I hope you don’t think me indelicate, but I need to talk to you about my balls! I may be a middle aged mammy but I own a beautiful pair of diabetes balls. They started to form when my son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. I didn’t know what was happening! I had strange outbursts and surges of rage. Then, as they do, my balls dropped. Now I keep them tucked away in my handbag, nestled in beside the jelly beans and the glucagon.
They only make an appearance when needed. I know my son finds it rather embarrassing when I need to get my lady balls out, and I wish with all my heart and soul that I never needed to see them again. Making sure my son is safe, especially in the context of school, has been a large part of my raison d’être for almost five years.
Keeping him safe has meant standing up to his school, making myself unpopular at times. It has meant taking chances to gently educate those around me when opportunities arise. It has meant quiet conversations with my son’s friends to ensure they are aware of what to do if he needs them. This has taken balls as it would have been so easy to say and do nothing.
If only we lived in a world where people understood better: where diabetes, of any description, was not the butt of jokes, where schools understood that having diabetes does not preclude a student from being a normal teenager, where you didn’t need to be really brave and stand up for yourself or your child.
Now I come to my rather delicate issue. I need to help my boy grow his own pair of diabetes balls. He will finish up with school and the children’s diabetes clinic at the end of the year. He will then be working for a year, and living at home before he moves off to university the year after. That’s the current plan!
I know I would say this but he is an amazing kid. He was diagnosed a few days before his 13th birthday, almost five years ago. This was just at the time where he was gaining independence: going out for the day with mates, taking off on his bike with a few dollars in his pocket for lunch, having sleepovers. He took that independence and ran with it, continuing to do so for almost five years. He is always busy doing something: multiple sports are played, he drives, has a part time job, is in his final year of school and in the last year, he parties and drinks beer!
How do you teach your child not to be embarrassed, especially as a young adult dealing with news situations?
How do you help them to find their voice ? To avoid getting into dangerous situations by being brave enough to speak up?
This is the challenge for him and for me.
Talking of balls, just so reading this was worth your while, I though I’d share some more balls, this time in the form of a recipe. These are a favourite in our house.
mum of type 1 