As with most high-schoolers, there have been some bumps along the way, but for the most part her transition has been pretty smooth, especially considering that her previous school was so tiny. And Montessori.
In a small Montessori school, diabetes was pretty easy to manage.
M could eat when she was hungry. She could check her bg any time she felt like it. She could leave her work for a moment without losing valuable instruction time.
In traditional public school, these options are not typically available.
For example, students are not allowed to eat in class.
Oh sure, because she has a "disability", M is permitted to eat in class. But if no one else is permitted to eat in class, then M feels like she is making a big stinky deal out of being "special".
To check her bg, M either has to check it in class, which causes a distraction, or excuse herself to go to the bathroom (Ick! High school bathrooms!) or the nurse's office. Leaving the room excludes her from valuable instruction time.
Not to mention that racing from room to room, visiting her locker, carrying and organizing a bunch of stuff, etc. gives her plenty of opportunities to "forget" that she has to take care of herself.
Overall, she forgets less than she might.
However, while at work the other day, the phone in my classroom rings. I pick up the phone and our school secretary asks me to hold the line for M's school nurse.
I go into "I-am-calm-and-will-not-panic" mode.
I try to sound pleasant as the nurse asks how I am. I say something foolish like, "I don't know. You tell me!"
She explains that M has had a couple of lows that morning, and that it took her a few hours to shake them. She had to lie down in the office for a while and missed her Spanish class and thus valuable instruction time. She is fine now.
The nurse goes on to explain that M has not been eating breakfast in the mornings, which is news to me. The nurse suggests that perhaps M doesn't have time in the mornings to eat.
I stupidly begin to argue with the messenger, "She has an hour..." but I cut myself off. It is not the nurse that needs to realize that she has plenty of time. I have met M before. She does not like to eat in the mornings. She never has. In fact, when she was in preschool, her teacher once called to ask me if I fed M breakfast in the morning, because she was always starving at 9:00 am. My answer at the time was, "I try to, but she only eats about two bites before she says she's full."
M is still the same person she was at three years old. She is never hungry in the morning. In Montessori school, M ate when she was hungry. The problem is that traditional schools need to have designated lunch times or students will lose valuable instruction time.
I tell the nurse that I will buy M some Zone bars so that she can shove something into her face before heading to school. The nurse thinks that this is a good idea.
I ask the nurse to please have M come visit her before the end of the day to check her bg again. She had a field hockey game that afternoon, and I didn't want to burden her coaches with a sick, weak, or unstable kid at an away game. The nurse agrees and I hang up.
It was my prep period, so I only had one student in the classroom with me, looking for extra help.
"Is everything okay with M?" she asked. All of my students know about M's type 1.
"Yes," I sigh. "At least it will be."
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| Mmmm. Breakfast! |
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