The moment of diagnosis
My son was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was four years old. For me as his mom, there was something indelible about that exact moment — the innocent before and the altered after when you learn that your baby has something he’ll have to carry all his life, and that it will be hard, sometimes very hard. You remember details about those unbearably long minutes — his tiny fingers resting in your palm, his insatiable thirst, your thunderous heartache when the doctors told you that you weren’t going home anytime soon, and that when you did, it would be different. Those first hours in the hospital when you refused to learn how to prick your baby’s finger. You just couldn’t.