That's How We Found Out

Arden turned two years old on July 22nd, 2006. A few weeks later she had her two-year well visit with our pediatrician. Everything looked great, she got her immunizations, and we went home. The next day Arden seemed sick — a slight fever, lethargic. I assumed that was from the inoculations. When she didn't get better after a few days I took her back to the office.

Arden was diagnosed with Hand, Foot and Mouth disease (HFMD). A common illness for infants and small children. What was strange was that she had already had HFMD previously — it's supposed to be one of those things you get once and then build a natural defense against, like chicken pox.

I was really hoping she would start feeling better fast. We were leaving for a family vacation in three days and I wanted Arden to be able to enjoy the beach.

Arden had been urinating more than usual for about a week — not in frequency, but volume. I attributed this to her recent switch from bottles to cups. She was drinking more, and it just seemed to make sense.

The next day I realized I couldn't remember when her last bowel movement was. Later that day she finally had one, but it was dry — actually crushable, like dirt barely held together by moisture. That's when I started to really worry. I called the pediatrician and we agreed she was dehydrated from being sick and that I'd begin to push liquids.

We were leaving the next day for Virginia Beach. The HFMD had run its course and we were pushing fluids, so I was hopeful. We packed up the car and headed to the beach.

I know for sure that we were an hour from the beach house when we stopped for food. Arden was very hungry — which I thought was a great sign that she was feeling better. About an hour after we ate, we arrived at the house. She had urinated so much it had soaked her diaper and the cushion of her car seat. That was the first moment I really started to worry about the urinating.

We unpacked and tried to relax. We had just finished a fairly major renovation to our home — the contractor's part was over and we were going to do some of the finish work ourselves. Our plan was to rejuvenate on this vacation and go home to finish the construction. But a new plan was just over the horizon. We didn't know anything about it. And it was coming in three days.

Over the next two days, Arden was ravenously hungry but still very sick. She hadn't had a bowel movement since Friday and her frequent urination had not decreased in volume. I could see she wasn't getting better — sicker, even — and I stopped taking her outside. We spent our days in the house. She slept so much. In hindsight, I know now that she was dying.

On the third day, I felt so bad that she was missing the beach, so that afternoon I took her outside so she could see her brother Cole playing. She just stared expressionless — at Cole, at the beach, at the ocean. She didn't smile, ask to be put down, or even seem to care that the ocean was right in front of her. So I took her for a ride in my truck so she could fall back to sleep.

Later that evening Kelly and I took Arden to a nearby nature reserve to see if the cool evening air would help. That's where I took some photographs I'll never forget — a few of the amazing sunset, and the rest of Arden.

A few hours later, around 12:30 am, I remembered that I had meant to tell Kelly something the day before but had forgotten. We were all sitting around a huge table playing a board game — Kelly's entire family was there. Parents, brother, sisters, in-laws, nephews, nieces, and cousins. Sixteen of us in total.

I looked across at Kelly and said, "I've been meaning to tell you that Arden's breath smells funny — metallic, or maybe sweet."

In that instant, Kelly's face seemed to almost slide off of her skull. Her reaction made me realize what I had been missing the last few days. Kelly knew in that instant. And now I did too.

Arden has diabetes.

I know Kelly and I must have been thinking the same thing — not diabetes — but we didn't say very much to each other. I think we were in shock.

We were at a red light on a deserted road, sitting silent, scared out of our minds. I turned to Kelly and said, "Arden has diabetes. I know you're scared and sad — so am I — but this is one of those moments that we have to be strong for her." She nodded. The light turned green. And we didn't talk about it again.

Soon after we checked into the hospital, a doctor tested Arden's blood glucose — it must have been 3 am by then. He and the nurse left the room. We sat there holding hands and staring at Arden as she lay on that cold bed.

A few minutes later a man we had never met before was telling us how our lives had just "changed forever." That there was "currently no cure for type 1 diabetes." They needed to take Arden away to stabilize her.

Kelly and I passed out in a tiny room down the hall from where they were working on our daughter. They woke us around 8 am. I went back to the house to check on Cole. Kelly sat in a chair with Arden on her lap the entire day — tubes coming from everywhere. She never got up. Never went to the bathroom. Never ate.

Over the next four days, in between the crying and staring, we learned as much as we could about type 1 diabetes and how to give Arden the best and longest life possible.

Now, over eighteen months later, I am no less scared or concerned. Just better prepared — and better at lying to people who ask me how I am.

Arden's diabetes doesn't stop. Not because it's 3 am. Not if it's my birthday or hers. Not because we are exhausted or because Arden asks when she won't have it anymore. I don't do anything without first considering how it will affect her blood glucose. A timer runs in my head from the moment of her last injection.

What was her BG last time? What has she eaten? Is it hot? Has she exercised? What will her BG be next time I check? Is she going to have a seizure? Will she lose her sight, the feeling in her limbs? Will her kidneys fail? Will she develop heart disease?

The soundtrack of my mind.

Once in a while I think about that sunset. Every now and then I can get to it for a moment. I feel the sun and that carefree feeling of being on vacation with my family. That day is Arden's Day to me. It's the day I remember most fondly — and the day we are striving to get back to.

The last day Arden was just Arden, and not also a child living with type 1 diabetes.

That's how we found out.