Finding MY own way through D-Mama Life: The one where Dr. Dude sets me straight

 

Me, in action on a typical work day. Despite being a D-Mama, living the dream,
Me, in action on a typical work day. Despite being a D-Mama, living the dream,

A wonderful, passionate, hard working and inspiring D-Mama I know wrote a blog this week. Okay, she writes her blog all the time. But she wrote THIS ONE this week. I went to comment and realized I had way more to say. So with all the love and hope and respect in the world, I offer my response. And this has been on my mind for a while. Almost every time I speak at diabetes events or go to programs, I meet moms who say the same thing: “Will I ever be Me again?” so here is my take on that.

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 There is no doubt about it: having a child diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes rocks you to your very core. I’m talking emotionally, physically, everything-ly. But it impacts your daily life too. Career plans seem beside the point. Paychecks, while needed, somehow fade behind the daily goal of just getting by with T1D on board. I know. Because ironically, just a few months before Lauren was diagnosed (nearly 16 years ago!) I’d just landed my dream job.

And as selfish as it sounds, one of the first things I thought in the hospital with her was this: I have to quit that job.

You see, I stood up on fifth grade career day and announced that some day, I’d be on staff at SKI Magazine. I remember my teacher looking at me oddly: this girl who dreamed of being a ski writer in a sea of future ballerinas, firemen and veterinarians. And I meant it. I literally started from that age focusing on that goal.

Which is not an easy one. For every paid ski writer out there (well, this was in the age when magazine writers were actually paid), there are at least a thousand who want your spot. It’s competitive, demanding and just plain awesome.

I went to college, graduated, worked as the lifestyle and sports editor of 23 newspapers, was fired (right after I had a baby. Interesting…) and then immediately hired by a daily paper as a crime reporter where I worked for years and years covering trials like the priest sex scandals, murders and some lame political stuff. Always, always, with my eye on that prize.

After I won a national award for crime reporting, my boss asked me what he could do for me besides giving me a raise (newspapers. Gotta love them. Well, when they existed you had to love them). I asked for a ski column and to do some travel writing. That’s what led me to my first incredible job, as East Editor of the New York Time’s Snow Country Magazine. Not SKI, but then, just as cool. Kind of the literary answer to SKI.

I quit my newspaper job in the spring, and dug into living my dream job. I’d be traveling all over, skiing amazing resorts (and dining at their restaurants and checking out their spas and more) and getting paid for it.

How’s that for a fifth grade career day call?

So everything was perfect, right? Yeah, life does not work that way. Six months later, it happened. Lauren was diagnosed. And I said those words to the endo. “I have to quit my job. There is no way I can do this with this.”

That endo was our beloved Dr. Dude (aka Dr Jake Kushner, who now runs the entire diabetes show at Texas Children’s and is still a dear friend), pulled me out of Lauren’s hospital room, sat me down and said this. Sternly:

He said it just like that. With stars all around the border of what he was saying so I’d know it was important. Dr. Dude is that kind of guy.

This is what he meant: He understood that working as a ski writer and editor, and traveling to far away places, and cat skiing back country where no one – no one – could reach me sometimes – was pure and simply part of who I am and who I have always wanted to be.

And he pointed out right there that diabetes was certainly going to demand sacrifices, never, EVER should I sacrifice what is the essence of who I am and who I want to be because of diabetes. The ONLY thing that would do is send a message to my daughter that it can do the same to her.

And it cannot. It will not. I will not allow it. In other words: I had to use the same steely determination I was going to use to help my daughter build a full and amazing life despite diabetes to – and this was earth-shattering for me to realize even at that early time – to do the same for myself, for the sake of her and her future as much as for the sake of my own.

 And so I did. I’m not saying everyone can do it. For instance, if I had three children with T1D? I don’t know. Or if I was a single parent? Not so sure. That I will never know. But, I do know this: as Dr. Dude had encouraged me to do with my child, I asked myself with my life dream/career: would I do it without diabetes around? The answer was yes, and so it had to be now too.

And listen: there were no cell phones back then. Even beepers were new enough to mean an investment in Dennis Duffy: Beeper King would not have been comedy. So when I headed off on a work trip: I headed off. Out of sight, out of touch, away. Truly away.

Scary stuff. But I took my own advice I’d given my daughter (“Just get on your bike and ride it around the block! You’ll be fine and here is our plan!”), and made it work. It took a husband who would flex his work travel schedule around mine (Thanks Sean!), friends who would learn how to take care of Lauren if Sean was in a pinch (Thanks Anne and Sherri and Julie and more). It took finding land lines along the way that I could leave with folks just in case, and asking folks at those land lines to be willing to hunt me down if need be (thanks gabillion people who did so for me so many times over the years).

