Where do I begin?

Where does one start? Lets start simple, in June of 1992 I was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes (Type 1) . I was on 4-12 injections a day, depending on insulin type, blood sugar, exercise, food intake and 100 other factors, for 16 years. My daughter (L) was diagnosed with Type 1 when she was 18 months old, she's now 4. 2 weeks after her diagnosis, she went on an insulin pump. I did not go on the pump until over a year and a half later. This is L's story, and mine. About D.

I was 8 years old, when diagnosed. I had wet the bed for over a year, I don't remember much about that year, but I remember the thirst. Unknown to everyone else my body was fighting to get rid of sugar that was rapidly building up in my blood stream. In attempts to remove it from my system, I began to drink more water. More and more, constantly, I needed water more than air. As soon as I finished drinking I needed more. But the bed wetting started, soaking through sheets nightly. As usual, my parents took me to the doctor and after being treated for two UTI's that I'm convinced never existed, it was passed off as a stage. For a year the thirst, the fatigue, weight loss, lack of growth. Was ignored by my pediatrician. I was just a growing girl, I needed sleep, not all children grow the same, wetting the bed is a stage many kids go through. Excuse after excuse handed to placate my mother and father, tell the fateful day in June. I was nearly comatose, my small body having lost the battle. It took the ER doctor less than a minute to discover a blood sugar well over 800, the norm being 80-120. Thus, I spent a few nights in the ICU, and a few in the hospital. My way of life, my childhood turned inside out, or so my parents saw. You know what's odd? I really remember little before the shots, before pricking my finger. Diabetes is a part of me now, I carefully monitor and test and sometimes, despite it all, I fail. I've been rebellious and angry and negligent, yet found that D doesn't change or go anywhere just because I try and ignore it. So instead, I embrace the D. It's a part of who I am, an unpleasant infuriating part. With that knowledge, I will now share L's story.

At a year old, I had the happiest most beautiful sandy haired baby girl ever. My entire life revolved around this one small beacon, as if everything was and is because she exists. Blessedly content, and smiley, she was the ideal baby for someone who was trying to go through school and had little time to constantly soothe or entertain an upset child. It only took 3 or 4 babies sold on ebay to finally find one I'd keep ( KIDDING!) Yet at just past her first birthday, my happy go lucky child became increasingly clingy. She needed mommy, she also needed water. Her bottle needed refilling far more frequently than before. At first, I passed it off as her just wanting me to do something for her, to my alarm though, she was indeed drinking everything, quickly. Ignoring the blaring warning sirens going off in my brain, I shrugged it off. Still, I got an ever increasing anxious baby. My worst fears had come true, I had broken the baby! I had done something wrong and now she was broken. Ever since her birth I had been paranoid that some how, some way, I'd break her. Now I'd done it, I'd given her something, or not given her something, that was making her upset. My mind passing over her water need, forgetting how her plump cheeks had begun to thin, I missed the signs. At 14 months I finally decided to test her Blood glucose. I got a 283. 283! My mind raced in tiny circles, what? How? It must be the machine. I washed her tiny finger and got ANOTHER meter, because obviously this one was beyond repair. Closing my eyes, for the second time I pressed the lancet onto her tiny unprepared finger and ignored her screams, scooping the valuable drop onto the test strip, waiting the enternity as the meter counted down. Hoping. Praying. The number on the screen flashing 290.. 290.. ANd I dropped it. I sat down and cried, and picked up my baby, called her pediatrician. Shock. Disbelief. Anger. Why god? WHy my daughter? WHy my small perfect child? Why us? Why now? I was asked to bring her in, when our appointment got there, and they tested her, the number was normal. So began the months of waiting, I was told to go home, so I did. We resumed normal life, then the day came, when I could barely wake her up. Her blood glucose nearing 400. I took her to the hospital, and from the hospital we went to Phoenix Childrens. Where a doctor told me what I had known for months, my daughter, had diabetes. Thus me and her began a new journey, one that would test our mother daughter bond, one that nightly tests how much sleep me and my wonderful husband A can go without. Yet through all this I've found that, like my childhood, the person who is most effected. Is me. Leslie may not like testing, or changing pump site. She might get upset when high, or rebel against having her food weighed, but the person who worries most about her diabetes is me. To her, this is just her life. The grace in which she handles it inspires me, on days which I feel like throwing the meter out of our 3rd story window, to just grin and bear it.

Please, be aware, of the symptoms of type 1 diabetes.

• Frequent urination
• Excessive thirst
• Extreme hunger
• Unusual weight loss
• Increased fatigue
• Irritability
• Blurry vision

Let me add a few

• Tingling in hands or fingers
• Shakiness
• Dizziness
• Bed wetting
• Potty Training Regression
• Lack of growth