All the Days of Her Life by Lurlene McDaniel Page A

shoulder the whole thing.”
    “You used to give me some of my shots. When I was younger … I remember.”
    “And I hated it. I couldn’t wait until you took over the whole business and I didn’t have to deal with it. Your father and I used to fight about it.”
    “You did?”
    “He’d fuss at me for shirking my duty and I’d fire back that he completely ignored his role in your management. His idea of dealing with it was to dictate orders that I was supposed to follow like an obedient soldier.”
    “He never did any of the day-to-day stuff,” Lacey admitted, remembering how their battles often revolved around words like “responsibility” and “lack of caring.” She recalled her denial to Dr. Rosenberg that she felt responsible for her parents’ divorce. “Is that why you divorced? Was it because of me?”
    Her mother shook her head. “No. You and your diabetes often became the battleground, but our problems went far deeper than that.”
    Lacey wasn’t convinced. It seemed as if they’d argued for years about one thing or another; she was sorry that her diabetes had been one more area of constant friction. “But you’re divorced now,” she said. “And I’m sixteen and I still have to be in charge of my diabetes.”
    Lacey watched a cascade of emotions cross her mother’s face. “That’s what Dr. Rosenberg said too.”
    “He’s on my side?” Lacey was surprised. She had secretly wondered if the doctors would put herfirmly under her mother’s thumb like a naughty child.
    “He warned me—us, your father too—that it was still
your
diabetes and that just because you’d blown it didn’t make you any less responsible for it.”
    Lacey didn’t know what to say. She half wanted, half loathed getting the total responsibility back.
    “Dr. Rosenberg said there’s a world of difference between inquiring and nagging. So I won’t nag you about testing or appointments,” her mother said. “I
will
ask you how you’re feeling and what Uncle Nelson said during your checkups.”
    “That sounds fair.”
    “And I’ll do a better job with dinnertime. I know I’ve been focused on the divorce and my job and haven’t put a good dinner on the table every night for us.”
    “I can cook,” Lacey declared. “I know how—but it would be nice to have you eat with me.”
    “The new Diabetes Research Institute will have special cooking classes once it opens. Maybe we could take a class together,” her mother offered.
    Lacey wasn’t enamored of the idea, but she told her mother it would be okay.
    A nurse came into the room to remind Lacey of her appointment with Dr. Rosenberg. “I’m glad we talked,” her mother said as Lacey was ready to start down the hall to Dr. Rosenberg’s office.
    Lacey admitted that she was glad too. It was the first time for as long as she could remember that she and her mother had actually talked without recriminationsor lectures. “Will you see Dr. Rosenberg again?”
    “Yes. He’s helping me immensely. I know your father’s seeing him too.”
    “Then it’s a family affair,” Lacey observed. “Sort of ironic, don’t you think? Now that we’re not a family anymore.”
    As the nurse walked her down the hall, Lacey knew that if Dr. Rosenberg could bring about change in her mother, then perhaps it was time that she came clean with him. If she did, however, would he recommend that her diabetes management be taken away from her? She decided it was a chance she’d have to take if she was ever going to get out of the hospital and back into a normal life.
    With heart pounding, she went inside his office.

Sixteen

    L ACEY TOLD D R . Rosenberg about the talk with her mother.
    “You sound pleased,” he said, steepling his fingers together and peering at her through them.
    “I guess I am. I mean, all we usually do is yell at each other. Or, rather, she yells and I tune her out.”
    “It’s not an uncommon pattern for parents and teenagers.”
    “So if you’re making