Type 1 Diabetes

Dear Newly-Diagnosed Diabetic Parent

/ Lisa Gastaldo / 4 Comments

Albert and Me on Harley

First things first: No matter how isolated you may feel – YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Each year, nearly 25,000 children are diagnosed with diabetes. Every one of these children has parents, relatives, doctors, and/or caretakers that know and love them. Banded together, we can move mountains to ease the struggles our children will encounter.

You have every right to be sad, angry, confused, overwhelmed, weary, and frightened. Chances are, you’re experiencing a kaleidoscope of emotions completely foreign to you. If you are like me, you were blindsided by your child’s diagnosis. Here’s the thing – don’t let your worries hypnotize you into the rabbit hole of despair. Take an hour, a day, or even a week if you need to, but buckle up. Your child needs you for the bumpy ride ahead.

Until your child is somewhat regulated, don’t plan on a good night’s sleep anytime soon. No matter what your child’s age, you are now parent a “newborn” diabetic who needs continual monitoring. Just like your family will need time to adjust to this new development, his or her body will take its own sweet time adapting to life with diabetes. If your child has been diagnosed relatively young, puberty will create a new cavalcade of adjustments. The same goes for any childhood illness, such as a cold or the flu. Alert your friends and relatives to the situation, realize that your brain may be foggy from time to time, and understand you will get through it.

Please, please don’t base your child’s identity on this diagnosis. Your son or daughter may be an artist, athlete, or scientist. Let him or her continue to be known for their wicked sense of humor, love for animals, or competitive drive. You are still raising the same child that existed before you encountered diabetes. Don’t let this condition douse your child’s dreams and aspirations. Yes, you need to acknowledge and deal with it daily – and, by no means – should you ignore it.  BUT, it doesn’t have to be your child’s definition. It doesn’t have to overtake his or her personality. There is no time for resentment. Teach the attitude of modification, not victimization. You’d be surprised how freeing that can be.

In case you haven’t realized it yet – YOU ARE YOUR CHILD’S NUMBER ONE ADVOCATE. You need to be vigilant, informed, and proactive. Unfortunately, it’s only a matter of time before you encounter an ignorant comment, antagonistic school environment, or even an unsympathetic doctor. Do your research, be prepared, and respectfully stand your ground whenever the well-being of your child is endangered.

Take heart – there have been amazing developments in the treatment of diabetes. What used to be considered an immediate death sentence can now be managed for multiple decades. The average lifespan of a diabetic has increased significantly in recent years. Regretfully, it still is a life-altering condition and there is no cure, but hope looms on the horizon. Mind-blowing advancements are just around the corner. We must not give up our quest to make this disease a distant memory.

You may have noticed I’ve shied away from the medical dos and don’ts. You will get plenty of those from your child’s endocrinology team. What I wanted to convey was a list of things I wish I was told nearly 20 years ago when my son was first diagnosed. My main piece of advice is to cultivate all the assistance you can. Reach out to your friends and family. Contact the American Diabetes Association or the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation for information. Join a support group if you’d like. Take my recommendations or tell me to shove it. Whatever works to aid you on this journey your family is now embarking upon.

I’m not going to sugar coat it – the excursion is long and treacherous, but it can be navigated. Look positively towards the future. Train your child to be their own warrior. Take joy in daily conquests and never look back.

This post originally appeared on TheMighty.com.

My Bucket List of Gratitude

/ Lisa Gastaldo / 9 Comments

bucket-315982_1280

I’m creating my own kind of bucket list. Not the usual listing of things I wish to do before I leave this earth, but an accounting of the gracious drops of kindness that have filled my pail to the brim. Whether the contribution was a single drip from an eyedropper or gallons upon gallons of generosity, all have buoyed my soul, washed away hours of pain, and carried me through turbulent trials.

And so I have decided to make a conscious effort to recognize these not-so-random acts. Some were as temporary as the morning dew, but equaling as cooling. Others have been like IVs, injecting nourishment continually. A few were summer storms: electrifying, powerful, and brief. Whether their perpetrators knew it or not, each and every one made a significant impact. They quenched my drought in spirit and left me flooded with gratitude.

