Running on Insulin

Chapter 19

Jenna called us in for dinner just before six.

"Test and insulin, missy," she said to Samantha.

I watched her test. She was still shaking when she tested outside of the times her dad would let her, but she did it without hesitating as much.

"104," she said.

"Is that good?"

"It's a bit high. Are you using bottled dressing?" She asked Jenna."

"Yep. Want to see it?"

"Yes please," she said. "And do you use pre-made garlic bread?"

"I do. I'll grab you the wrapper."

Jenna got the package for the bread, the dressing bottle, the tin for the sauce, and the package for the pasta.

I watched Samantha's fingers move as she calculated carbs and then her insulin dose.

"What dose do you need?" 

She told me what she should be taking.

"Okay. Let's see that," I said.

She put a pen needle on her insulin pen and turned the dial. I looked at the number. It was a good number of units below what she'd said. She stared at the pen, dialed it back, and tested that the needle would administer cleanly, then turned the dial to the first number. She stared at it with trembling hands. I put my hand on her shoulder.

"You can do it, Sam," I said.

She took a deep breath and turned the dial to the dose she told me.

"Good job, kiddo," I said. She smiled, then gave herself her shot.

"Awesome job," I said, helping her clean up her kit and tossing her test strip in the garbage and the re-capped pen needle in a sharps container Jenna had gotten and put on the counter.

Jenna started getting everything to the table and served the food.

Samantha took two pieces of garlic bread, a good helping of salad, and a small, but appropriate, amount of pasta.

"So," I said to Samantha as we ate.  "School. With everything that's gone on, Jenna and I completely blanked that you should be in school. So you have a choice. Either you can go back to your old school, wherever that is. I suspect if you ran here from your dad's place, you live fairly close by. So I suspect your school isn't too far. Unless you go to some elite private school."

Samantha choked when I said that.

"Uh no. My dad wouldn't send me to private school. He wouldn't waste the money." She said.

"Okay. So you go to public school. So, you can either go to our local school which is a couple of blocks away, or you can go back to your old school. The choice is entirely yours. Either way, we'll drive you and pick you up. And, since you have a phone now, we can text you and let you know if we have to change who is picking you up."

"Do I have to decide right this second?" She asked.

"No. Not right away. But you should go back to school on Monday. We'll let you take tomorrow off, too," I said.

Just then, my cell phone rang.  I frowned. Who'd be calling now?  The caller ID was blocked. 

"Hello?" I asked. It was Samantha's social worker asking if she could move her visit up to tomorrow in light of Samantha's dad's escape and subsequent arrest.

"Sure, I said. We'll be home," I said. If already spoken to the social worker while we were at the hospital, so I knew she knew the address. She confirmed it with me and we set a time.