Thirteen years of this shit.
My boy was 4 when diabetes came into our home and invaded our lives, hearts, and heads. We counted carbs, dosed insulin, cried, screamed, broke down, counted more carbs, made pin cushions out of arms and legs and belly and moved on.
We’ve been moving on for 13 years. We moved past crappy teachers to teachers that just got it. We’ve moved past strangers that said really dumb things, to others that hugged us from a distance. We’ve moved past family friends that told us insulin would kill him, to friends that became family. We’ve moved past bullies to the protectors. We’ve moved past 10 shots a day to changing a pump every 3 days. We’ve moved past over 15 blood sugar checks a day to changing a CGM every 10 days. We’ve moved past tears, confusion, hurt, and anger to wherever we are now.
We move past it all to keep moving forward. We’ve moved past riding bikes to getting a license. We’ve moved past being the passenger to being the driver. We’ve moved past counting on everyone to being the one to be counted on. We’ve moved past hanging out to dating. We’ve moved past terror to we got this. We’ve moved past waiting to we are not waiting anymore.
4,745 days of being proud. 4,745 days of wishing it were me. Here I stay. There is no moving past that.
Thirteen years of this shit. 4,745 days of moving past it.