Our Tells

I'm sitting at the counter, entering Joseph's bg in his log book-- his sugar is just flying down.

No surprise-- it was a gym day.

As I stare at the curve -- the 100-point drop that took place during our short ride home from school -- Joseph plops down on the seat next to mine. I look up from the log.

Nope, not yet-- he's still low.

He has a look.

A "tell."

It's the way he smiles when he's low-- it's not quite right.

It's not him.

"Mom," he says suddenly, "I told this kid at school that if he pulled out my insulin pump I could die."

"What?!"

"Well, he was buggin' me. And he started asking me about it-- he's this big kid named "A" who likes to push people around."

"But Honey, I really don't want you telling anyone something like that."

"No-- but Mom, it was funny-- 'cause then later this other kid was messin' with me- "

"Hold on-- what do you mean messin' with you?

"It was no big deal-- but then A got all freaked out-- because of what I told him about my pump... "

And now Joseph is giggling and shaking his head.

Still smiling in that way.

".... and he grabbed the other kid and said, 'You could kill him! Leave him alone!' Then my friend, G was like 'Wait a minute, he couldn't kill- ' and I went 'shhhh!' and then G said 'Yeah, yeah-- you could kill him."

"Joseph, I really don't want you telling kids things like that-- someone might think it's funny, doing something to your pump."

"Oh yeah-- like all of a sudden they're gonna learn how to unlock my pump, and figure out how to push the buttons and do a bolus."

"Joseph, don't even say that. Please."

He laughs-- then shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

"Mom, they can't really hurt me."

But then he notices the look on my face.

My "tell."

"Really, Mom, " he says quietly-- without a trace of that smile.

"No one can hurt me."

Then he reaches across the counter and picks up his meter.

"I'm gonna check again, to see if I'm back up."

"Sounds good," I tell him-- though I can already see that he is.

Tags

I'm sitting at the computer paying bills when Joseph walks in the room.

"Mom, do we have any more dog tags?"

"I'm not sure-- why?"

"Well, I need a new one," he responds quietly.

I stop what I'm doing, turn away from the laptop screen, and look up at my son's face.

He's trying to look casual-- and failing miserably.

"What's goin' on, Bud?"

"This one is all bent," he says, holding out a silver dog tag attached to the chain hanging from his neck.

I lean over and immediately see that the metal tag is misshapen-- two large ripples now run across its surface.

"How did this happen?" I ask, a little shocked.

"Well, I was standing outside music with the rest of my class, and this kid -- L -- starts singing real loud so I tell him -- 'Be quiet-- you're makin' too much noise' -- mom, he really sounded bad, and it was annoying."

I've seen L before-- he's a big kid-- much bigger than Joseph.

"Okay, so then what happened?"

Joseph turns his head away for maybe a second or two-- still holding his dog tag between the thumb and fingers of his left hand.

When he starts talking again, it all comes out in a rush:

"He walked up to me and grabbed my dog tag, and started saying-- 'Hey, what's this, huh? Looks like plastic to me,' and then he just stood there lookin' at me, holding my dog tag in his hand, and then he squeezed it in his fist really hard . . . I don't know why he had to do that. "

"Honey, did you tell him what the dog tag means-- that it's your medical ID?"

"NO. It was just so STUPID!"

And now Joseph is fighting to keep from crying.

And I'm furious. Who is this boy? And what the hell is he doing with my son's medical ID?

I want to smack him.

Hard.

It takes me a few seconds to calm down, and a few more to calm Joseph.

"Bud, I'm thinkin' it's time for us to have a talk about diabetes with your class . . .

And for me to have a talk with his teacher about this kid, L.

. . . you know, to make sure everyone understands what that tag means. How do you feel about that?"

"Yeah. I think that's a good idea. They need to know," he says, slowly nodding his head.

I look at him for a moment-- a little surprised.

You see, when school started, (as was the case last year) he'd dragged his heels about doing a talk-- wanting instead to wait until he got to know his classmates a little better.

