Diabetic awareness

I teach high school.

As such, I have an opportunity to observe young people with diabetes. I watch how they manage it. Or not.

I am very aware of snippets on conversation that allow me to know if a student has diabetes, even before I receive their 504 plans.

These kids are patient with me. I ask them nosy questions about their doctors, where they get treatment, pump or no pump, what kinds of insulin they use, how long they've had the disease, etc.

I usually open the conversation with, "I am going to ask you some nosy questions. You don't have to answer any of them. I won't be offended if you don't want to talk with me about it, but my daughter had type 1 diabetes."

Answers vary, but no student has ever refused my request to talk.

Kids are awesome.

Yes, I really love high school kids. Some people explain to me that I love them because I am insane. I am okay with this kind of insanity. This kind of insanity and I made our peace long ago. Besides, it's pretty pleasant to be insane as long as you enjoy your job.

All of my students know that M is diabetic. Since I am almost never sick myself, I always know when I will be out of school: for doctor appointments, special school trips, etc. So I tell my kids that I will be out ahead of time and threaten them with bodily harm if they give the substitute a hard time.

Because all of my students know about M, kids are willing to talk to me about how diabetes has affected their lives, whether they have it themselves or not. Because my daughter has diabetes, I hear things that other teachers don't. Because my daughter has diabetes, I notice things that other teachers don't.

And in this way, I am blessed. I feel like I can be part of several diabetes success stories.

If you are not familiar with diabetes, what would these things mean to you?

An overheard phone call: "Well, it was over 300."

An overheard conversation with the nurse: "Do you fell better now?" as she watches a student consume a bag of carrots.

"It's okay, I was low this morning"

An ipod-looking thing with a wire leading to the waist instead of the ears.

Before my daughter had diabetes, I didn't really know why diabetics should be allowed to eat in class, or what it could mean if they didn't feel well. As a parent of a diabetic, I have a heightened awareness of any sign of diabetes: in restaurants, playgrounds, and, of course, classrooms.

Will I ever be able to live life the same way again? Will I ever NOT notice fanny packs, pumps, or people counting carbs?

I doubt it.

But if my daughter can't have an ordinary life, then I guess I can stick it out with her.