I climbed the stairs with a smile. I was tired, but happy
after a loud 45-minute bus ride with second graders, including my son, Josh, an
eight-year-old dimpled blond with a happy grin. We visited my
favorite art museum, the one with the three-story swirling display of color,
constructed simply with plastic drink cups, and a beach scene dominated by a large
orange umbrella. I can’t help but smile when surrounded by color and paint and
energetic second graders.
Todd, my husband, had taken our younger boys to their annual
physical. I had received a few strange texts from him:
“Finn just bit the doctor.”
“Zac just pooped on the nurse.”
“Finn might have T1D, heading to the hospital for blood
work.”
What???
Finn was a five-year-old buzz-cut blond with hair like a dandelion
puff. (Poouf!) He liked to play linebacker and run towards me down the hall,
full speed, head first, all grins, 50 pounds of solid boy. He hadn’t been
himself the last few months: lots of whining, bed-wetting and unexplainable
thirst. One sunny afternoon during a baseball game, he downed 3-12oz water
bottles and cried for more, running to the bathroom every 20 minutes or so. He
was looking thinner, but we thought maybe he was just growing taller?
I told Todd to mention it to the doctor; it was probably
nothing, but please mention it. I didn’t expect it to be anything.
T1D? What was T1D? Todd must be joking. I honestly ignored
the text. Todd has a history as a practical joker. When I was pregnant with our
third child, he sent a fake ultrasound picture to my parents, convincing them I
was pregnant with twins. Another time he forged a letterhead and to a coworker suggesting
that his wedding reception was double booked. He posted FOR SALE signs of his
office assistant’s car and hung them in the parking garage.
Naturally, the response to my husband was “Whatever, Todd.” I
sent him a selfie of Josh and me then put my phone away.
I actually called him after he sent me a picture of Finn and
three-year old Zac in a hospital waiting room.
I don’t remember his words to me on that call, while I was
standing below a huge sunny oak tree watching second graders finish their
lunch, but it was the first time “Type 1 Diabetes” was spoken between us. None
of it made sense to me: I was still high on art and happy kids. Denial surged
through my veins.
When I arrived home and climbed the stairs, my happy buzz
ended abruptly like a needle ripped off a record payer when Todd handed me an
overnight bag.
“Finn needs to go right to the emergency room. The hospital
just called.” There was no joke in that.
Right there on the stairs, my life changed forever. Bad news
can do that.
*****
Todd wasn’t joking about T1D. In the pediatrician’s office, Finn
didn’t bite the doctor and Zac didn’t poop on the nurse. But a urine dip told
the doctor that Finn’s blood sugar was about 300. (A normal reading is 70-120.)
At the hospital, bloodwork confirmed a 450 blood sugar. I would bring him later
to the ER where his blood sugar rose to 602. They diagnosed him immediately
with Type 1 Diabetes. I was confused and afraid, but strangely calm. Denial
strangled my emotions.
Remember where you were when you heard devastating news? I’ll never forget where I was
when I first heard Todd’s words that suggested that our precious 5-year old was
sick: on the stairs. The stairs were the
beginning of our journey with Finn and Type 1 Diabetes. That moment on the
stairs would change our lives, and Finn’s, forever.
Where were you when you first heard devastating news? How
did you respond? I’d love to hear your story in the comments below.
