A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings: Type 1 Diabetes Sucks

Note: I don't like the word sucks, however, it was the most appropriate and still polite descriptor I could think to use.

Last month was the three year anniversary of Libby being diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. Living with diabetes has been difficult to say the least. Libby has done a remarkable job dealing with the daily tasks of managing this frustrating disease.

Type 1 diabetes is an auto-immune disease in which the body attacks and destroys the insulin-producing cells of the pancreas. As a result, Libby cannot get energy from the food she eats. So long as there is no cure, she will live with this disease for the rest of her life. Unlike type 2 diabetes, it cannot be managed with diet, exercise, or oral medication. Every day, Libby pricks her finger 8 to 10 times to test her blood glucose level. Chris and I also check her while she sleeps, trying to keep her blood sugar regulated during the night. Libby must count the carbohydrates in everything she eats, and much of her food must be weighed or otherwise measured.

If Libby’s blood sugar gets too low, she risks fainting, seizures, coma, and death. If her blood sugar stays persistently high, long-term complications include blindness, kidney failure, heart disease, and nerve damage. Type 1 diabetes is extremely complicated. Even when we do our best to count carbohydrates and calculate insulin there is no guarantee that Libby's blood sugar will react in the way we would like.

We've come to terms with the extra work it takes to keep Libby safe at school, the lunchtime (and sometimes other) calls, the extra supervision during physical activity (like dance, soccer, and skiing), the conversations with her friend's parents so that she can safely play at their houses, the nighttime blood sugar checks (although I HATE these), the mood swings related to high blood sugar, the extra screening at airport security, and the many other complications and precautions that we have to deal with on a daily basis.

What I haven't come to terms with is the possibility of life-threatening complications. Friday morning I had to take Libby to the emergency room. Her blood sugar had been high for a couple of days and was not going down (as it should) with insulin. Friday morning she started to feel sick. I checked for ketones (a chemical produced when there is a shortage of insulin in the blood and the body breaks down fat for energy) and after an extremely frustrating 30 minutes trying to get an answer from our doctor's office (which I never did) I loaded up all the kids and headed to the ER (they didn't have school). Chris was teaching a class and we weren't able to get a hold of him. Isaac called the History Department on our way to the hospital and in his calmest voice said "This is Isaac Hodson. My dad is Chris Hodson. I need to you to go find him and tell him we are taking my sister to the hospital." I'm not sure his calm phone voice meant that Chris got an equally calm message while he was teaching that his daughter was in the ER.

After Libby threw-up and nearly passed-out in the waiting room, they got us checked in and starting running a few blood tests. Libby had mild ketoacidosis, which is mostly treated by injecting more insulin and giving her fluids. We spent a few hours in the ER and then we were moved to the pediatric floor. They wanted to monitor Libby until all her levels got back to normal. Seven and a half hours later she was stabilized enough that we were able to go home.

Libby was a champ. She was brave throughout the entire day. She knew that going to the hospital was the best idea when I was trying to decide what to do first thing that morning.

None of it is fair. I wish Libby could experience a normal childhood. I wish that she didn't have to think every time she ate, that she didn't experience variations in her blood sugar that made it hard for her to learn at school, that she could have the freedom to play that other 9-year olds have, and that someday this could all be over.