ate lamb brain, you may be saying. Woop de doo, you may be saying.

OK, background information.

Charlie has one free food. One. White American cheese. For my non-diabetic visitors, that means a food that has little or no effect on his blood sugar. Since tiny teeth emerged from his gums and since a day when he sat in his own urine, his lunch choice has been simply square slabs of white American cheese. He has had roughly 1,255 cheese sandwiches for lunch in a row. A streak that looked like it would never be broken. And when he was hungry but too high to eat anything, American cheese was our only snack option as well. I could do siding on my house three times over with the amount of cheese he's eaten. I wouldn't of course. Just saying I could. Well, I couldn't, but a contractor could. A very, very desperate contractor.

Over three and a half years, it's difficult to keep things interesting. Cheese sandwich cut in triangles. Cheese sandwich cut in rectangles. Cheese sandwich cut in diamonds, clubs, hearts, spades. Cheese sandwich cut in the shape of a cross (God bless this sandwich), peace sign, Blogger logo. Cheese sandwiches stacked like a tower, angled like a teepee, ascending like a staircase.

Charlie won't eat anything. And he's cunning. If you try too hard, you've lost the sale. Jello, a favorite free food for many diabetics, was one that got away. Ha! Look at it Charlie. Look how it wobbles! Look how it jiggles! Isn't it awesome? Man, it's awesome! What does it taste like? It's like a cherry lollypop only better. It wiggles. It dances. Can you believe it? Food that dances? And I'll let you in on a little secret, but don't tell anyone. Darth Vader likes Jello. Try it. Try it! TRY IT!

He stuck his finger it. Took one nibble and then passed. I overdid it. Opportunity wasted.

Charlie says "blech," and "ewww" and "yuck" and holds his nose while even the most glorious aromas are wafting throughout the house. I'm not talking brussels sprouts here folks. Home made apple pie. Thanksgiving turkey. Ribeye steak. I'm telling you he's a superfreak, superfreak, he's super freaky.

So, imagine my joy when Charlie just very unceremoniously decided to sample a small sliver of sliced chicken breast. The verdict came back with a thumbs up and a smile.

Even better, he didn't charge us his normal "trying something new" fee of $5.

D-Tour: Something Other Than Diabetes

2007-01-02T10:29:00.000-08:00

A few work friends and I traditionally share our "best of" CDs at the year's end. I thought I'd also share this with my new D-Blog friends and any other stragglers that may stumble upon Up High ... Down Low. I'm sure we don't all share the same musical taste, but this year's list is somewhat eclectic. A little something for everyone if you care to look into these artists a little further.

Charlie is partial to British pop and he would likely have gone with Keane's Under the Iron Sea. But then Gnarls Barkley came along with this ....

A string section of imperial officers? Stormtroopers on guitars? Chewy on the drums? Are you kidding me? Charlie went frickin' nuts.

I got Maeve her first real CD for Christmas. By real, I mean one that doesn't have princesses on the cover. I got her the Beatles' Red Album. Figured a great place to start. Susanne called me up at work my first day back after the holiday and told me that Maeve was sitting all alone on her bed with her little CD player, bopping her head up and down and coming in on the choruses of "Eight Days a Week." I admit I got a bit teary. She seems to have also inherited my father's knack for mangling song lyrics as much as song lyrics can be mangled. Obviously not a new release, but new to Maeve and a favorite of 2006.

Baby Ben hasn't expressed his fave of 2006, but the nipper likes to shake it to just about anything. I could have an asthma attack and he'd promptly do the robot.

So, that's what the kids are listening to. Here's what I liked in 2006.

My Top 10 CDs of 2006

1. Jon Auer - Songs From the Year of Our Demise

2. The Decemberists - The Crane Wife

3. Calexico - Garden Ruin

4. Rodrigo y Gabriela - Rodrigo y Gabriela

5. Long Winters - Putting the Days to Bed

6. Easy Star All-Stars - Radiodread

7. Josh Rouse - Subtitulo

8. M. Ward - Post-War

9. Snow Patrol - Eyes Open

10. Thom Yorke - The Eraser

Christmas - Half Good is Pretty Good

2006-12-28T06:24:00.000-08:00

On Christmas eve, my daughter Maeve surmised that Santa would still make a stop at our house even though she has, in her opinion, only been "half good."

