Those huge words in that little voice will echo in my brain for the rest of my life. I gave the standard, hesitant, uncertain, "We'll see," response ... the one -- at age 4, a mere 2 months away from his 5th birthday -- he's already become to understand means "no" more times than not.
I hoped this trip to the pediatrician was another likely over-reaction to some easily explained-away symptoms, but my anxiety had been growing over the past few weeks. I realize now that it took my mother-in-law actually saying the words "those are symptoms of diabetes," out loud on Sunday before I called and made the appointment.
A quick urinalysis and blood sugar scan confirmed a bombshell ... type 1 diabetes. The auto-immune type. The one that renders your pancreas effectively useless. The one that neither one of our families is known to carry. The one that likely was set off my some random low-grade cold virus.
The one, we will find hours later at the children's hospital, that requires 4 insulin shots and at least as many finger pokes a day.
For my little sweetheart who fears and hates needles as much as I do.
I'm unable to sleep as my brain slowly tries to process all the new thoughts, fears and anxieties I now have for my little guy ... in *addition* to the daily worrying that comes with being a mother of a child in America.
I know it could be so much worse. This is something manageable. Something he will not only live but THRIVE through, once we all get the hang of it. I'm eternally grateful for that fact.
I'm just scared. We are talking about my favorite little person in the whole wide world.