When Diabetes Attacked My Child

The school bell was ringing! I was so excited! It was time for Christmas break and our family was coming to visit! My little girl was running towards me, smiling, pig tails swinging. She was so happy that MawMaw and PawPaw were coming. Her teacher was walking behind her. I wondered if Rosie forgot something in her classroom.
“Hi, Mrs. E...l, I wanted to bring something that I think may be important to your attention.” her teacher said. She went on to explain, “Rosie has been extremely thirsty and has gone to the restroom quite often today. I think you should bring her to the doctor.” I thanked her for bringing Rosie’s symptoms to my attention, wished her a merry Christmas, and went on my way.
On the way home, I passed by Taco Bell to get some dinner. Before I could leave the parking lot, I could hear Rosie gulping her Daddy’s large Dr.Pepper. The cup rattled as she sucked the last drop. She gasped for air and exclaimed, “Mommy, more!” I was quite surprised at this pressing request. After all, she was only 5 years old. I had never seen her be able to drink a large drink in one sitting, much less a giant Taco Bell drink. Something was drastically wrong!
I rapidly grabbed my phone, dialing my husband’s work number. “Chad, I think something is wrong with Rosie!” I quickly stated. From there, I described how Rosie was gulping a drink down and what her teacher had just told me.
Chad began to look up what could be wrong as I waited on the phone. Sounding confused, he said, “According to Google, she probably has diabetes. I don’t understand how though. She’s not old and she’s not fat. I think we need to just take her to see a pediatrician. I’m sure everything’s fine. Call the doctor and set an appointment for tomorrow.” So, I went home and called the hospital. Luckily, they had an opening for 3:00 p.m. the following day.
My husband and I were awoken in the night to the sound of Rosie breathing heavily next to our bed. “Daddy, I’m thirsty!” she said. Chad got up and fixed her a drink. A few minutes later, she was there again with the same complaint. Then again and again, all night she drank and drank and drank. By the break of daylight she had consumed over ten cups of water and wet her bed for the first time in her life. It was becoming more and more evident that our baby girl was very sick.
The next day, the doctor did not seem to be as concerned as we were. She stated that diabetes for a child her age was very rare and most likely was not what was wrong. In her opinion, Rosie was underweight and was not being fed enough. She said, “Mom, what you need to do is fatten her up! I will order the labs if that will put your mind at ease, but I recommend you go to the commissary and get this child some ice cream.” Hearing this, I started to feel like maybe the doctor was right. Was I not feeding my child enough? My husband and I decided to listen to the doctor. We got her blood tests done, picked up some ice cream from the commissary, and headed home.
Upon entering our neighborhood, we saw several military police cars pass in the opposite direction. One by one, they turned around and began following us. When we got home, there was a swarm of police waiting in our driveway. One of them came running towards our car. “Sir, ma’am, are you the parents of Rosie E..l?” he asked. We said yes and that she was in the back seat. “The hospital called us, asking us to come and find her. Your daughter is going to die if you don’t get her back to the hospital right now! Follow me. I’ll escort you there!” he said with urgency.
On the way to the emergency room, feelings of panic and fear began to overwhelm me. I kept asking my daughter if she was okay. She was not responding. Her little body was slightly slumped over in the back seat. She looked so weak and her skin was white as a sheet. Oh God, please, don’t take her. Please don’t let my little girl die! When we arrived at the E.R., there were nurses waiting anxiously for her arrival. Most kids would panic at the thought of getting an I.V. Not Rosie. She was too weak and sick to care. My husband and I raced after the gurney she was placed on, ignoring the DO NOT ENTER signs at the trauma room door.
After several hours of panic and worry, a pediatrician talked to us about what was to come. He said that he needed to admit Rosie to the hospital. “Her blood sugar is 860. Your daughter has juvenile diabetes.” he said.
The next few days were like a boot camp for learning how to be a diabetic’s parents. My husband and I were taught every aspect of how to care for our daughter. We were taught how to do blood sugar tests, count carbohydrates, measure insulin, give shots, and treat her for out of control sugar levels. She no longer was the same healthy little girl. This was the beginning of a new type of life and the end of life as we knew it.