They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but looking at this picture, I could tell you thousands.
These lancets and test strips are from our sharps container at home—all from glucose checks—and this isn’t even half of what we’ve used over the last few months.
To me, these are:
- Hundreds of pokes on the sweetest baby toes you’ve ever seen.
- Scared moments when his sugar dropped too low.
- Late nights and early mornings, woken by his crying.
- CGM calibrations, testing how new foods affected his sugar.
- Moments of panic when he was throwing up, and we didn’t know how long we had before he’d become hypo—when we were checking every 30 minutes or less, all while rushing through Houston traffic to the Texas Medical Center.
But mostly—thankfully—these were our reassurance that he was okay.
This is what our lives have revolved around for the last nine months.
Checking for “Sugar Bugs”
Somewhere along the way, we started calling it “checking for Sugar Bugs.”
No idea why—one of us said it, and it stuck.
“How many Sugar Bugs are we going to find? Let’s catch lots and lots of them! Yay! We found 92!”
Seems a little silly, but we’re trying to make it fun, to make it positive.
He doesn’t cry anymore when the lancet pierces his skin.
He doesn’t wake up when we poke him at night.
His big toes are so callused now that sometimes, getting a single drop of blood is a challenge.
I remember when we first started this journey—his tiny toes red with bruises, worn from too many pokes.
A Cure Fast & A Mother’s Hope
Now, here we are—just days away from the start of our Cure Fast at Texas Children’s.
I am so anxious.
We’ve slowly reduced his Diazoxide intake from 9.54mg/kg to 8.18mg/kg.
So far, he’s doing really well. A few numbers near 70, but for the most part, he’s hanging around 120.
I pray that’s a good sign.
I’m scared to be disappointed because no matter how many times I tell myself “Don’t get your hopes up”—they’re up.
After all, I’m a mom with HI Hopes.
It’s who I am.
I want this so badly for him.
For us.
The next two weeks will be a rollercoaster of emotions, but I want to know.
It’s the not knowing that makes me feel crazy.
If he has to live with HI longer—or even for the rest of his life—we’re going to manage.
I know that.
But I pray he doesn’t have to.
Dreaming of a Life Without HI
One day, I hope that when I look at that pile of lancets and test strips, the words that come to mind are in past tense.
That they become things we used to have to do.
That they turn into distant memories, replaced by new ones in a life free of Hyperinsulinism.
How sweet that life could be.
I don’t know if that’s what’s in store for us.
But I’m holding that dream close to my heart—and never letting go.
We have HI hopes 