Speaking another language

This afternoon the American Diabetes Association held a photo shoot to portray life with diabetes, and how it's no different than life without. One can manage diabetes and still do anything, it doesn't make someone unstoppable, it only makes them stronger, more determined.

I drove nearly an hour to a stuffy, unorganized, cramped office space full of other diabetic children, just like Laila. All type 1 diabetics, all free and living great, healthy lives. If I didn't admit to being nervous, I'd be lying. I am the mother to a fairly new diabetic, these moms and volunteers looked so seasoned, so smart and mellow. I was a wreck trying to keep it together when Laila wanted snacks like the kids on the pumps, and Kenadi was munching on a baggie of goldfish crackers. Suddenly, a mom at the end of the table perked up and had her son show Laila his pump. Then another girl asked about Laila's diagnosis, and shared her diagnosis from over 20 years ago. A few teenagers started talking about sports and high school, it was amazing. Before I knew it, words like Lantus, NovoLog, ketones and endocrinologist were flying out of my mouth. I felt like I was speaking another language, but it was finally familiar.

After Laila's diagnosis, the 4 days we spent in the hospital pouring over medical information was tedious, but the peaceful feeling I have going to sleep every night knowing I've cared for my daughter to the best of my ability each day is worth every second. I never dreamed my life would take the change it did, but it has, and there is no turning back. I was terrified to take Laila home from the hospital last September, I am solely responsible for her care, and I was afraid I'd never be fully prepared.

No one looked at me funny or questioned my judgement; I was understood, and for once in my life I felt like I really, truly fit in. Not at the expense of my daughter, but as a mother. I have made the right choices, I have swiftly gone through the motions, I have memorized my diabetic's schedule, I have her carbohydrate counts down to a science, I can read her body language and I could give her a shot with my eyes closed. In that room today, I was a hero. I was an equal. I was a mother.