In the back of my mind, I knew something was wrong. A mother always knows.
There were a few potty accidents here and there…just blips on the radar screen, figuring he was having a bit of regression.
But really, regression after a year and a half of being potty trained?
Then came the incessant need for water. I’d find him in the garage, grabbing the big bottles of water for himself. Over and over again.
Hey, it’s summer in Arizona! It’s 115 degrees out, of course he’s thirsty!
The constant eating. The little dude would throw back 4 slices of peanut butter toast in the morning and still be hungry. Then it became 8 chicken nuggets at lunch.
He’s a growing boy, right?
He’d actually been losing weight. Looking back at the photos of his first day of pre-K (the day before his diagnosis), I can see it now. The thin face. Dark circles under his eyes. Pale. Scrawny.
Then, that fateful Monday night when we went to IHOP for dinner as a family. Adam sucked down his milk in minutes. Then 1, then 2, then 3 glasses of water in 15 minutes. My husband and I exchanged worried glances. That night, Adam wet the bed within an hour of falling asleep. Then, with a pull-up on, he soaked through that within a few hours.
I googled. I worried. I stayed up past midnight, lurking on diabetes message boards, hoping that I wasn’t going to become a member of this sucky club.
I took Adam in to his pediatrician first thing in the morning. He drank over 20 oz of water on the way there. He had 4 pieces of cream cheese toast and was still hungry.
The nurse tested his urine. Lots of sugar. When she came in with the meter to prick his finger, I knew. His blood glucose was 550, and then I cried.
His pediatrician came in the door, took one look at me and gave me a huge hug. She said she just about cried when she saw his numbers…especially knowing what we’ve been through with Adam since he was born…cleft lip…severe reflux…cataract in his right eye at 9 months old…contact lens.
And now this. Fricking-fracking Type 1 Diabetes.