"Half good is pretty good," she said optimistically.

She was a better girl than she thought.

Charlie commits high treason when putting on a New York Rangers hockey shirt in a New Jersey Devils household. My own son. A turncoat. My own flesh and blood. A Rangers fan. A gift, of course, from his New York born and raised uncle. That son of a bitch. My Devils never stood a chance. Rangers are blue and Charlie believes they are some sort of Power Rangers affiliate.

And Ben? Well, Ben ate soap.

After Christmas Eve dinner, we took a short walk into town and checked out the Nativity scene at a nearby church. Yep, that's a real camel, wondering how the hell he ended up in Southeastern Pennsylvania. Though he doesn't look like he's all that worked up over it.

Daddy was a cookie monster, merrily stuffing my belly with my wife's amazing desserts.

Our family had a wonderful Christmas. Charlie's blood sugar trended low over the weekend (few 50s and 60s), but he was good about telling us before it became a problem.

Happy New Year to you all.

Happy Holidays

2006-12-23T19:24:00.000-08:00

Divine Fortune (A Necessary Fall)

2006-12-19T08:40:00.000-08:00

My 13-year-old nephew, Joey, could have died in his sleep in the next 6 months to a year. He could have.

Last week Joey went ice skating with some friends. As many do on the slippery ice, he took a fall. A big fall. A necessary fall. A fall so big that the ambulance came immediately and delivered him to the hospital where he was treated for a broken clavicle and a shoulder injury.

After being released from the hospital, the doctor called my sister-in-law to say that an MRI they took revealed an "unusually large" tumor on the base of his brain. The panic that my sister-in-law felt when discovering that the ambulance outside the rink was for her son then must have turned to an unthinkable horror.

The doctors ordered emergency surgery immediately to remove the tumor.

After six hours of surgery, the weary doctors came out of the ER happy to have removed what appeared to be a benign tumor the size of an adult fist, resting ever so close to the brain stem. Thank God! The doctors warned Joey's parents that he could very likely need therapy for speech and for the use of his hands and legs. However, the day after surgery, Joey was talking OK and despite being in horrible pain, he got out of bed and was able to use his arms and legs. Thank God!

Now, I'm not a religious man, but I think this is the closest I've ever been to a miracle. I'm mostly a believer in good luck and bad luck and you'll rarely catch me praying. But, there I was asking everyone I know for their prayers, in any shape or form, to any God. This time it's hard for me to just chalk it up to being lucky. How often does a need for an MRI occur in a 13 year old boy? Not too often. He had to fall and he had to fall hard. A bruised knee or elbow wouldn't be good enough. He had to fall at a certain angle and with enough velocity to break something. He had to be admitted to a hospital. If he didn't, the tumor would grow so large that it would cut off Joey's oxygen.

Still, so many others don't find the same fate. So many others receive a much more grim prognosis. Kids. Babies. Brain tumors that are inoperable; cancerous and spreading. For this, I can't dismiss my belief in bad luck. I do think fate or a higher power came into play that afternoon at the ice skating rink, but I also think he was lucky to be spared. For this I'll compromise my beliefs and call it divine fortune and pray for Joey's full recovery while we count our blessings this holiday season.

D-Tour: Something Other Than Diabetes

2006-12-12T07:01:00.000-08:00

Every so often, I'd like to take a temporary diversion off the beaten path of diabetes. A slight break from pump talk, highs, lows, doctor visits, etc. It's likely that it will often be music-related. Here is the first installment of D-Tour.

Rodrigo y Gabriela is a young Mexican guitar duo who first met in a heavy metal band. Now, they've gone away from the electric guitars and focused more on their flamenco roots. They're also huge in Ireland of all places. Go figure. In this live performance, they cover Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven. This song has been covered like a zillion times through the years, but trust me, this is not your 16-year-old brother clumsily eking out the first five bars of Stairway to Heaven on the banged up guitar your mom bought at a garage sale. It's on another level. Gabriela uses every bit of the guitar with rapid rhythms and percussion beats. Rodrigo's guitar work is scary good. This song is on their latest self-titled release. OK, enough buildup. Enjoy.

