Several people have been asking me how seven-year-old and I are doing since we’ve been home from the hospital for a week post type 1 diabetes diagnosis. We are both doing well. Seven-year-old is really taking everything in stride. Though she doesn’t want the shots, she still doesn’t complain about them. She is happy, healthy and ready for what this new life will bring her. She did say, “Mom, my life has changed a lot, hasn’t it? Life for our whole family has changed, hasn’t it?” I simply had to say, “Yes, it has, but nothing has changed about how much you are loved by everyone, and that never will.” She gave me a hug and went on her way.
Now to the more complicated question of how I am doing. I really am doing better, but let me see if I can explain how I’m feeling. I feel like those women who go in to the hospital with abdominal pain and get told, “You’re pregnant and about to give birth. Surprise!” Only, the “baby” I was handed is a sick, demanding one–a parasite, not a child, who will harm the child I love with my entire being if I don’t do everything it requires.
So, if I seem a little off my game, please try to understand; I am like the shell-shocked mom of a newborn, a mom who had no idea she was even pregnant. You wouldn’t ask too much of her, would you? You wouldn’t expect that everything she used to do without even thinking about it would simply continue to be done without things being dropped and forgotten. I am talking to myself, actually, not all of you. I know most people aren’t expecting much of me right now. But I continue to expect everything of myself. And maybe I shouldn’t.
So very many people have helped us out with meals, babysitting, gifts, and support in all sorts of ways, from putting away Christmas décor to writing out recipes when food was brought in so I would know exactly what was in it. Thank you for being my angels on earth, the ones God has sent to me in my time of need. I promise to do the same for you someday.
Mostly, I’m just so proud of my sweetie. She thanks me when I give her a shot, even if it hurts her. Could there be a better child?
Seven-year-old was having a more difficult time with one of her insulin shots the other day. She hates injections in her thighs. It was time for the thigh shot, and she was getting super upset. I told her, “You are a warrior.” Then, I pointed to her sharps container and said, “Look at that jar. It’s your warrior jar. Each of the things in there represent a poke you’ve had. It shows just how strong you are.” So she asked me to take some tape and label it as her “Warrior Jar.” Here it is:
This is the face of a newly christened type 1 diabetes warrior. And I am the proud captain cheering on my soldier, fighting her way through this new battle, with her every step of the way. I love you, my little warrior. We’ll fight this war hand in hand, with arms folded and heads bowed, together forever more.