What to Say?

We currently have more than one family in our lives with a recently diagnosed blood-sugar-challenged person. While we're hoping this isn't becoming a trend, I'm working on my own initial reaction conversation, and reflecting on some I had 15 or so years ago.

We were fortunate to be hooked up with a local group of diabetes parents shortly after my daughter's diagnosis. When I called for details about their meetings, the group's facilitator - both a CDE and a diabetes mom herself - stayed on the phone for almost an hour, offering support and encouragement, with lots of, "slowly but surely it'll get easier," and "it sounds like you're doing well, considering how little she is and all you've been through," and "I'll bring you some resources when you come to support group." She then asked if she could have a member of the group call me since this member's daughter had been diagnosed at about the same age as mine. The phone rang a few days later.

"Oh... I'm so sorry this is happening to you," the well-meaning mom began, "Having diabetes is terrible. It's the hardest thing we've ever done."

We had other conversations with fellow diabetes families over those first few months, some from that support group and some from other parts of our lives, but I think those two interactions mark the extreme opposite answers to the question, "What should I say to the newly diagnosed?" Should I assume they're in a place of despair, or should I begin with hope?

Talking with the "diabetes is terrible" mom wasn't all bad. Simply chatting with someone with similar experiences was helpful. But I was left wondering why, 3 weeks in, I seemed to have a better level of acceptance of my new normal than she did after a few years.

So in my interactions, even on days when I'm feeling like diabetes is particularly terrible, I've decided to aim for encouragement: offering and answering questions, listening, and providing information or resources if I can.  If the conversation flows towards the terrible parts, I'm not opposed to supportive commiserating, but want the end message to be, "but we survived those first months, we're surviving now, and you will to."

I don't think there's anything much more helpful than a real live person saying, "I've been in your shoes. I'm still standing, and even thriving. It's going to be okay, and I'm here to help."

The Boy on the Field Trip

My daughter's 8th grade wasn't the only group visiting the family resort/camp on the day of their field trip.  After telling me that she hadn't talked to her school nurse all day, my daughter shared this contrasting story about a boy from another school:

There was another kid there with diabetes.  I felt so bad for him. I saw him out of the corner of my eye when I sat down for lunch.  He was a table over from us.  I could see him checking his blood sugar.  His nurse was hovering over him with her giant bag of stuff.  It took him a long time to check.  Then they got out a Calorie King book.  You know- not the app but one of those old books like we have on top of the refrigerator? 




Please rest assured we no longer use this alarmingly outdated 2003
COLOR edition to look up restaurant foods or packaged foods.
It's for fruit, grains, baking ingredients and other natural and recipe basics.

I could hear their conversation.  It was painful. They were looking up hamburger buns and macaroni and cheese.  It took them forever.  They came up with 65 first but the nurse decided that was too high (I think she was right) so they rounded down to 55 but weren't sure about that either. I thought about going over there and saying, 'a hamburger bun is usually 21 and half a cup of macaroni is 20-ish.  Enjoy your lunch.'  But I didn't.

I'm not even sure he'd started eating by the time we left.  I felt really bad for him.

We talked about what might have slowed this boy down.  The most likely scenario was that he was newly diagnosed and that this adventure was all new territory for him, diabetes-wise.  Or maybe he didn't eat out much and/or burgers and mac and cheese weren't on his usual menu.  Maybe his was a nervous nurse who needed to be sure they were taking care of his diabetes 'by the book.' 

Whatever the scenario, I understand my daughter's decision not to jump into the conversation. They probably would not have taken advice from another kid, and so her appearance would likely have just further delayed the poor boy's lunch.  She did wish she'd run into him later at one of the activities.

I do wish I'd seen him somewhere else. I would've told him that it'll get easier but I never saw him again.  I hope he didn't spend the rest of the day in the dining hall trying to figure out his lunch carbs.