Month: September 2009

As a parent of a child with Type 1 diabetes I find that I am constantly learning how to adapt his surroundings that he may remain as safe as possible. When my son goes low (his sugar drops below 80) his body reacts and makes him shake, or slur his words or cry or whine or sometimes a combination of any of the aforementioned side effects. Because I am aware that any time my son’s sugar goes low the only solution to the problem is sugar, I have sugar readily available at all times.

Our choice of sugar is Starburst. There are Starburst in my ashtray in my truck. There are Starburst in the bottom of my pocketbook. There are Starburst in all bathrooms. There are Starburst in the office in our home. There are Starburst tossed on random pieces of furniture throughout our home. I think you get the point. Starburst. Starburst. Starburst. In our home, truck, and personal effects you are a small stones throw from a Starburst.

Not so in school.

I learned that today on my son’s first day of first grade. Thankfully we did not have to learn the hard way (like most things with diabetes). I learned it just by peering through the window looking out to the playground to recess. What I saw terrified me. There were 5 lunch aides and about 120 children. That’s quite a ratio if you ask me.

Yes, I had prepared the lunch aide assigned to his table what a low looks like and how to help my son raise his blood sugar by giving him candy. Yes, she was dutifully carrying my son’s special lunch bag full of candy and glucose to help him if his sugar were to drop. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Did I know to teach the other aides about consequences of lows? No. Did I know to tell the other aides his symptoms of lows? No. Did I even know that I had to introduce my son to the other aides? No.

Was my son safe out there? No.

Now I know. I am always learning. I have prepared a short (I promise) lesson on lows and Type 1 diabetes for all the lunch aides so that my son can be safe even when he is running around the playground without a care in the world.

They will learn that if this cute little boy missing 4  teeth comes to their side crying, that consoling him will not cut it. They will learn that when the blonde boy comes running towards tears running down his cheek, that they cannot just wipe the tears away. They will learn that when they see the sweet boy lying in the grass looking at the clouds, that he may not be lying down by choice. He may not be able to get up. I will teach and they will learn.

Type 1 diabetes is a cycle of always learning. For me. For my son. For our friends. For our family. For everyone.

As a parent of a child with Type 1 diabetes I am regularly left wondering when I should tell new people about my son’s diabetes. It may seem like a non issue, but I learned this summer that it obviously is an issue to me.

Not my son’s diabetes, of course, that is not an issue for me (or him) at all. When he received his first shipment of insulin from the UPS driver, my then 4 year old said to him, “That’s for me. I have type 1 diabetes. I need this insulin because my pancreas doesn’t make it anymore.” I wish I had a camera to savor the expression on the UPS driver’s face. It was an interesting combination of confusion, awe and discomfort.

I am not really talking about who to tell, why to tell, but more specifically when to tell. Obviously for safety purposes I immediately tell any parent of any child my son might be playing with at that time. At the pool my son played with many different kids, so I would make a point to tell the moms that if my son started acting ‘funny’ that someone should come and get me. I was never far from my son, ever, but it still gave a a tiny sense of peace knowing if their child came to them to tell them my son was acting funny they would know to come to me.

No, I am talking about the first time we meet someone. Especially someone that I think I am going to know for a while. Say a mom in my son’s class. Whether I plan on becoming friends with the person is not an issue, but if we are going to see each other around school, I wonder when I should tell them.

The main reason I am hesitant to tell new people about my son’s diabetes is the questions and comments. I have to be in the right mind to handle all that comes with me telling that my son has Type 1 diabetes. I have to be ready to hear about the grandfather that lost his leg from diabetes, or the old man across the street that is blind from diabetes (always Type 2 I might add).

I also have to be ready to hear how awful it must be that he can’t ever have cake on his birthday (even though that is soooo far from the truth), or the question of whether he got diabetes because he drank too much juice as a baby (never had it once).

I can usually handle about 3 0r 4 of these stories and untruths before I unfold the soapbox that I carry around in my bag. I have a short little speech, about 4 minutes, that quickly explains Type 1 diabetes. I also explain how it is so very different from Type 2. I usually conclude with a quick lesson on carb counting.

This is why I always wonder when to tell. I have to be ready to tell, because I have to be willing to give the speech. I cannot think of one time when I told about  my son’s diabetes that I did not have to give the speech. And the speech usually takes place 2 or 3 times in a row because I have to go back to the beginning as new people meander over to my area. Believe me, I have been there and done that as they say. I told the speech at the Holiday Bizarre, Field Day, class parties and birthday parties just this past school year alone.

Don’t get me wrong, I love giving the speech. And it’s a pretty darn good one at that. People have applauded at the end of it. I love educating people about Type 1 diabetes. I just know the speech is going to come out rather quickly after telling about my son’s diabetes, so that is why I have to decide when to tell.

So when you see me sitting alone with my kids at the pool, it is not because we don’t like others to sit with us, we do. It’s just that I try to keep my soapbox in the bottom of my pool bag under the sunscreen. I decide when to tell people about my son’s diabetes based on whether I want that soapbox out or not. It eventually comes out, of course, but I have learned that there is no rush.