Item Number 1: Clean House – Warm Heart

My first story takes place when I was a young mother of two toddlers: Albert, age two-and-a-half and Nicholas, just past one. Our family of four was living in Washington State, about 1,000 miles away from most of our family in Southern California. In the 18 months since we had moved there, we had entered into a lovely circle of friends. We were in the early stages of a close, tight-knit relationship. Only time would tell if the stitches would unravel or interweave for a lifetime.

Albert had become very sick with what seemed to be the flu. We soon learned his rapid decline was due to Type 1 diabetes (T1D). He was initially admitted to the hospital for 10 days. Within 24 hours of returning home, he acquired the stomach flu again – a very dangerous situation for any T1D let alone a newly-diagnosed toddler. He returned to the hospital for nearly another week to get him stabilized.

During both hospital stays, my husband, Matt, and I took turns sleeping by Albert’s side. We would both spend our days there, alternating who would remain with him at night and who would go home to take care of Nicholas. Thankfully, one of our friends offered to watch Nicholas while we were at the hospital. Her youngest daughter was his same age and they were like two peas in a pod. While we were learning the perils of over or under dosing insulin, our younger son was enjoying an extended play date.

Needless to say, Matt and I were frazzled. Lack of sleep and worry were leaching away our composure. Fear shrieked through our minds as we relearned how to care for our first-born child. Not to mention we had a one-year-old confused by the prolonged absence of his parents. And the house – oh the house! It was one more thing not receiving a clean bill of health. Gazing at this noise and confusion was only ramping up my anxiety. I felt utterly inadequate and completely unable to do anything about it.

In between hospital visits, another member of our group dropped by to bring us dinner and see how we were doing. This particular friend was the meticulous one in our circle. You know the type – the person whose home is pristine – spic and span – downright gleaming. No dust bunny is ever allowed to propagate in her abode. You’d think the envy would evolve to hate, but it never does, because she is just that nice and charming.

When she arrived, I was perched among piles of laundry that hoarded every square inch of my sofa. Additional mounds of clothing engulfed my feet. Mortified, I shoved the heaps aside so she could sit alongside me. We chitchatted. She asked if there was anything else she could do. What little was left of my mental capabilities silently screamed: PLEASE – HELP ME CLEAN MY HOUSE!!! Still, I was appalled by the vision of her viewing the expanding black rings crowning my toilet bowls. “No, but thank you. We’re doing OK,” I lied.

She didn’t let on, but she didn’t believe a word I said.

The second hospital stay re-initiated the child care round robin. One morning, when Matt dropped off Nicholas, our babysitting friend asked him for a key to our house. “In case Nicholas needs some extra diapers,” she explained. Not realizing that I would be humiliated if anyone saw just how wretched a pigsty we were living in, he handed it over readily. The moment he left, our group commenced their latest escapade of kindness.

Up to this point in this particular trial, I hadn’t really cried. To me, it was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Honestly, I was afraid if I started I would lose any ability to function. So, I corked my tears and kept going.

It was my turn to stay home with Nicholas. The moment I unlocked the door, I knew something was amiss. Instead of the dirt and mildew aroma that usually wafted a greeting, I was welcomed by the delicate scent of pine sol. The disheveled cache of clothing was neatly sorted and folded. The soiled apparel that had overflowed every bedroom hamper was now Downy-fresh and stacked alongside. Everything sparkled – including the toilets! Right in the middle of my kitchen table was a vase filled with fresh-cut flowers. I took one look at that arrangement, collapsed to the floor, and sobbed.

That moment of release is forever tattooed in my memory. It is the point in time I cling to when I am overwhelmed; when I suppose I am alone. Without waiting for me to ask, my friends sensed what I needed and went into action. They saw through my desperate bravado. They cut through the grime and the grit of the situation. By cleaning my house, they wiped away part of the chaos and polished my sanity. I am forever and for all eternity, grateful.