Until they to got to know him better.

Now, Joseph does check his blood sugar in the classroom, and is not at all shy about letting people know when he's feeling low-- so his classmates aren't completely in the dark here.

But still, he's the only one -- in a school of several hundred kids -- who has diabetes.

I'm sure he felt that our talk -- especially given too soon -- might cause his peers to see him first as "that kid with diabetes."

A valid fear, I think.

But since he doesn't see himself that way, it's hard to imagine my son letting anyone else, either.

A Not-So-Nice Friend Story

Last week, I read Allison's wonderful post relating a very touching conversation that illustrates the value of a sensitive, caring friend.

Someone who "actually gives a damn" about the needs of a friend with diabetes.

Frankly, the post struck a chord -- big time -- when Joseph was confronted with a stark contrast to its contents just three days later.

He called at the usual time to give me his pre-lunch sugar, sounding a little unhappy-- this, despite the fact that his bg was just fine.

So I asked if something was wrong.

"Yeah, Mom. Sam's mad at me, and I really don't know why."

Sam is one of Joseph's closest friends, a boy with his own troubles (his parents divorced almost two years ago) who comes to our house at least once a week.

Joseph likes Sam very much.

"Joseph, have you asked what's buggin' him?"

"Yeah, but he just keeps acting all annoyed. I apologized, even though I don't know what for, but he's still just acting all mad. He was teasing me while I was playing this game on the computer in class, saying--

'Nick is better than Joseph. Nick is better than Joseph.'

It was weird."

I agreed. That was kind of strange. These boys are almost inseparable in class.

"Well, honey... try not to let it bother you. Sam might just be in a funky mood today."

And with that, Joseph went off to lunch.

But then...

Joseph called back 30 minutes later to confirm his bolus.

This time, he sounded upset.

"Mom, Sam's being a real jerk! At lunch, Kristel gave me her chicken teriyaki and rice... you know how that's my favorite? Well, I got to eat two of them today."

I could feel him smiling through the phone as he said this.

But then, just as quickly, I knew the smile was gone.

"Hey, that sounds pretty cool to me."

"Yeah, I know. That was great, but Sam wanted more chicken teriyaki, too. He was sitting at another table and saw that I got more, and... "

This is when his voice caught.

"... he just started saying really loud--

'Joseph thinks he's special cause he's got Di - a - beeee - tees.'

Over and over, real slow. Just like that."

"Oh."

"You know how I can take most teasing, but I really don't like it if anyone teases me about my diabetes? Well that's what Sam did... and I just don't know why."

The desperation in his voice was unmistakable.

And with that desperation, came the fury of a mother who wanted, more than anything else, to ring the neck of the child who her hurt her son. A child who has watched Joseph struggle through countless highs and lows.

I wanted to have a "chat" with Sam. Because, by God, it was almost unfathomable to me that a FRIEND would taunt my son about his disease.

A close friend.

Yes, he's only ten. But come on.

So, as Joseph continued telling me how this hurt him... how Sam told him after lunch that he was "getting [Joseph] back for 3rd grade," but refused to tell him anything more than that...

As my son continued to unload his pain and confusion, I struggled to pull myself together. To remember that I'm a mother, not a vigilante. That I need to help him deal with this kind of thing, because it will surely not be the last time someone teases him about having diabetes.

But damn it, why'd it have to be his friend?

"Joseph, Sam's got something going on. Maybe he felt left out because you were playing with other kids on the computer this morning. Maybe something's going on that we're not even aware of. Regardless, what he said to you was wrong. And, while we can try to understand it, there's still no excuse for it."

"Yeah, mom. I know."

"I know you know. But you need to let Sam know."

And so he did.

Later that afternoon, he confronted Sam about what he had said. According to Joseph, Sam apologized and now they're "okay."

I was glad to hear it.

But here we are, days later, and (though I haven't told Joseph) I'm still upset.

My son just doesn't need this kind of hurt.