I had noticed that Ainsley was powering through sippy cups for a while but she had always been a bigger drinker than her older sister, Ellory. I think. It’s hard to remember the little stuff like that. In any case, it didn’t really start to capture my attention until she started wetting through her diapers. Leaks happen. She drinks a lot. I moved up a size.

It moved up my attention scale when the new size didn’t stop her wetting through her pants and I began proactively changing her diapers almost hourly to prevent it. I felt like I had a newborn again. I started to worry, just a little. Then there was the day she threw up after breakfast and was fine for the rest of the day. I decided to send an email to her doctor.

Our very excellent pediatrician, Dr. V, emailed me back saying she was pretty sure it was nothing but we should do a urine check just to be on the safe side. Reassured, I didn’t rush. When I couldn’t get her to pee in the cup in the lab, I just took it home with me. I threw my neck out, badly, and the cup sat neglected on the counter for a few days. We noticed that she was whiny and crying more. Then she threw up after breakfast again. We took the sample in the next day.

Dr. V called me at home in her very cool, very calm way.  ”Hi, Alicia, the lab results are in and her glucose was a little high. I’d like to do a followup.”  ”Ok, that sounds good. When?” “Could you bring her in right now?”  Bad Sign #1.

They took us at lunch when they don’t normally see patients. Bad Sign #2.  The nurse who roomed us did a quick finger poke. She turned away from me while she checked the readout and wouldn’t look at me while she asked, “Has she been very thirsty or wetting a lot? Has she thrown up at all?” Bad Sign #3. She never did look at me as she left the room and said, “Dr. V will be right in to discuss this with you.” Bad Sign #4.

By the time she came in I was expecting it, but I still closed my eyes and turned my face away when she said, “I think there’s something going on. You have an appointment with the Pediatric Endocrinology specialist in an hour.” She was so kind and gentle. We never used the word diabetes. We never used it once.

I held it together until I got Ainsley safely buckled into the backseat and then I sobbed as I drove out of the parking lot. I called Greg first. He took it well and we agreed I would pick him up. I called my mom next. She was stoic but I knew she was just holding the tears at bay. I called a friend next and asked her to pick up Ellory from preschool. She said, “I’m so sorry.”  It was the right thing to say. It felt so final.

I cried all the way to the Pediatric Subspecialty Clinic and through the pharmacy where we picked up the 8 prescriptions they had asked us to bring to our appointment. We met our Pediatric Endocrinologist and I stupidly asked him, “Are you SURE?” I assured him (begged is more like it) that I would put her on any diet, do anything, to make it go away. We were assured that Ainsley’s diabetes was not that kind. Then we got a crash course lasting several hours on everything Type 1 is and is not, how to check blood glucose, how to draw and administer insulin, how to feed her, when to feed her, what to do when things go wrong. And, we were assured, they will go wrong.

We practiced on pillows. Greg and I gave each other saline shots. It pinched. And there, out of nowhere, I gave my seemingly healthy baby her first dose of insulin. I didn’t flinch from it. She didn’t cry. We looked at each other, me wearing the face of grim, and her wearing wide, trusting eyes. They sent us on our way and we took Ainsley home and began our new life with her.