Today marks the 3-month anniversary of our tiny human’s diagnosis: Diabetes Type 1. It feels like so many moons ago, yet it feels like yesterday. “I am sorry,” said the doctor, “your child is diabetic”. I remember standing in the children’s ward saying shit and not fuck, surprisingly enough. (This has to count for something, right?) I did not phone anyone. I did not send anyone a message. We just quietly stood there as the newly named parents of a diabetic toddler. It was only after the first wave of chaos that I phoned someone to inform them of the latest addition to our family: Rudi’s nanny. One would think that, since my mom and I are so close, I would phone her first. But no. I decided to phone his gogo. I cried endlessly and she reassured me that the kid will be ok. “Please Lana, don’t cry. Rudi will be fine.” Then only did I phone my mom.

It has been a crazy couple of months. I learned about ketones – I never knew it existed! The keto diet actually means something to me now. I learned that you could make a lot of friends in hospital, how to give injections, focus under pressure, live with sleep deprivation and a whole lot of other things I never imagined I would add to my list of skills. Most importantly, I learned that support comes from places you never expected it to come from.

Our journey has been, well, a roller coaster ride of ups and downs – literally – and we have been growing stronger as a family. Together we make an effort to educate ourselves daily and make up stuff* as we go along. We are learning, trialling and erroring, coping (and not coping). It was only this week when I realised that it has been a quarter of the year already! Through snack times and meal planning and injections and paranoid measurements, you somehow lose track of yourself as an individual. You get caught up in routines you don’t necessarily want to stick to. But that is the thing about diabetes: being able to adapt.

A woman I know once called me very resilient. So this week I cheers to that. I am now blogging again, doodling at bedtime, beading and brushing my hair properly and have all intentions of going back to MMA this coming week. I have a couple of projects I finally have the guts to take on and know now that I need to make time in order to have time. Even if I don’t cope so well every single day. (I burst into tears three times yesterday!) To all those exhausted T1D moms out there looking after their superheroes and -heroines, I feel you. May you also wake up one random morning with the realisation that you should look after yourself too!

Yours in loving support,

*I meant to say shit.

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