A good friend and mom of a diabetic child shared an article on facebook tonight. An article from a diabetes advocate and blogger who lost her son to type 1 when he was 13. The article, while more of an announcement and celebration, caught me off guard given the timing. Miss N is 13, and the words lost her 13 year old to type 1 diabetes hold more power to stop me cold than Superman or Popeye with a can of spinach.
This illness is about always being prepared. It's about treating symptoms and not numbers. 74 - typically a fair to partially hey that's great kinda number doesn't mean a hill of beans when she can't stand up, her eyes start to roll back, and she isn't making much sense. It's about the nervous flutter of "Do I need to grab glucagon, is 4 oz. of juice enough, where the hell is the cake gel...am I really supposed to figure this out on my own?" It's amazing how two tiny little words can be paralyzing... heart stopping.