I've been raising children for over 36 years. My oldest is thirty six and the youngest, Cale, is sixteen years old. I've bandaged knees, elbows, and eyebrows (that's a story in and of itself) helped to mend numerous broken hearts, and stared at more than my share of X-rays. Most of which I never could see the "obvious" crack in my child's fibula, tibia, hand or other body part that my kids broke on their way to adulthood. Nothing could prepare me for the day my sixteen year old son was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.

On October 11, 2017, Cale had the flu...or so I thought. He had lost some weight, which was normal for all of my boys as they entered adulthood. Lose weight, shoot up about two inches over the summer, and tower over me by the time school started again. It was a pattern that I was very familiar with. Cale was drinking more water than usual, but then, here in California it was over 110 degrees for weeks at a time. Of course he was thirsty. Looking back now, hindsight is always 20/20, there were so many signs. I just didn't see them. And, because I wasn't aware of the signs of diabetes, I almost lost my baby. He may be almost six feet tall, and sixteen years old, but he's still my baby... the last of my children to still be at home. And, when he was sick, and he couldn't talk to me, or move, I didn't see a half grown man; in my mind's eye, and in my heart, I saw my baby. Memories of my little blonde-haired, blue-eyed toddler flashed through my mind, making my heart ache, as I wondered what I could have done to prevent this horrible nightmare.

On the morning of October 11th, I took Cale to the doctor because he just didn't look right. His skin was grayish and he looked horrible... The day before he hadn't felt well and I had given him chicken soup and lots of juice and water, the same as I always had done when my kids were sick. Little did I know that the juice was making things much worse. Through the night, Cale was restless and unable to sleep. He hadn't felt well at bedtime and decided to sleep on the couch. I was worried about him so I slept in the living room with him...just in case. He kept having bad dreams and, by early morning, said it was hard to breathe because his stomach hurt. At that point, I was scared. I needed to get him to the doctor. He was too weak dress himself... at this point I was sick with worry. I took him to the doctor and practically carried him inside; his strength was diminishing by the minute. The doctor took one look at my child and said he wanted to do a quick blood test. In less than a minute, my entire world was turned upside down. Cale's blood sugar count was almost 500... The doctor explained to me that my son didn't have the flu, he was diabetic.

I could hear the doctor calmly explaining to me that Cale had Type 1 diabetes, and that he needed to get to the hospital, but I couldn't grasp the concept. Not my son, it couldn't be. He was always a picture of health. His last physical was just a year before and everything was perfect. How could this be? The doctor, again, recommended we get my son to the hospital as quickly as possible, and suggested we go by ambulance so that Cale could be started on fluids and under the care of an EMT. I agreed and, within moments, I watched my motionless child be loaded into the back of an ambulance. He tried to smile at me but at that point his strength was gone. Scared to death, I asked if I could ride to the hospital with him, explaining that he was just a child. It didn't take much convincing... the ambulance driver was a dad and he understood my need to be with my son.

When we got to the hospital, everything happened so quickly. My son was rolled into an emergency room and one white coat after another came in and took blood or vitals... they hooked up an IV and continuously monitored him. The next thing I knew, the ER doctor told me that my son's case was so severe that he needed to be transported to a larger hospital a couple of hours away. He said he had ordered the Life Flight helicopter to transport my son and that Cale would be admitted into the children's intensive care unit where they specialized in juvenile diabetes. At this point, my head was spinning and I couldn't speak. I just nodded my head and signed the numerous forms and documents that were put in front of me. I couldn't see through the tears, but I signed them anyway...anything to get my son wherever he needed to be.

Thank God, my daughter got to the hospital shortly after we did, and she stayed with me. I don't know what I would have done without her there. When Cale was ready to be transported, the Life Flight pilot and nurse came in and talked to me. They explained that I couldn't go in the helicopter, but that my child was in good hands and that I shouldn't worry. As thankful as I was that they were kind, and would take good care of my baby, I felt lost and helpless. I was sick with worry.

My daughter drove me down to the hospital, trying to keep my mind occupied and off of Cale. It was sweet of her, but I couldn't think of anything else. If I had seen the signs, taken Cale to the doctor sooner, all of this could have been prevented... I prayed, then prayed again. I begged God to keep my son safe, to not let anything happen to him. All the way to the hospital, I was terrified that my baby didn't make it. That I lost him, and I wouldn't have been there when he took his last breaths. When we finally arrived at the hospital, and got to the ICU, I cried when I walked in my son's room and saw him lying there... He was ashen and still, he didn't know we were even there, but he was alive. I thanked God for answering my prayers.

As soon as I walked in the room, a nurse came in and caught me up on everything. Cale had become dehydrated, so they had him on fluids. He was hooked up to a machine that gave him insulin and his vitals were constantly monitored. He was in bad shape but she said he would be just fine. Again with the tears. I didn't know I had any left. Through the day I sat and held my son's hand. I brushed his hair from his face and talked to him, reassuring him that he was going to be just fine. When he finally awoke, I painted on my best smile, and explained the situation to him. He didn't have a lot of questions but seemed to understand. By the time my husband got to the hospital, I had a pretty good grasp of the disease and what it meant for my son, and for our family. I hadn't seen my husband so emotional in a long time...

The first couple of days were hard. Cale was slow to improve and we had several challenges. When Cale was awake, I smiled and talked to him and told him that everything would be okay. But, when he slept, I cried. I had a pretty good pity party going for the first day or so... I felt responsible and sad. I wanted to throw up every time I learned more about this horrible disease that my child would have the rest of his life. The third day, I was sitting next to Cale's bed and I saw a little girl walking down the hall with her daddy. She was smiling up at her daddy and he smiled back at her... she had no hair and wore a hospital wrist band. That was when everything was put into perspective for me. My son was sick, horribly sick, and I almost lost him. But he would be going home in a few days. His disease, as horrible as it is, was manageable. The little girl in the hallway may not live long enough to enjoy Christmas. That was when I stopped feeling sorry for myself, and my son, and began to be thankful that Cale was going to be okay and that this disease, though a royal pain, wasn't going to take his life.

Over the next few days, Cale got his color back and his vitals returned to normal. His blood sugar levels were in normal range and his kidneys began to function properly again. He was able to sit up, then stand, and within a few days, walk. He never complained, never felt sorry for himself, just accepted things as they were and was happy to have improved. That boy of mine is pretty special...

Our lives have changed, that's for sure. But, I am so thankful that Cale is a normal, happy, healthy teenager. He just has a bum pancreas. We count carbohydrates for every meal, and he has to be careful of what he eats and drinks. He takes four insulin shots every day, and checks his blood before every meal, but not once has he felt sorry for himself or complained. My son is a trooper and an incredible young man!

I have gotten to the point where I understand that there was nothing I could have done to prevent this from happening to my child, but the guilt is still there. The doctor and nurses all tried to help me understand that this disease is random and that I couldn't have stopped it, and that part is true. If only I had seen the signs...

Please! Please, if you have a child, or a grandchild, and they are drinking a lot of water, urinating a lot, have foul breath, lose weight, have a lot of stomach aches, crankiness, lightheaded, or if they just don't seem like themselves, have them seen. If it's nothing but growing pains or the flu, awesome! But, don't take that chance. Believe me, looking back, I wish to God that I had done something sooner. I just didn't realize...