It’s a curious thing, needle bruises. It breaks my heart every time I see them. Being that you have to preserve the tissue and are constantly moving the shot sites around, my son now constantly has bruises all over the backs of his arms, and the tops and backs of his legs. The bruises don’t last more than a couple of days, but seeing them everyday and knowing that I give them to him makes my heart hurt. It’s amazing how many emotions are locked into this disease and how I have to shove them down in my daily pursuit of a perfect blood glucose reading. My son, the bravest person I know, will now smile and laugh through most of the pokes, which is a relief, but it doesn’t stop the bruising. When everything is put into perspective, it’s obvious that the bruises are a necessary evil, I guess I am still wavering on the line of complete acceptance, and still hoping that I will wake up in the morning and this will all be a horrible nightmare. Now when I look at my son from across the room I see evidence that Diabetes is a real daily struggle. I believe that these days my acceptance is still a faulty façade, I go through the motions and provide for my son’s needs yet I still hate it all. Hurting him in the moment of the pokes and injections is hard enough, now there is a lingering declaration of the trauma that my baby endures multiple times a day. To save his life I vow to continually administer anything he needs, the moments are just that, moments and then the day goes on like normal. I must admit that when the day comes when we decide he is ready for a pump, though that will bring with it a brand new learning curve, I will welcome the preservation of his finger tips, and his arms and legs. I often wonder how deep he has to dig to find the courage he displays almost every moment of everyday. My husband is down trodden that Carter doesn’t get the choice to be in the Service, yet Carter is on the battlefield every minute of everyday. He battles his body every minute, his body has turned on him, and but for God and the medical advances we are lucky enough to live with, my son’s bravery wouldn’t be enough. I am grateful for the insulin and this regime that I dread, it keeps my Carter being the best son, brother, nephew, grandson, and great-grandson that he was meant to be. The bruises will fade, but those bruises, and this whole scenario makes our love for each other be that much more evident.