Stop the tears

Today started out weird when I went to my diabetic's classroom to find her in neon yellow and pink leopard print tights, and a neon colored shirt. Normally she successfully does her best to look cute, so I couldn't hide my shock:

"What the heck are you wearing?"
"I lost a bet."

She wouldn't elaborate then, and she told me she'd spill the beans at lunch. At lunch, she told the full story, "It was with my cousin. We played a game on the trampoline where we had to punch each other and whoever lost had to either pay $250 or dress like this for a day. I lost, I puked first." I asked if any parents were present for this game, she said her step-dad was. Now, this girl tends to stretch the truth (she also said she had a fever of 105 yesterday), but this was just very bizarre to me. Even if the entire trampoline story was fiction, she certainly lost a bet of something to be wearing such clothes.

When it came time to calculate her insulin, I found the doctor's orders that are normally kept in her binder missing. I asked if they might be in her classroom, and she suggested she call grandma because they were probably at her house. As it turned out, they were in her backpack, and I expressed my disappointment that the papers weren't all together. I also told her I wanted her to give her own insulin that day, but as a compromise, I'd give the shot the next two days. As always, she put up a fight, but I didn't want to back down to an eight year old. She attempted to stick herself, got scared (though she's been able to stick herself for at least two years), and pulled back.

In all the time I've spent with her, I'd never seen her cry until today. She wouldn't look at me, and wouldn't answer my questions about what was wrong. Finally, I asked if it was just because she was tired of sticking herself with needles every day and just didn't want to hurt herself with the insulin needle. I got a very tearful nod in response, but I think something clicked then, and she seemed to get that I am aware of how much it must suck to be a diabetic at any age, much less eight.

We got through the ordeal eventually, with a promise on my end that I'd bring her a thing of blowing bubbles tomorrow, but holy crap. I really don't like to see kids cry, sometimes because I just feel really terrible for the kid and wish I could take their pain away, and sometimes because I think they're being overly dramatic and just don't like the sound of sobbing. But seeing this girl cry, this girl who generally acts rough and tough and twice her actual age, was miserable. And I realize there's nothing I can do for her other than try to help her manage the burden of Type I Diabetes she was born with, but...ugh. I feel so bad for this girl.

In better news, I got the nursing coordinator on my side about my lice policy change. One down, eight to go in convincing my fellow nurses of the change (including one that counts as one hundred)...more on that later, when I'm not super bummed about seeing my little diabetic so super bummed.

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