My two-year-old son just loves my blood glucose meter. When he sees it lying around (which is, by the way, always), he picks it up and hands it to me — with the request “Me want to see the numbers!”
So when I grab my meter to test , his eyes light up and he insists on being part of the action. I apply the blood, and he tells me the number. (Then I verify it to make sure he’s correct. He is – after all – two, and is prone to making mistakes).
It goes a little something like this: (doing it with a camera in my hand makes it a bit trickier)…
I can’t help myself. My mind can’t escape what I read in Christina’s blog post a few hours ago.
A third child diagnosed, none of the parents showing any evidence of carrying diabetes. I’m just sitting here, shaking my head, and wondering why – why do some families get hit once, twice, or thrice, while others don’t get hit at all? I want to tell Christina and her family how I’ve shared in her fears, and how I now share in her tears. I want them to know how – as a parent – their new reality brings about an emotion deep inside my chest that I just can’t put into words. I know diabetes is something that’s manageable, but it’s something that nobody wants to manage. Especially more than once.
But I’m not here to capitalize on her family’s streak of luck in order to earn page views on my own blog. That would be heartless and wrong.
About a month ago, I put out a call to other D-parents who may also confess to living vicariously though their non-D kids. A year ago, I confessed how scared I was of passing down the diabetes gene to my kids (I know … there is no diabetes gene … that we know of).
What’s a parent to do? Here’s another call out to D-parents to ask for your suggestions.
I could live with the understanding that my kids are more “at risk” (God, how I hate those words) for diabetes than their friends. I could hope and wish that they don’t get it, but that would be like building an ornate sandcastle ahead of a giant wave — a pointless waste of effort.
I could bury my head in the sand, ashamed that I worry about a mere possibility, while so many other parents handle the reality of having kids with diabetes — and they do it with an abundance of grace and elegance and patience. I could be a hypocrite, preaching that “it’s only diabetes and it’s not that bad…”, while quietly whispering to myself …as long as it doesn’t happen to my own kids.
I feel ashamed and embarrassed and hypocritical by writing those thoughts I just enunciated in the last paragraph.
It was already a very emotional Sunday, and I didn’t know if I could handle any more. But my son was exhibiting some of the classic symptoms, and I knew I couldn’t forgive myself if I dismissed them. So while he was sleeping, I checked:
Related post: Scared
This post is about a recurring fear that goes through my mind. It is something that I think of often, but may not be entirely justified. If you, or someone you know, is actually living the part of the person I fear becoming, please don’t let this post scare or discourage you. You are incredible, and your dedication to your children is inspirational. I may need to lean on you for support someday.
* * *
“Daddy! Daddy!” came the call from my 5 1/2 year-old-son’s room (we’ll call him “Jay”) last night, at 1:30 in the morning. “I’m thirsty, can you get me a drink of water?”
He chugged his cup of water, and went back to sleep. Meanwhile, I lied awake in bed for an hour, worrying about just why he was so thirsty.