Last month it happened again. The call.
"Hey K. What's up?"
"Hey, Susan. L is at the clinic with G right now. Guess what his blood sugar is."
Immediately putting my hand on my forehead I say, "I don't want to."
"Just guess," he prods.
"You're going to make me cry. I don't want to."
"Just do it!"
"Fine, 101," I say bracing for the real number.
"Over 400."
"Crap," is all I can think to say. (I may have used another word.)
K asks me if there could be any other reason for a 400 blood sugar. I can't think of any other possible reason, but I ask him what his son's symptoms were that prompted them to take him in. Frequent urination and constant drinking. Crap. Crap. Crap.
Another call an hour later confirms my fear. His little guy has type 1. I promise to visit them at the hospital the next day.
As I lay in bed that night, my mind kept going back to little G and his family. A year ago this month it was our friends' daughter, "A's", diagnosis that shook me. Memories of Chase's diagnosis day came flooding back both times, yet, and each time I couldn't help but think, "I don't know what they are going through."
In a way, I had a slight advantage to G and A's families. My dad was diagnosed the year I was born. I grew up watching him give himself daily injections of insulin. Sometimes I even "helped" him give himself shots. I knew what insulin smelled like (it's hard to describe if you've never smelled it before). I was raised by a diabetic. I was familiar with the routine.
I consider us lucky in other ways, too. At the time of his diagnosis, Chase was our one and only child. I worked part time and was able to leave work for over a month to learn all I could about diabetes. My day care provider was ready and willing to take him back into her care when I was ready to go back to work. Yes, it really sucked at the time that he was only 2 years old but we were were blessed. He hasn't remembered life any other way.
After having been in this battle for nearly 6 years, it's hard to know what to say when someone else's child is diagnosed (other than "Crap!'). I can't assume to fully know what they are going through. I told A's family that, "It gets easier." The problem with that advice is that I'm not sure I believe it myself. Certain things get easier, but diabetes is always there. Day after day. Year after year. All I was able to muster to G's dad was "Crap." Not exactly the comforting words he wanted to hear, I'm sure.
What I remember from diagnosis day was mourning for Chase's childhood. Birthday parties, trick or treating, holidays, school, sports, traveling - all would be affected by him having diabetes. Oh, how I cried. In reality, though, we've been too stubborn to let it have the staring role in his life. We work around it and he is able to be a happy, healthy, and despite his mother, a normal kid.
I hope to never receive another call, but if I should, my advice is this: Your family story may have taken an unexpected turn, but it is a story still being written. Diabetes will take the role you give it. Don't give it a staring role. Your child will inspire, amaze, and make you proud every day from here on out. It's not the story you would have written, but it's better - it now has a super hero in it.
"Hey K. What's up?"
"Hey, Susan. L is at the clinic with G right now. Guess what his blood sugar is."
Immediately putting my hand on my forehead I say, "I don't want to."
"Just guess," he prods.
"You're going to make me cry. I don't want to."
"Just do it!"
"Fine, 101," I say bracing for the real number.
"Over 400."
"Crap," is all I can think to say. (I may have used another word.)
K asks me if there could be any other reason for a 400 blood sugar. I can't think of any other possible reason, but I ask him what his son's symptoms were that prompted them to take him in. Frequent urination and constant drinking. Crap. Crap. Crap.
Another call an hour later confirms my fear. His little guy has type 1. I promise to visit them at the hospital the next day.
As I lay in bed that night, my mind kept going back to little G and his family. A year ago this month it was our friends' daughter, "A's", diagnosis that shook me. Memories of Chase's diagnosis day came flooding back both times, yet, and each time I couldn't help but think, "I don't know what they are going through."
In a way, I had a slight advantage to G and A's families. My dad was diagnosed the year I was born. I grew up watching him give himself daily injections of insulin. Sometimes I even "helped" him give himself shots. I knew what insulin smelled like (it's hard to describe if you've never smelled it before). I was raised by a diabetic. I was familiar with the routine.
I consider us lucky in other ways, too. At the time of his diagnosis, Chase was our one and only child. I worked part time and was able to leave work for over a month to learn all I could about diabetes. My day care provider was ready and willing to take him back into her care when I was ready to go back to work. Yes, it really sucked at the time that he was only 2 years old but we were were blessed. He hasn't remembered life any other way.
After having been in this battle for nearly 6 years, it's hard to know what to say when someone else's child is diagnosed (other than "Crap!'). I can't assume to fully know what they are going through. I told A's family that, "It gets easier." The problem with that advice is that I'm not sure I believe it myself. Certain things get easier, but diabetes is always there. Day after day. Year after year. All I was able to muster to G's dad was "Crap." Not exactly the comforting words he wanted to hear, I'm sure.
What I remember from diagnosis day was mourning for Chase's childhood. Birthday parties, trick or treating, holidays, school, sports, traveling - all would be affected by him having diabetes. Oh, how I cried. In reality, though, we've been too stubborn to let it have the staring role in his life. We work around it and he is able to be a happy, healthy, and despite his mother, a normal kid.
I hope to never receive another call, but if I should, my advice is this: Your family story may have taken an unexpected turn, but it is a story still being written. Diabetes will take the role you give it. Don't give it a staring role. Your child will inspire, amaze, and make you proud every day from here on out. It's not the story you would have written, but it's better - it now has a super hero in it.
4 comments:
A's mom here. I remember 10/20/10 like it was yesterday and we're already approaching the 365th day. Yes, I still count the days.
Because I was not raised by a diabetic and because you were at the hospital with us when A was diagnosed, I did not mourn A's childhood. I didn't know enough to know that I might want to.
I was sad, angry, scared, & overwhelmed. But here you were on the 5th floor. The Incredibles.
LEAH - super hero because she's funny & she wears cute clothes
CHASE - super hero because he is normal (despite his mother!) and amazing. A natural teacher.
YOU - super hero because watching you & your family I knew it was possible to manage...you gave me confidence.
GARY - super hero because you developed spreadsheets, processes and willingly shared your "wheel" so we didn't have to invent one.
YOUR FAMILY - super heros because you work together to be a family given what this and what will come. A real life resource 24/7.
I needed your company to go visit K, L & G last month. I could do it on my own now if I had to but if I could choose, I'd still want you by my side.
Thank you!
I've been thinking about A's anniversary lately. She's come a long way. I'm so proud of her. You guys have done an amazing job as a family coming together to take it on. It may sound funny/strange/wierd, but celebrate the anniversary. You all deserve it! Whip YOUR capes out and go have a good time!
I am in tears reading this... I know I have talked about it once before but I, too, feel like you are (and you, too, Petrea!) super heroes. I felt so protected by you both that day, protected and lifted up by the support and the looks in your eyes. You understood. You felt pain, too. You were there to show me that it was going to be okay.
I'll never forget it! I'm so glad to have both of you in our corner.
One feeling that I had when we were newly diagnosed was feeling so alone. Even though we had awesome support from family and friends, we really were in it on our own. Outside the clinic, it was nearly impossible to find someone who knew anything about type 1. I hope you two never feel alone. We will always be here for you. I am feeling a little guilty that we got G into Legos, though...
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