Let 'em Laugh, Garden State

2006-12-08T09:48:00.000-08:00

You know, New Jersey takes its fair share of hits. Hollywood has always enjoyed a cheap giggle at New Jersey's expense.

Chin up, New Jersey. Let all of those out-of-state travelers think you're just another exit on the New Jersey Turnpike. Let 'em think there's an irony in your "Garden State" moniker. Let 'em point in disgust at your smoke-billowing refineries and swampy Meadowlands. Just keep moving. Beautiful and quaint historic towns dotted along the Delaware river will be our little secret. Miles and miles of beaches and boardwalks. Atlantic City. Gorgeous farmlands. Some of the most brilliant minds in the world studying at Princeton University. Let 'em laugh.

OK, sure, some of the state is a little smelly. Yes, there is still a big hair epidemic in several northern counties. And sure, a couple of our cities are deemed the most dangerous to live in the nation. BUT ... my native state has once again made me proud in its commitment to stem cell research. Sniffle, sniffle. Thank you, New Jersey. You're my hero. See attached story.

http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601103&sid=alKSE8.Qjn4I&refer=us

Do I Cry For This?

2006-12-06T07:13:00.000-08:00

when the phlebotomist called Charlie's name, he resisted by planting his leg firmly. Like a dog when it realizes he's going to the vet. Damn, he's strong. I carried him in and we sat in a different chair than usual. Not sure. Maybe a bit higher than the other. Less constricting maybe? Whatever it was, I think it confused Charlie.

"Do I cry for this?" he asked me.

I paused, not expecting such a question. "Uh, well, you don't have to," I said. "But it's OK if you do."

I turned Charlie's face away from the nurse's hands and put it against my chest. There was no horrific roar. There was no scream that could stop traffic. Just the slightest wimper when the needle burrowed under his skin.And that was it. A wimper. That was a first.

When we walked out of the office I had a smile from ear to ear, Charlie cracked a subtle "I survived" expression as he held his arm gingerly. Susanne greeted us with an incredulous look as she gestured "what happened?"

The three of us practically skipped across the hospital lobby to the gift shop where Charlie immediately selected a blue (of course) gel-filled, squishy frog that he named Bubbles.

I'm so proud of him. I spent the rest of the day very happy.

The visit with the endo also went fairly well. They're pleased with his growth rate and they like that we've had fewer lows than in the past. He runs a bit on the higher side at times, but we're working on it.

Thank you all for your well wishes and words of encouragement. I very much appreciate it.

Dreading Tomorrow

2006-12-04T11:14:00.000-08:00

Dreading tomorrow. Charlie's first appointment since starting on the pump. Not sure if it will be me or Susanne who takes him into the room to have his blood drawn. We've taken turns in the past. Don't even know what's worse really. Either way it's absolutely horrible. Being the one holding him down with all your strength as he pleads, "No, Don't!!" and screams in an unfamiliar voice. A deep big boy voice that builds to a horrific roar.

Or being in the waiting room, powerless, absorbing the looks of sympathy from other moms and dads waiting their turn, as his cry stops time in the busy office for just a moment.

I've got nothing funny. Nothing witty. Just want it to be over with. I want it to be my arm on the table and not his. I want wings so I can scoop him up and fly far away from the hospital just before the needle meets his skin. I want to be driving home, promising him anything he wants. Anything!

C - A - T is CAT

2006-11-29T09:06:00.000-08:00

A few months ago I transferred from working in Manhattan to a location much closer to home. I went from commuting 2 hours each way to 40 minutes. Thank heavens for that! It's a wide open office layout with workspaces very close to one another. For the most part I keep to myself and no one really knows me here. I'll warm up eventually, but for now that's just fine.

I imagine my co-workers must be perplexed when hearing my phone conversations with my wife. Ours is a language so commonplace to us yet foreign to others.

This is a fairly common dialogue from my end of the phone.

Hey.

How high is he?

Dammit.

Did he ever come down from breakfast?

Shit.

