HEROES

“Teach us everything. We want to know what to do so Sophie can be with us.”

Friends of ours came to us with this request just weeks after my daughter’s diagnosis. It may not sound like a big deal to anyone who does not have a child with diabetes. But it was one of the kindest gifts we’ve ever been given. I still get a bit chocked up when I think about it.

I’ve written before about how diabetes is not a disease for which you can take your medication in the morning and not think about it again until the next morning. It’s something that requires vigilance and, often, quick thinking. Low blood sugar can come out of nowhere. In a child, particularly a young child, it’s often difficult to discern until the situation is dangerous. It can be frightening even for those of us who are well versed.

We have friends whose son, Colin, was diagnosed when he was just a toddler, years before continuous glucose monitoring, and he was completely unable to communicate how he felt. Our friends’ families were terrified to take care of him because of what might happen on their watch. So, this couple rarely had a chance to get away alone even for an evening.

Sophie was in middle school when we met them, and she immediately became their babysitter. It changed everything. My friend told me she could finally walk out the door without pages of if/then instructions and mountains of worry.

Sophie was unphased about when and how to check Colin’s blood sugar. She knew the subtle symptoms that even he could not articulate and was completely unflustered about what to do if his blood sugar was too low or too high. She knew what foods to give him and what to avoid. She knew how to use his insulin pump. It was all second nature to her. Our friends said God brought Sophie to them. I believe it.

Sophie has a friend, Izzy, who took it upon herself to learn as much about diabetes as she could after they met in 6^th grade. “If she’s my friend,” Izzy said, “I gotta know this stuff.” She was Sophia’s advocate when Sophie couldn’t advocate for herself. Izzy could spot low blood sugar a mile away, sometimes before Sophie. She carried candy in her pockets, just in case. She defied teachers who refused to let Sophie leave class when her blood sugar was falling. Izzy simply took my daughter by the arm and walked out, come what may, to take Sophie to the nurse. I will love Izzy until my last breath.

My niece’s husband, Logan, readily takes over when Vanessa is just fed up with all of it. He makes her food, counts the carbs, operates her pump. He makes every decision, and there are so many, simply so Vanessa doesn’t have to for an hour or a day. I want to hug that man every time I think of it.

Sophie’s fiancé, Bryan, is a master at dealing with her in the midst of severe low blood sugar. Sophie can become defiant and mean. These are common symptoms of hypoglycemia—the result of the adrenaline her body is pumping out to save her. It’s not conscious behavior, and she remembers nothing when all has been made right. But in the moment, my husband, Chad, and I tend to meet force with force, and it doesn’t always go well. Sophie once threw a punch at my face when I was pouring juice down her throat.

Bryan’s tactics are the complete opposite. He’s gentle and loving. He simply absorbs her angry dissent, unphased. His calm soothes her and renders her compliant. It’s a gift beyond measure when a man loves your daughter so well. I try to tell him that often.

“Low blood sugar can come out of nowhere. In a child, particularly a young child, it’s often difficult to discern until the situation is dangerous.”

I often demonstrate the same nastiness when I’m altered by low blood sugar. Gentleness holds no sway with me in that state, and Chad knows it. Many times he’s held me down, forcing me to drink while I screamed obscenities at him. He knows when he must overpower me. But he’s equally aware when silent action is what I need.

Sometimes a low can be quiet and stealthy. I wake in the night covered in cold sweat, unable to think and panicked. All I have to do is touch Chad’s arm and he knows. He bolts out of bed and races to the kitchen. He helps me sit up and wraps me in blankets against the inevitable drop in body temperature—another life-saving tactic of the body when low blood sugar can mean death. Then he lets me sleep while he sits vigil waiting for the sugar to do its work. Before continuous glucose monitors, he would test my blood to be certain I was safe before he kissed me and turned off the light. As I’ve said before, I’m incredibly fortunate.

All this to say, those of us who live with diabetes, or who have children with diabetes, need heroes. We cannot do this alone. So, if you love someone or know someone in this exclusive yet unfortunate club, thank you. Clearly, you’re trying to understand more about what this life looks like. Maybe, just maybe, this is your first step toward becoming a hero yourself. I hope so. If that idea intimidates you, that’s fair. But don’t let fear stop you. You don’t need any super-powers. Willingness is the only hurdle. The rest I can teach you.