October 1, 2008 – October 1, 2009

I was talking to one of my BFFs yesterday and we both marveled out how weirdly slow AND fast the last year has passed.

The morning of October 1, 2008, I had no idea what a wild ride we were facing.

Because The Boy’s school had an in-service day, we’d headed out to Sam’s Club to stock up on supplies. The Boy’s idea of “stocking up” involves begging me to let him get a ginormous cup of soda – something we rarely drank at home. I rolled my eyes, but said yes and “don’t make any crazy mixes.” Which, of course, he did right away. I took one sip of the Coke/root beer/Dr. Pepper mash-up and handed the cup back to him to finish.

When we got home from the store, I picked up a frantic call from my pediatrician’s office – the lab results from his annual check-up the day before had come back and they wanted us to head in right away. Not really putting two-and-two together, we drove off to the doctor’s office, teasing each other and laughing that maybe there’d been high levels of “awesome” they needed to deal with.

The nurse did a finger prick and, after one glance at the glucometer in her hand, raced out of the room.

Our pediatrician, who’s an okay guy, but rather gruff and direct, walked in a few minutes later and shrugged. “Looks like we have a new diabetic in the family.”

If he’d hit me square in the face with a frying pan, I don’t think he could’ve shocked me any more.

Not only had we never had a diabetic “in the family,” The Boy hadn’t been sick a day in his life, hadn’t had any symptoms that we’d noted, and claimed to feel totally well. To have a diagnosis baldly stated like that, with no preamble? Well, it honestly rocked me. I sat there like a fish gulping for air.

The pediatrician told us to go to the children’s hospital in the city in order to re-do the tests he’d run.

The Boy and I raced through a sudden rainstorm to get in the car. I looked over at him and realized that I couldn’t tell whether the drops running down his face were tears or rain… but I knew the ones on my face were tears. The Boy lost it a few minutes into our frantic trip and I held his hand while he sobbed, trying hard to control my own crying.

Fighting tears and terrible traffic is not a fun combination.

We managed to get into the city and to the hospital – thanking those wonderful nurses a million times when I realized that the doctor’s off-hand directions to find the hospital were worse than worthless. Without the printed directions the nurses had shoved into my hands, we would’ve been hopelessly lost.

Once at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, we were whisked into the ER (gaaad – the E-freakin’-R!!) and they struggled to get my panicked kid set up with an IV. That’s when I realized that my pediatrician’s comment that “they were going to re-do the testing” was totally bogus. These medical professionals in this tiny room were fighting a serious situation and The Boy was going to be admitted to the hospital for three days.

Three days.

And my delightful pediatrician had said not a word about this very standard procedure. Not. One. Word.

Which meant that we had no spare clothes and my dogs were stuck at home with no plans for their care.

I made a few frantic calls to neighbors to help with the dogs for the next few days. I called The Hubster and broke the news to him, telling him to come to the hospital ASAP. I called my dad – a now-retired endocrinologist – and left a voicemail that he should call me as soon as he and his wife got out of the show they were seeing in NYC.

Then I basically held my son’s hand and watched the ministrations of the wonderful nursing staff – INCREDIBLE NURSING STAFF – who made that first hour in the hospital so much less scary than it should’ve been. We had one guy that did everything he could to make The Boy laugh… and succeeded.

Miraculous!

Because I knew so little about diabetes at the time, I hadn’t realized the import of the glucometer’s reading of “HIGH” at the pediatrician’s office. The staff at CHOP was much better at giving me information without scaring the crap out of me. From what I remember now, the meter readings at CHOP were in the 450’s and they were giving him fluids through his IV to flush ketones from his body and giving him shots of insulin to bring the blood sugar numbers down. (Which I now realize were incredibly high because of that ginormous soda I’d let him drink at Sam’s Club. Oy, oy, oy!)

My dad called from the road during all of this and I broke down telling him the news, trying not to let The Boy see my total distress.

The Hubster arrived at the hospital shortly thereafter – fully decked out in Cub’s gear because he’d just sat down to watch the first post-season game when I’d called him.

As soon as there was a bed available on the diabetes floor (around 11PM), we were ushered up there. Because the food service kitchen and the cafeteria had already shut down for the night, the only food The Hubster could find for The Boy was a Lean Cuisine at the gift shop. The kid was starving enough to find it delicious.

That was the first time he had to have a shot because he was about to eat.

Until there’s a cure, I realized that this would be the pattern of his life hereafter.

And that killed me.

The Boy was near exhaustion and gratefully climbed into the hospital bed. Only one parent could stay, so I volunteered, knowing that I’d never make the drive home. The Hubster left to take care of the dogs and to put together an overnight bag before trying to get some sleep himself.

All through that terrible night, nurses came in as quietly as possible to take blood sugar readings without waking The Boy. They dosed and monitored, checked for ketones, and kept me updated.

By the next morning, I felt like I’d run a marathon, been dragged behind a truck, and found myself trampled by elephants. The Boy looked much the same way.

The Hubster came bright and early the next morning and we, as a family, went through an intensive course with CHOP’s Diabetes Education staff that filled our next three days. It was an incredible amount to go through and I’m astounded at how much we were expected to absorb, process, and be able to handle for the sake of our child.

I also realized that we’re blessed with an incredibly smart kid who loves gadgetry of all kinds – even if it means needles and blood and discomfort. I think it’s what got him through those first few days.

When we were finally discharged, I was a puddle of emotional goo – relieved to be going home, terrified that we were now “on our own,” worried whether any of the massive binder full of life-saving information had actually sunk in.

We stumbled through that first weekend. We dragged ourselves through that first week back at school and work – blessing the incredible school nurse for her care and support. We came out the other side of October feeling like maybe this actually would get better.

It wasn’t until mid-November, at our first check-up with our Endocrine staff at CHOP that I finally found some peace with all of this.

It happened when The Boy looked up at us and said, “I had no idea how sick I was actually feeling in September until I started feeling better in October.”

Such a simple phrase after so much worry and angst and guilt and needles and blood and pain – both physical and emotional.

But The Boy was well again, he just had a disease to manage now.

If you can, I ask that anyone reading this blog learn a little about Type 1 and Type 2 diabetes – for your own health and for those around you. Take a look at the JDRF website and see if you can get involved in any of their fundraisers in October/November. And, if you see those sneaker-shaped donation slips in your local grocery and drug stores, consider buying one.

The Boy, The Hubster and I would be eternally grateful to you.

http://www.jdrf.org