Babies get diabetes too

Today Blaine and I woke up like we would for a school morning and left the house by 7am to be back at Scottish Rite for an advanced diabetes class. He told me on the way there that he was happy that he would not need an IV going into the hospital this time.

We arrived 30 minutes early and were directed to the waiting room. I didn’t realize that we’d be treated like a patient. We had to wait to be called back to verify the insurance coverage for the class. The person checking us in was like a robot, or an assembly line worker. She made minimal eye contact and typed away on her keyboard. I was getting a little frustrated, realizing that even though we got there 30 minutes early, we may still not make it to class on time. My phone showed we had 5 minutes until class started. I finally broke the rhythm of her incessant typing and stated, “You do know that we are NOT checking in, right? We’re here for a class.” She verified that she knew that. She asked for my ID, asked me to electronically sign a few things, and then we were headed back down the same halls we walked back in March.

Thankfully class had not started when we walked in. We were handed a packet of information and then headed to find a seat in the mini auditorium. I moved us toward the back. Once settled, I took a moment to survey the room. There were maybe 7-8 families there. Half had children with them that were Blaine’s age or older. Except for the family in front of us.  I noticed that they had brought a baby. A little toddler who was moving all around. I thought, my goodness, could they not have found a sitter, how are they going to focus with a baby there. Then I looked to find the older sibling. The one with diabetes, the one that had to share their parent’s attention with a baby, brought to a four hour class.

But I didn’t find an older sibling. All I saw was the mom, dad, baby and a grandmother. Then it hit me, this baby couldn’t be the one with diabetes, could he? I leaned over to Blaine and said, “I think that baby might have T1”. I then leaned way over into their row, in front of us, to investigate. Then I saw it. The same green cameo bag that Blaine has, the hospital issued T1 bag. There it was on top of their diaper bag.

How, why? Why would a little chubby toddler have diabetes? This baby who was likely only 12 months old had to endure multiple finger pricks and multiple daily injections, just like my 10 year old, but he was only a baby!

The thoughts that keep me up at night, my worrying about Blaine’s fingers becoming calloused from the constant finger pricks, or his body needing more and more insulin as he ages. She has those thoughts too, except for, she will have that burden 10 years longer than me. I had 10 years of freedom from these thoughts. What did she get? Maybe eight, nine or 10 months? My heart broke for her and her little boy.

I realized that she likely brought her baby and mother for the same reason that Blaine has 99% of his play dates at our house now. She probably couldn’t stand the thought of being away from him for 5 hours. Who would read his signs to know if he’s going too low? Who would notice if he’s high, or make a judgment call if needed about a correction dose? Who would do the calculations to figure out the insulin for the carbs in the food he had eaten?

I sat throughout the class wondering, how is she going to do it? How will she send him off to preschool, or play dates, or the first day of kindergarten. Will she let him go off to sleepovers? These are anxiety provoking events for most parents. But to have a child with a medical condition, a condition that while it can be managed, can also turn into an emergency situation at any point in time….how will she do it? My heart goes out to her and the other parents of babies with Type 1.