Hello, all of you battle-weary parents of Type 1 kids.
I was diagnosed as a Type 1 at age 13 in 1977, and I’m still here to ■■■■■ about it!
Actually, I’m doing quite well after all this time, despite the teenage years of ignoring my diabetes the best I could. When you only had urine testing (at first) and beef/pork insulin shots available to you, you didn’t have much faith in the future. My attitude changed in my mid twenties when I finally realized how much better I felt when I paid attention to my body.
Now I wear an Omnipod and a Dexcom, and my A1C averages 5.9. Still working on getting it even better. The work does not stop.
It was only after the deaths of my parents within the last 6 years that I fully realized what they went through when I was diagnosed. They would never admit it to me when they were alive. I asked my sisters what they remembered about that time; specifically, how Mom and Dad handled my diagnosis and subsequent hospitalization for a week (that’s what was done back then).
They actually didn’t remember a lot, but they did recall that my dad blamed himself for some reason (which didn’t make any sense because my case wasn’t hereditary), and wondered why I was the one that had gotten diabetes instead of himself. This breaks my heart.
It is a hard thing to see your child suffer, with no ability to take away that which is causing their pain.
But I am here as living proof to tell you this: I believe that because of this chronic disease, I have created a life of my own choosing. I live it the way I wish to live it, doing work that I enjoy, making a life for myself based on my own goals and not others’ expectations. I see BS for what it is and have little time to put up with it.
It’s sometimes hard to see the big picture when diabetes care can give you tunnel vision–especially on bad glucose days–but doing so will be the best gift you can give your diabetic child.
Here’s to another day!