12.8. The number that re-defined our life... tears are falling. I can feel them. I didn't realize I was crying. The rain season started on that day. For some reason the streets were empty. It was dark like it was night time. Sun never came out on that day. We made it to the school. J is surprised to see me. And happy. Smiling, always smiling. I am shaking inside. I want to scream. But I smile. And try not to cry. I know what it means. I feel like no one else does. I do. I know. I think I was waiting for this.
Our whole February was a disaster. Theft, exploding tires, virus after virus, issues at work... it just didn't stop. I told T, that this is not it. Something bad is coming. It felt like I was tested. Can you handle it? He said I'm being silly...
I knew.
We got to the emergency room. The boy was happy and laughing. The doctors couldn't even believe that he is sick. That changed when the blood work came back. I saw the doctor reading the note, her eyes growing big. All I could say was "It's not good right." She looked at me and nodded. She couldn't even say it out loud. But the running started. Head of emergency room, children's endocrinologist, head of pediatrician complaining how come we don't have a bed yet. And J. Laughing. Smiling. And I, just trying not to cry.
And then I shut down. Go into mom-mode. There is no time for tears. Deep breath and start reading everything and anything that there is to know. Worry, study, try, repeat. It feels like every meal time is a test on how good of a parent I am. The results will be staring at me after two hours. I switched off. The only focus was on learning to take care of him. He gets insulin and smiles, doesn't even flinch when I check his blood sugar value. He is as happy as he has ever been. Until he hears that it's forever. He will have this until he is an old man... then he cries, and I want to break down and cry with him. But I shut myself down.
T returns home on Saturday. My body starts to relax. I still have to wake up at night, but I'm not alone. We go to church on Sunday. That's when I fall apart. I cry when we sing, I cry when the congregation prays for us. When they offer to pray for him. When they pray for a miracle that he'll be healed. I want to shout to everyone that it's forever. I don't, but I cry. And I let it out. And then I feel ok.
The world didn't stop turning. I am fine. J is fine. We will figure this out. We will not let a diagnosis define us. So much help has been offered to us. Emails, messages, information. Connections with the best doctors in the world. It feels like everyone is on our side. Patience, caring, love. Hope. It doesn't feel bad anymore. He is proud when he can take care of himself. He remains himself. Positive, active little boy. He comes home from swimming club, and tells me how he was faster than the grade two and three students. He feels strong. Nothing has changed. And yet, everything has changed.
This is our life with type 1 diabetes.
