Dear Max,
Today marks four years since your diagnosis with type 1 diabetes, a condition where your pancreas no longer produces insulin. I first noticed the subtle weight loss—just a pound—but it was enough to raise my concerns. I fought hard for answers, trusting my instincts that something was off. Four-year-olds shouldn’t lose weight or feel exhausted.
Despite normal test results, your relentless thirst became the next sign. I can still picture the pediatrician’s expression when your finger prick registered at 568. You were so small and innocent. Within hours, we were meeting with the endocrinologist, and I suddenly found myself responsible for managing your health. They explained that without insulin, your body would break down fat for energy, a dangerous situation. Untreated, it could have resulted in a tragic outcome. You would need insulin for life.
That night, I began giving you insulin injections and checking your blood sugar with trembling hands. You never complained or cried, which amazed me. It was overwhelming—too much insulin could be fatal, and too little carried the same risk. But we quickly learned the language of type 1 diabetes: counting carbs, calculating your insulin-to-carb ratio, and making adjustments based on exercise, illness, or growth spurts.
In a flash, type 1 became a fixture in our lives, a potential source of chaos. Yet we’ve managed to keep it under control, and you are thriving. We will never let our guard down, but we refuse to let this condition define us.
For four years, I have carried you to my room every night. It took you months to ask, “How come I end up here every night?” I told you it was so I could keep you close, to catch any highs or lows, to listen to your breathing. Last night, lifting you from your bed was a challenge—you’re nearly eighty pounds now. I know the day will come when I can’t carry you anymore. What will I do then? Will I ever let you sleep alone? The one night I allowed you to sleep in your own room, your sugar dropped low, and you didn’t wake. If I hadn’t gotten up, the outcome could have been devastating.
There are countless warriors with type 1 who live fulfilling lives, and I want you to flourish without allowing this illness to hold you back. Understand its seriousness but also recognize that it isn’t a death sentence. Even with our best efforts, one misstep can change everything. We must always remain vigilant.
Max, you are incredibly brave. I know it’s challenging to be so young and different—to sometimes forego the foods others enjoy; to remember your supplies; to adjust your pump before physical activity; to calculate boluses based on how foods digest differently.
I strive to manage this for you, but ultimately, you will need to take charge of your own health. And I believe you will.
When Grandpa passed away, and your father and I traveled to El Salvador for his funeral, your insulin pump malfunctioned. Your grandmothers tried to help, but they couldn’t figure it out. With your sugar rising, they rushed you to the endocrinologist’s office on Christmas Eve, and the nurse who assisted you was a true angel. Last month, when your pump failed again, you calmly guided a friend through the replacement process. I was so proud of your resilience and strength.
I won’t lie, Max; I sometimes wonder if I played a role in your diagnosis. Was it something I ate—or didn’t eat? Was it the dental procedure during my pregnancy? I question myself often, particularly during these challenging times with COVID-19. Am I making the right choice by keeping you home? Your health is delicate, but I worry about the impact of isolation on your spirit. I know doubt isn’t a helpful mindset, but it lingers.
So, please continue to stay strong as you grow. Don’t harbor resentment. There are children out there facing far worse challenges. You have resources and a support network that many others lack. Always express gratitude to those who stand by you—friends, family, teachers, doctors, and nurses. I promise to advocate for you every day, but you must also advocate for yourself and educate others about this condition and its many costs—physical, emotional, and financial. Remember, you are not alone; 1.6 million Americans face this journey just like you.
I can see a future where you and your siblings are huddled together over your biochemistry textbooks in your college dorms. You’ve got this, Max; you can achieve anything you set your mind to.
With all my love,
Mom
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Summary: This heartfelt letter from a mother to her son reflects on the challenges and triumphs of living with type 1 diabetes. It emphasizes the importance of resilience, advocacy, and gratitude while navigating the complexities of managing the condition. The mother expresses her love, fears, and hopes for her son’s future, encouraging him to take charge of his health and appreciate the support around him.
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