Do you think it's because of the site change?

I thought the reservoir looked fine.

No.

Yeah.

Uggh! He's crying?

Tell him he can't have a snack until he comes down.

How long ago did you test him?

OK, talk to you later. Yeah, pork chops will be fine.

So what can my co-worker Candice be thinking? I imagine it's a little something like this:

Wow, this new guy is really handsome. I mean if you're into that sort of Brad Pitt meets George Clooney meets Ralph Fiennes meets James Bond type of thing.

Still, dazzling good looks aside, there's something odd going on at home with this guy. Not sure what it is. At first I thought his son was having a pot smoking problem. But he has a picture of his son on his desk. He can't be more than 4 years old. Not possible, right? Though I think I'm starting see what's going on here.

I think they recently moved. They had a "site change" as he calls it. Apparently they uprooted the family from some place near a "reservoir" and now the son is really angry. So angry that he has climbed up somewhere very high like the roof of the house or a water tower. I'm not exactly sure where. All I know is he's been up there since breakfast and refuses to come down. Meanwhile it seems the wife is "testing" him while he's up there. Just insane! I mean seriously, lady! Get a ladder and get your son before he gets hurt. Now's not the time for C - A - T is CAT!

Tuck in Your Tubing

2006-11-20T13:23:00.001-08:00

Charlie woke at 5 am yesterday, hobbled into our room and said his tummy hurt and he had ketones. He was 470 something. He threw up. We cursed the pump yet again before seeing that Charlie was right. He had large ketones. Doctors and pump educators chalked it up to a bad site. We're growing weary of bad sites. It's happening way too often.

I wish ketone wasn't in my 4 year old's vocabulary. As his treatment for diabetes changes, we're constantly learning new words that I wish we hadn't. Bolus should be the name of an evil alien emporer that Charlie draws. Basal (basil) should just be an herb. The Ketones should be a 50's doo-wop group.

I even catch myself as I too am changing with this new pump lifestyle.

"Charlie, tuck in your tubing."

I'm like a robot dad talking to my robot son.

"Charlie, tuck in your tubing. Didn't mom ask you three times to change into clean sprockets? And for heaven's sake, when was the last time you reconfigured your vision processing system module?"

Despite our daily struggles with this all-consuming disease, I am blessed and thankful for my beautiful family. We're pretty fortunate. Charlie can run like lightning, he can swing like a monkey. He can hear, he can see. He can laugh.

Man, can he laugh.

Not everyone is so lucky.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Sugar-Free Candy Land

2006-11-17T09:44:00.000-08:00

Something I dug up from a couple of years ago.

As my green, plastic gingerbread man stood stranded in Candy Land's Molasses Swamp for three whole turns, I noticed something troubling. The lurid temptation of sugar and candy was all around us in the games that my children played. Fisher Price's Sweet Streets lined the floors with pastel-colored candy shops and ice cream parlors. Strawberry Shortcake paraphernalia was not only everywhere, the artificial smell of chemical strawberries infiltrated the air.

It was upsetting to watch my 3-year-old son Charlie pretend to gobble up the gooey gumdrops along the Rainbow Trail. Charlie was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes when he was 1. There will be no gobbling of gumdrops for Charlie.

Why isn't there a game out there that my son and millions of his diabetic brethren can relate to? Isn't it long overdue? Perhaps Hasbro should get with the times and come out with Sugar-Free Candy Land?

Casinos also trouble me. What about when Charlie is older (7 or 8) and develops a severe gambling addiction? The slot machines will only serve as a constant reminder of treats that will spike his blood sugar. Cherries, plums, oranges - all filled with high levels of sugar. Why not have images of sauerkraut, barley and kippered herring? Imagine the joy when winning the jackpot on SOY BEAN - SOY BEAN - SOY BEAN!

It's bad enough that I have to toss a blanket over my daughter Maeve's head when she wants to eat a "real" cookie. In a distant corner of the house, she hides from Charlie like a ghost, her little head bobbing under the heavy blanket as she crunches in the darkness.

