Sorrow, by definition, is an interesting thing.  Sorrow signifies a feeling of sadness or grief by the loss of something or someone.  It stands to reason that a parent would experience sorrow, at the thought of losing a piece of the ease within their childs childhood.

When Carter was diagnosed I remember feeling, shocked, shattered, defeated, but most of all I felt anguished.  I spent the next 24 hour period finding ways to feel determined, brave, happiness, at peace, and hopeful.  Finding the positive aspects have become easier, standing up to the bully that is Type 1 Diabetes is second nature, but there are still those days when sorrow rears its ugly head.

When you have a toddler with Type 1 Diabetes, one can feel like they are a triage nurse, constantly.  We don’t get to panic, we have to problem solve, always.  Our mentality shifts, we can’t afford to break down, we fight with a vigilance to obtain control over Diabetes when the downward spiral is imminent.

My son woke from his nap today with a blood sugar of 52, whimpering in his bed I knew something was horribly wrong.   Nothing of our routine, or his insulin to carb ratios has changed.  We lived today the exact same way we lived yesterday, yet a blood sugar of 52 greeted us this afternoon.

I walked into Carter’s room, tester in hand, marshmallows in the other.  He looked at me dazed, I checked him got the 52 reading and started shoveling marshmallows into his mouth.   After 20 minutes and 3 blood checks later, he was finally able to sit up.  He was now reading at 160.  He looked at me, threw himself in my arms and started crying.  Fear, feeling helpless, feeling crummy, in that one moment it was all too much for my 2-year-old to bear.   As I fought back tears I consoled my baby, and after another 35 minutes he was good as new.

With all of the low blood sugars we have battled, today was one of the worst.  Having your child look through you is terrifying, not allowing the fear to consume you, and putting your working hat on and fixing the problem is second nature now.  Once he was fine, the wave of emotion washed over me.  Today is a day I hate Type 1 Diabetes, it’s a day I want to take Diabetes in a dark alley and personally do away with it.

So today, instead of sorrow, I decide to be grateful and hopeful at the same time.  Grateful for the problem solving, and for my son’s recovery from his low.  Instead of sorrow I am shown how to cherish the small things more fervently, reminded to take the extra time, even when I am tired, to cuddle my children, and always make myself available for them no matter what.  I also am hopeful that soon diabetes management will be a distant memory, but take comfort in the knowledge that through prayer I will always be supplied with the grace to make it through each disaster and come out on top.

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