I Just Can’t Imagine

People tell me all the time that they, “just can’t imagine…”

They can’t imagine counting carbs and keeping track of every meal or snack. They can’t imagine going up to school twice a day for a sugar check and an injection. They can’t imagine doing injections four to five times a day. They can’t imagine waking up each night to check sugar levels. They can’t imagine all the packing and checking and extras we needed for our trip to the snow.


Honestly, I couldn’t imagine it, either, when we received the diagnosis. Now it is our new normal. As with anything, you just assimilate. It turns into your routine. He is grasping pieces of his care on his own as well. We have a tremendous support system. So much of it has become what we do naturally.

I shared it on Instagram and Facebook, and even here in a photo the other day, but I don’t have to wonder what his life would look like without Type One at this point. That’s not his story. It’s not ours, either. It doesn’t mean it’s his life, though. We don’t revolve our lives around the disease or its management. We make it fit in with what we’re already doing. Sure, there are hurdles and adjustments, but by and large, it’s not our only thought day by day. We think about him. About the child that he is; the young man he is growing into; the future he has.

I remember the evening in the hospital parking lot, wrapped in my husband’s arms, when I just couldn’t imagine. Quiet tears trickled down my face. They got faster, sobs became audible. I couldn’t imagine. We couldn’t imagine. But we didn’t have to. We dried our eyes, grabbed hands, walked back down that hall, learned all we could in a short time, and came home, where we don’t imagine. We don’t have to. We live. We love. We laugh. We eat pizza, brownies, and pancakes. We continue to learn. We continue to advocate.

Living any life other than this? I just can’t imagine…

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