In those first few months following diagnosis, we were so diligent. Carried that diabetes bag everywhere we went. My daughter wore that thing like a badge of honor. I know some kids are nervous about taking shots in front of other people or checking blood sugar. My daughter grabbed that spotlight and did it all – on her own – right in front of everyone. We were so prepared. Meter, snacks, insulin pens, needles, extra syringes. Little pink camo lunchbox. We had this. Then time starts to go by, and little by little, the discipline and newness wears off.
In her second year after diagnosis, when the lovely honeymoon stage came to an end, she was starting a new year of select soccer. That season we had a new team that had formed, with girls from a few other areas and a new coach coming in. We were really anxious for my daughter to make a good impression, show her stuff, let this new coach know she was dealing with an elite athlete. Diabetes was just something my daughter dealt with, not something to be alarmed about. Why does it always work out that when you really want others to see your kid at their best, that’s when things are definitely guaranteed to go to shit? At least that’s how it works in my world.
So my daughter begins this practice, and man she looks good. All the skills are coming out, coach is calling on her to do more of the demonstrations in drills. And then it starts to go south. I see her slow down – I can actually see the slowness creep in. Her arms turn to that “limp baby” look as she’s running. Her legs are little by little unstable. I sit there, wondering if she’s going to stop herself, take care of the issue. You know, be responsible, go to the sideline, get a snack and then dutifully get back to practice as if it was a minor blip on the radar. But no. Not today. Why? Because I forgot to pack the freaking snacks.
I see her edge to the sideline and open her bag. Her face told me all I needed to know as she stared into the cavernous bag of nothingness and then proceeded to yell at me in the slurred language of only drunks and diabetics. The words she used were inappropriate I’m sure – if only I could understand them. At this point the coach is looking at her like some dramatic teenager trying to get out of running, and is looking at me like “you seriously have to pack your kid’s bag?” Talk about going from puffed with pride to slinking away like a useless piece of crap. At this point I have to hop in my car to run to the corner store for sugar. I grabbed the fastest acting stuff I could find – Skittles and a Mountain Dew. You can only imagine the looks I got for this choice. Then my daughter springs to life like a crazy ass jack in the box. Yeah, this new coach is in for a treat this year.
I would like to say this is the last time we forgot the snacks. Sadly, it isn’t. I’ve been in the position of asking strangers on a sideline, running to concession stands, begging from friends. We usually remember – I swear we do. But some days we are just in a hurry and, well, we forget things. It’s just simply impossible to be perfect every hour of every day, for every event. I see all these perfect diabetes moms out there that never seem to forget anything. Kudos to you, ladies, holding that bar up high for the rest of us. As for me and mine – I guess we are just the imperfect ones, and I’m slowly learning to be OK with that.