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A year ago today, my 3 year old little girl was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. In some ways this has been the longest year of my life and, in others, it seems very strange that we have been living with this for a year already. In some ways I feel like a seasoned pro and in other ways I feel that there is so incredibly much more to learn and know.

The diagnosis came as a complete surprise to me, even after looking up her symptoms online. Type 1 diabetes was something that fit the symptoms but was so far out of the realm of possibility in my mind. But there it was, in capital letters in the doctor’s office that night. Her blood sugar was high enough that the meter they used only read “High”. I remember going to the bathroom to change her diaper because she had soaked it in the half hour that she had it on and returning to the room to have the doctor give us directions to Children’s Hospital and explain that we would be there for 3 days to stabilize her and learn how to care for her with diabetes. I didn’t fall apart. I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel like crying. I think I went into “crisis mode” which, for me, generally entails sucking it up, organizing the crap out of something, and just plain taking care of business. Throughout the hospital stay I was intent on soaking up all of the information they were giving us, reassuring my little girl, and being strong for my husband. It was a long three days. But I had no idea that this was just the beginning. Intellectually, I understood that diabetes is an unpredictable disease in children her age. I understood that we were to aim for control, not perfection. I was (sort of) prepared to test her, give shots, and count carbs. I had no idea how utterly exhausting this disease is for a parent.

I didn’t realize that there would be more nights than not that I would need to wake myself out of a sound sleep to go test her and make sure that her blood sugar was stable. I had no idea the amount of worry that would accompany me everywhere we go and with everything we do. I had no idea. Obviously, I was a parent who took a while to get around to the grieving part. And it has taken a while to get through the grief. In some ways I am not yet done grieving but I am happy to report that I have finally ended the massive pity party that had been going on over here in my head. That’s not to say that there won’t be days when I’ll cry. A lot. Maybe even a few of them in a row. But it feels for now like I have turned a corner. I still resent that I have a “diabetes corner” on my kitchen counter with a sharps container, lancets, alcohol pads, syringes, needle clipper, and our logs. All attractively contained, of course, but a diabetes corner nonetheless. And I resent that I know what insulin smells like. Weird thing to resent, I know, but there you have it. More intensely, I resent that my beautiful 3 year old daughter has to deal with all of the things that Type 1 diabetics have to deal with. I know that it will shape her in a positive way. I know that she will be a stronger person because of it. That still doesn’t make it okay just yet.

During this year I have learned to count, calculate, guesstimate, wing it, to trust someone else to care for her diabetes for a short while (her preschool) and, as much as I can, to let our daughter continue to be a child first and a diabetic second. We have tried a continuous glucose monitor for a week (she hated it) and decided against putting her on an insulin pump. The glucose monitor-hating had a lot to do with that decision. And I have lost a lot of sleep. Some of that due to middle-of-the-night blood sugar testing but some also due to staying up too late and getting up too early to do all the things I want/need to do by myself that make my world okay. The things that make living with diabetes more bearable for me. Things like sewing for my family and my shop , exercising, reading, journaling. Things that take care of me and help me to keep my head on straight. Things that make me something other than Diabetes Mommy. Because, while that is one of my roles, it can’t be my only one. Just like “person with diabetes” will be one of the aspects of my daughter’s identity. But it won’t be the only one. She is funny and sweet. Kind and cantankerous. Energetic, rebellious, smart and lovely, among many, many other things.