While the other kids get lollypops after visiting the doctor, we give Charlie a tongue depressor with cotton balls taped on the top. "Use your imagination," we tell him. "Mmmmm, grape!" I say, the cotton pulling on my tongue like a spider web as I give it a good lick.

His birthday parties come to an awkward and silent halt when a thwack of the pinata produces a downpour of chopped broccoli.

In the kitchen, I'm forced to stick an entire Hershey bar in my mouth as Charlie rounds the corner.

"Where's Maeve?" he asks.

"guh ree uh froe rer rumph," I tell him, the chocolate blocking the airway to my lungs.

"What's in your mouth?" he asks.

"Duna gish."

"What?"

"Duna gish."

"What?"

I finally swallow. "Tuna fish."

"Yucky," he says.

"Yeah, it's yucky. You wouldn't like it."

Halloween is not exactly a blast for a diabetic child. It's like winning a 10 minute supermarket shopping spree - overstuffing your cart with 200 pounds of ground beef, prepackaged cheese, detergent, etc. only to be told you get to bring home just one box of Kleenex.

At some point in his young years, I fear he will lose interest in Halloween altogether and view it as pointless. Maybe if I made his diabetes more known in the community, neighbors would offer him pretzels rather than smorgasbords of Starbursts and Skittles. Maybe next year we'll dress Charlie up as a 3 1/2-foot-tall sticky pancreas, holding a sign that says "out of order." I think it best to be subtle. I wouldn't want to embarrass him.

After Charlie's diagnosis, I said there was nothing funny about diabetes and vowed never to write about it. I also thought he would never get used to the daily routine of numerous finger pricks and insulin shots. He's just a little boy. Things change. Charlie's strength and bravery overwhelms me.

Pump: Should it Stay or Should it Go Now?

2006-11-14T08:24:00.000-08:00

If it stays, there will be trouble. And if it goes there will be double.

That's how we're feeling about the pump these days. We're at a crossroads. I know it's only been two months with the pump, but we're losing our patience. We're just not seeing the progress we had hoped to see. The wife is so fed up, she's even set a 6-week deadline. If it doesn't clean up its act, it's outta here.

We're still waiting to see the pump in action. Waiting to really see it do its thing. In the past two months, we've tinkered with our settings ad nauseam. It's just so damn frustrating that we still can't get it right. Sure, Charlie has decent blood sugars occassionally, but rarely for a full day from beginning to end. Very often there's at least one part of the day when he's too high or too low.

We want to see the pump keep his blood sugar level overnight, when food is not a factor. But we almost always find ourselves running in circles. "OK, tonight's the night," well say confidently, doing our best to stay positive. But it never fails. We almost always have to intervene in some way. The result often makes him too high or too low.

"Wake up, Charlie, you need some juice."

Or we just flatout lie, taking advantage of the foggy, dreamy state he's in.

"Charlie. Charlie! Here's the juice you asked for. C'mon Charlie, open your eyes."

We're not waking him up because he's low per se. But he's about 110 with still some active insulin working. So we feed our little lab rat just 2 ounces of apple juice because we don't want him too high, don't want him too low. Want him JUST right. Charlie falls back heavy on his pillow and is out.

Half an hour later he's 88. Fuck! More juice.

"Charlie! Charlie, wake up. Here's that juice you wanted."

He sits up, his eyes still closed. He moves his lips and reaches blindly like he's playing an imaginary saxophone until we manage to navigate the juicebox straw into his mouth.

My wife will get up again and test him at 1 am and again at 3 am. Somewhere in between that or after that (it's all a haze), we'll get up again to change his clothes because he's soaking wet with pee because of all the juice we force-fed him.

7 am comes and my wife looks like a beaten up heroin addict. I do the honors.

"What is he?" she asks weakly.

"Not bad. 119," I say proudly.

"Huh," Susanne says. "Was a pretty good night."

$14,830 !!!

2006-11-06T09:36:00.000-08:00

Wow! That is how much Team Charlie's Angels raised for juvenile diabetes research in this year's Walk to Cure Diabetes. Thank you all so much for your support in what was an incredibly successful fundraising campaign.

Scientists are closer than ever to finding a cure and many believe it could be reached in Charlie's lifetime. Your generous contributions have brought us one step closer to that momentous day. We are so grateful.

