JDRF Sneaker Campaign

 

 

My photo of this sign is not as clear as I'd like it to be.  It reads:

 

A cure for Amanda means.... "A cure means no more finger pricks and shots.  I don't have to tell anyone I have type 1 diabetes anymore."

 

Each register at my local Marshalls had a sign like this, featuring a different kid, ranging in ages from 3 to 18, talking about what a cure would mean. 

 

What a great way to personalize the ask. It's eye-catching, with just enough text to read while waiting for the cashier to ring up purchases.  It's effective in explaining why, and for whom, a donation matters.

 

As it happened, I'd already spent several minutes of my Marshalls trip on the phone with my own person who needs a cure. I'd had already promised to purchase a paper sneaker on her behalf so that maybe someday she wouldn't have to call me from school with a blood sugar problem, because those problems would no longer exist. By the time I got to the register I needed no further motivation to put my name on a paper sneaker.

 

For people who don't receive personal phone calls from people with diabetes while they're shopping at Marshalls, I think this is a great addition to the annual sneaker campaign.

 

 

The People In The Orange Hats

We raised about $6000 for JDRF this month.  We had many donors, and their concern for my daughter and for everyone else who lives with diabetes does my heart good. I'm optimistic about where those funds are going.  Great advances in diabetes treatment are coming down the line in the near future, and my daughter's life is going to get easier. 

But - and please don't tell the fundraising people at JDRF this- I'd be almost as happy about our walk if we'd raised only $600, or even $60. 

What particularly sticks with me this year is the feeling of support.  We had more walkers for our team than we've had for several years.  As is our tradition, each of our walkers wore an orange hat (my daughter's favorite color) with our team name on it.   At any given point, each of us could look forward or behind us, and most importantly next to us, and see orange hats worn by people who care about us. 

They were my daughter's friends who walk her to the nurse's office when she's low.  They were her friends' parents, who keep an extra eye out for my daughter when she's in their homes and who we're happy to count as our own friends too.  Family and great family friends rounded out the contingent of people who surrounded us for the morning.

There will be days in the coming year when diabetes throws us for a loop.  On those difficult days, it will do our hearts good to look back and remember Saturday's walk. Our friends and family won't be right next to us for the three juice box night, or the long endocrinologist appointment, or the stomach bug that turns into a diabetes nightmare, or the days we simply feel like we can't do one more site change or math out one more dinner plate.  But when I've reached the end of my diabetes rope, I intend to look back to our walk and to remember the people in the orange hats.