Growing Up with a Mom Who Has Type 1 Diabetes
My earliest memory isn't of learning my ABCs or riding a bike. It's standing in our kitchen with my mom, practicing what to do if her blood sugar dropped too low. I was three years old. She would pretend to have a low blood sugar, and I would run to the pantry as fast as I could to grab a juice box and a box of raisins. We practiced until I knew exactly where everything was. Then she taught me how to dial 911 and my grandfather's phone number. It was just my mom and I, so she wanted to know that if the unthinkable ever happened, I would know exactly what to do.
To most people, that probably sounds heartbreaking, but that was simply life to little Ava. Type 1 diabetes was woven into everything we did. However, despite the seriousness of it all, my childhood wasn't defined by fear. Like most kids, I found ways to make life entertaining. Since diabetes was all I had ever known, I sometimes pretended that I had Type 1 diabetes too. I saw it as the secret club my mom was part of. I'd dramatically announce, "My blood sugar is low!" and insist that I needed a cookie. Looking back, I knew exactly what I was doing. My mom would laugh before reminding me that cookies weren't actually the treatment for a low blood sugar. Juice boxes, raisins, or glucose tablets came first. Diabetes lived in our kitchen pantry, my mom's purse, and even my childhood imagination.
But there were moments when diabetes wasn't pretend. When I was five years old, my mom experienced a severe low blood sugar in the middle of the night. She fell down nearly three flights of stairs, breaking her left foot so badly that she needed surgery and screws to repair it. Watching someone you love go through something like that changes you, even at such a young age. It changed our family. After that accident, we welcomed Lucy, our diabetic alert dog. Lucy was much more than a pet. She quickly became another layer of protection, alerting us to dangerous blood sugar changes before they became emergencies. She brought us peace of mind, and she served as a reminder that technology, research, and even a dog's incredible instincts could make life with Type 1 diabetes a little safer.
Growing up with Type 1 diabetes in our home taught me things most children never have to learn. I became unusually aware of the little signs that something wasn't right. I learned how to stay calm under pressure and that emergencies can often be prevented when you recognize the warning signs early enough. Knowledge can save a life.
I have participated in Type 1 diabetes screening since early clinical trials. This participation in research has now taught me that Type 1 diabetes actually develops in stages. Long before symptoms appear, a simple blood test can detect diabetes-related autoantibodies that identify Stage 1 and Stage 2 Type 1 diabetes. Families who know early have time to prepare, dramatically reduce the risk of diabetic ketoacidosis, and may even qualify for therapies that delay the progression of the disease. This discovery is deeply personal. I had spent years preparing for diabetes emergencies. Now we have the opportunity to prepare for the diagnosis itself. That realization has become my mission. Today, I advocate for Type 1 diabetes awareness, encourage early screening through programs like TrialNet, participate in clinical research, and educate families about the early stages of the disease. I want fewer people to experience a diagnosis in the middle of a medical crisis and more families to receive one with knowledge, preparation, and hope.
When people ask me what it was like growing up with a mom who has Type 1 diabetes, I think about my mom, the strongest person I know, who taught me that preparation is never about living in fear. It's about loving someone enough to be ready when they need you. If my childhood taught me anything, it's this: recognizing the signs can save a life. Whether it's treating low blood sugars or detecting Type 1 diabetes before symptoms ever appear, knowledge gives families something invaluable. Time. And time changes everything.