We have also received so many kind notes and words of support. We're fortunate to have such great friends. The response from our team's fundraising efforts has been overwhelming and heartwarming.

A special thanks to our family and friends who braved 40 mph wind gusts, c-c-c-c-cold conditions and the ever-present odor of farm animals as we walked the Cook College campus of Rutgers University. We looked splendid in our DIABETESAURUS - MAKE IT EXTINCT t-shirts.

Charlie enjoyed the day. He sloshed in a muddy field, scared the bejesus out of a group of horses and even got a chance to use his Jedi mind tricks on rival walkers. Sorry about that Madeline's Mission.

Me and the boy manning the Charlie's Angels table

Strolling for a cure

Shivering for a cure

'Ssup. Now ya see me ...

... and now yooz don't

Lady Maeve

The fam (after several attempts)

Ben

How you doin'?

Brooke and Charlie

Charlie with Brendan, Jade and mom

It's not a rollercoaster

2006-11-03T07:27:00.000-08:00

I have described diabetes as a rollercoaster for the last time. I had to stop myself from using the metaphor in describing this blog. It's not at all a rollercoaster. I happen to like rollercoasters. Rollercoasters are thrilling. Rollercoasters are also predictable. The ascent, the descent, the twists, the turns. You can see it before it happens. You can brace yourself. Nope. Diabetes is not at all like a rollercoaster.

Charlie's Angels – 2006 Walk to Cure Diabetes

2006-09-27T12:15:00.000-07:00

Dear friends and family,

We hope you have all had a great summer. As it will be our tradition every fall until a cure is found, we are again rallying the troops to raise funds for juvenile diabetes research on behalf of our son Charlie.

Charlie, age 4, was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was just 1. Charlie will never remember a time when he wasn't having his fingers pricked a minimum of 12 times a day to test his blood sugar and enduring four painful injections of insulin each day. We estimate that in his short four and a half years of life, he has had more than 12,000 finger pricks and about 3,500 needle injections. On the outside, Charlie has the appearance of a normal, healthy, mischievous 4-year-old boy, content in smashing cars, squishing bugs and embodying Luke Skywalker. But inside, his body is waging a war 24 hours a day, every single day. Diabetes is unpredictable, often defies logic and is incredibly hard to control. The insulin we give him is not a cure, it keeps him alive. He will be dependent on insulin for the rest of his life. We will do everything in our power to help Charlie avoid the heart and kidney disease, blindness, amputation and early death that is a reality for many with juvenile diabetes.

Without warning, Charlie can drop to the floor unconscious, suffering severe hypoglycemia. Unfortunately, this happened to him this past year while on line at the supermarket. If not for Susanne's quick action (injecting pure sugar into his blood stream) and the kindness of strangers, Charlie's health could have been in serious jeopardy. Managing his disease is a tremendous challenge and he must adhere to a very strict diet. Every cracker must be counted, every bite of banana weighed, every ounce of milk calculated. This means ignoring the ice cream man when he rings his bell, trading in his Halloween bounty for a toy and asking our daughter to sneak her chocolaty treats away to another room and chew discreetly, so that Charlie doesn't see her. With flashlight in hand, we even prick Charlie's calloused fingertips in the middle of the night while he sleeps to make sure that his blood sugar is not dangerously high or low. It is an awful, awful disease. We need a cure.

To work toward this end, our team, Charlie's Angels, will participate in the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation's (JDRF) Walk to Cure Diabetes on Sunday, October 29 at Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey.

We know there are a lot of worthy causes out there. God only knows a lot of people need a lot of help in this world, but if you're inspired to help Charlie and millions of others like him beat this thing, you can go to http://walk.jdrf.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=extranet.personalpage&confirmid=86400966 and donate what you can. No amount is too small and every cent is appreciated more than you know. We're grateful for any donation you should choose to make, and if you can't make a donation because times are tough, well, that's fine too. We appreciate any support you can offer.

Thank you for helping our family team reach our goal of raising $10,000 this year. We are truly grateful for your support in our efforts to wipe diabetes out of existence.

Regards,

Carey and Susanne