Most of all, it took a certain sense of knowing (and this was hard), that diabetes is a marathon not a sprint, and that every mile does not have to be a record breaker. That it’s okay to just do okay sometimes, if your happiness is in the balance.

And it worked. Snow Country folded in 1999 (still miss that team and publication!) and I went directly to work for SKI. Seven years ago I was lucky enough to score the position of staff columnist on skiing and winter sports for a great metropolitan daily. I’m also on the masthead of Ski Area Management, the bible of the industry.

So every winter, I get to go really cool places and ski with really amazing people and write about it. For the many, many years until Lauren went to college it was quite a challenge. But it was never not worth that challenge.

And now I have a daughter off in DC looking to take on the world. She’s the boss of her diabetes and the boss of her busy, active schedule. Some days are diamonds, Some days are turds. But her life? It’s as star-lined as that powerpoint slide I shared above.

As for me, I’m still sort of at SKI (They were just sold. Time will tell if the new folks love me). I’m still doing all the other stuff and more. We have cell phones now (although signals are still hard to find at many resorts), and I still want my child to be able to get in touch with me if need be. (Although I did miss an important call this winter. Sigh. But we survived).

I do want to confess now though: there was one time I royally screwed up. It was the week of Lauren’s birthday party and I got a last minute call from the New York Times. They needed me to head to Colorado in two days to do a story on a women’s outdoor fitness week. I’d be climbing a 14’er and mountain biking for many, many miles. Of course I said yes. I ran out and bought hiking boots (you don’t want to know about the blisters) and rescheduled Lauren’s birthday party for the following week. I found the land lines and ways for my husband to reach me and asked friends for help with carpooling etc.

I got into the mountain lodge one night after working hard all day and the manager said “You need to call home right away. Some kind of emergency.” Heart racing, I dialed home. My husband answered and said this:

“So. A fully dressed Barney Character came to the door today with a boombox and some prizes? Something about a birthday party he was booked for?”

Oh, right. Barney. Forgot to give him the head’s up. Oops.

In other words: diabetes or not, sometimes are dreams are going to mess up our daily lives for our kids sometimes. And it’s going to be okay. Now, we had the party a week later. I had to pay Barney twice (a dinosaur’s gotta eat!) and to this day, my daughter has an embarrassing story to hang over my mommy head.

Sounds like a win to me.

And so I say this: I know it’s scary and I know it seems impossible. But if you have a dream you’re pursuing, a job you like or even a job you need to live the life you dream of living, don’t let diabetes take it away. Sometimes, the best way to help your child thrive is to thrive yourself.

Try it. If a hapless soul like me pulled it off, so too can you.

Happy D-Mama at work.
Happy D-Mama at work.

5 thoughts on “Finding MY own way through D-Mama Life: The one where Dr. Dude sets me straight

  1. You are so right Moira. Before I was even a D mom I had a job and schedule I hated, and good friend told me that because I had a daughter that looked up to me it was my responsiility to move on to a job/life that made me happy to show my daughter how to do it. Once Sam was diagnosed it was still up to me to not let T1D ruin my life to again show her it doesn’t have to ruin hers.

  2. Awe Moira, this is making me cry. THANK YOU for giving us moms with T1D kids PERMISSION to live our life and feel OK about it or rather feel great about , knowing that we are setting a good example for out kiddos and teaching them to thrive. YOU ROCK!

  3. Spot on. And sometimes diabetes can shove you in the right direction. The exhaustion of having a small child with T1 forced me to face up to hating where my career had drifted. If I’m going to be exhausted and stressed, I need to do something I love during the day, which I wasn’t. Looking at T1-related numbers day in and day out has unexpectedly made me love looking at the world via numbers. So I’ve started to shift from “soft” research skills built up from a humanities background to “hard” business intelligence skills (which also apply nicely to analyzing blood sugar #s…). I’m so happy T1 gave me the skills and the shove. With Luke growing up, I’m more aware than ever of needing to model how to live with T1 and have a fulfilling life. Thank you for writing this! 🙂 Not easy to find the silver lining, but so necessary.

  4. Kristin — what an excellent, excellent point! I hope folks read the comments for that insight. Yes …. if it makes you feel your job is not worth it: let it guide you! so great.

  5. The quote from Dr. Dude is missing??
    Here’s what I see:
    That endo was our beloved Dr. Dude (aka Dr Jake Kushner, who now runs the entire diabetes show at Texas Children’s and is still a dear friend), pulled me out of Lauren’s hospital room, sat me down and said this. Sternly:

    I get the gist from your piece but what did he say?? : )
    Thanks,
    Sarah

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