Thanks to the power of Facebook, I ran across THIS post a short while ago. I began to leave a comment, but my emotions kept clicking away until I realized I had actually written an entire blog post of my own……
I can’t relate to residency or the pressure of being “THE DOCTOR”. But I can relate to the relief of giving report, and not wanting to lose a patient on my watch.
I also know what it feels like to approach a closed door, and prepare for the fact that I could find my daughter blue and lifeless. What would I do first? Start CPR? Call 911? Fall to my knees in despair?
I know what it’s like to walk into a sleeping bedroom, and hold my breath until I hear signs of life from under the blankets…movement on the sheets, a deep breath, maybe a chuckle in response to a dream.
I know what it’s like to put my child in bed with me, because there are some nights that it’s just easier that way.
I understand the sinking feeling when a random low blood sugar stares back at you or ketones appear out of nowhere, and you can’t help but wondering…what if I hadn’t checked?
But more than all that, I understand what you didn’t say between the lines. The harsh reality that, without a cure, her shift will never end. When she heads off to college, you won’t be there for q2h checks or standing by with fast acting glucose. With today’s fast acting insulins, and pump therapies that can fail, and glucose meters that may or may not be accurate, there are more variables than ever that cannot be controlled. It seems the price of decreasing long-term complications is short-term risk. T1D is unpredictable, she’s growing up, and you can’t do anything to change either one.
Please know you aren’t alone on those long nights. There are other mothers wandering their hallways, and keeping watch over their little ones alongside you.
Together we’ll keep doing everything we can to change the course of history for our children — and everyone who has ever lived with this diagnosis. Together we’ll advocate for improved technology, equal access to therapies…and…a cure. Together we’ll be thankful for how far T1 treatment has come. We’ll say a prayer of gratitude for the parents who have gone before us, the ones who forged this path for us to follow. There is power in numbers — yesterday’s, tomorrow’s, and today’s — together we will face this beast.
Together there is HOPE.