One of them followed my statement about "message control". I asked her to refrain from telling her classmates about her diabetes so that we could tell them together, all at once, and answer their questions. I pointed at her classmates' propensity for gossip.
To which M said, "Yeah, because we need support, not drama."
We first spoke with directors of M's little Montessori school, to discuss with them her schedule, her responsibilities and emergency procedures. We then scheduled to meet with the class just before lunch on M's first day back.
It is fortunate that I am a teacher. I talk to kids all day, and enjoy helping them understand new things. I also feel that I have the advantage of knowing and understanding the broad capabilities they possess. I credit them with being better able to handle things than many adults believe.
They did not disappoint. M's peers were very interested in what I had to say, and asked very intelligent questions.
We started off the talk by having kids recall some of the changes they had seen in M over the past several weeks: weight loss, vague illness, pallid complexion, and (their favorite to recount) crankiness. We ended that portion of the discussion with our subsequent trip to the doctor and the diagnosis (we skipped the helicopter bit).
We defined diabetes. Explained why M would need shots, and what symptoms of bg highs and lows might look like. We enlisted the kids' help in supporting M if she seemed a little "off"
We talked about nuts and bolts. "This is a meter. This is how it is used (demonstration)."
"These are the needles M will have to use. See how small they are?"
"This is how often M needs to inject herself."
"M has a very restricted diet (remember reader, she started on the rigid program). She can eat whatever she likes, but it must fit into the number of carbohydrates needed at certain times of day. She can take home special treats to eat later."
"M can make these determinations herself. If you have questions, she will be happy to answer them, but please assume that she knows whether she can eat something or not."
The students in M's class understand empowerment. They had no problem allowing M to make her own food choices. In the coming weeks, however, they did ask M a lot of questions based on things they had heard at home. M had no problem setting them straight.
The final result: I think that the kids in M's class are better educated about diabetes than nearly every kid that is not a diabetic himself.
Sometimes, when I pick up M after school, kids will report to me if she had a high or low bg count. Even better, they might tell me, "Wow, M's had great bg at lunch all week! It been around 107 just about every day!"
Because we had tailored the message to her friends, M was able to share her needs with and demonstrate her capabilities to her peers. No one in her class thought they were going to catch diabetes, nor did they perceive that M was in eminent danger. They DID understand that diabetes is both serious and manageable, and embraced their partnership in helping M maintain her good health.
Within a week, M was back to climbing trees and scraping her knees on the playground, and no one was treating her like an invalid.
In short, we had achieved our goal: support without drama.
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