We had no idea he was sick.
There was no flu, no fever, no sign that anything serious was happening. He was going to school, playing sports, laughing with friends — just being a normal nine-year-old boy.
Looking back now, the signs were there, but they were quiet — so easy to miss.
The school nurse had noticed he was using the restroom more often than usual. She even wrote a small Post-it note to remind herself to mention it to me on Monday, thinking maybe it was a UTI. Diabetes wasn’t even on her radar — it wasn’t on ours either.
That weekend, he was staying with my parents. My mom called that morning, her voice calm but firm — the kind of tone that instantly makes your stomach drop. She said he just didn’t seem like himself.
He had gone to breakfast with my nephews, and when the food came, he didn’t eat.
He just drank.
Three full glasses of milk.
He kept saying how thirsty he was.
Then my nephew said something none of us will ever forget:
“His breath smells really bad.”
We had no idea that was a major red flag — a sign of ketones, a warning that his body was fighting for balance.
When he got home, my mom offered to take him to McDonald’s — his favorite — to see if she could get him to eat. But on the drive, he was pale, weak, and drifting in and out of consciousness. She pulled the car over, prayed, and heard God tell her that something was wrong — that McDonald’s wouldn’t fix it.
She called me and said,
“You either meet me, or I’m going to urgent care alone.”
My husband and I met her there.
The moment we walked into urgent care, the nurses could tell something was wrong. Before we even finished checking in, one nurse quietly slipped into the back and returned to say,
“You need to go to the Emergency Room — immediately.”
Our faces froze in pure fear. We had no idea what she saw that we didn’t, but we knew it was bad.
At the ER, they pricked his finger right there in line before we were even fully checked in.
The meter flashed “HI.”
Another blinked 600.
Did we know what any of this meant? Absolutely not.
The ER doctor — they called her “the hound dog” — walked in and said she could smell that he was in DKA.
What is DKA? We had no idea. We were lost.
At the hospital, more tests confirmed what we didn’t yet understand.
His blood sugar wasn’t 600.
It was 983.
His A1C was 14.
He was in DKA.
He had played two full lacrosse games earlier that day — running up and down the field, smiling, giving it everything he had. But when I look at those photos now, I can see it. His eyes were sunken. His face thinner. His body already fighting a battle we didn’t know existed.
He had lost 13 pounds without us realizing.
I thought he was just growing — thinning out like his older brother did.
It nagged at me, but I brushed it off.
Hindsight is 20/20.
The Day Everything Changed
I’ll never forget the sight of him in that hospital bed — so small, surrounded by wires, his little body trying to rest while machines beeped around him.
I’ll never forget the look on the nurse’s face when she told us he had Type One Diabetes — words that changed everything in an instant.
We went from being terrified of the unknown to realizing what it was, was a lifelong diagnosis.
In one day, our entire world shifted.
But in that same day, we also found something else: strength.
He had been fighting silently for weeks, maybe months, and still managed to smile through it all. That’s the thing about kids — they’re stronger than we can ever imagine.
We walked into urgent care thinking he just needed fluids.
We walked out a Type One family.
Our New Beginning
Now, every time I see him check his sugar, change his pump, or treat a low, I think about that day — the day everything changed.
The day we realized how fragile life is, and how fiercely we’re willing to fight for it.
Our story didn’t start with knowledge or preparation. It started with fear, confusion, and love — and it’s grown into strength, purpose, and hope.
We didn’t choose this life, but we’ve learned how to live it.
And every day since that diagnosis, we’ve learned what it truly means to be Strong With Type One. 💙
Strong with Type One 
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