Abbey's Road: Making Kindness Count

When The Architect, now 10, was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at the age of 6, our family had to relearn many aspects of normal life. In a single day, tasks that used to be simple and straightforward suddenly became guessing games: Fixing a family dinner; spending a day at the beach; going on a road trip. After the diagnosis, all of these became wrapped in an extra layer of calculations and impossible predictions. We did it — and continue to do it — because we had no choice. Our daughter’s life and well-being depend on it.

But it’s not easy.

Nearly four years into this journey with an autoimmune disease, our family has adopted a Type 1 management strategy that involves tweaking the standard American diet and eliminating things that create unnecessary challenges. We have found that the Law of Small Numbers works best for keeping blood sugars under control, allowing for The Architect to do all the things she loves with the least amount of intervention possible.

Abbey's Road: Perks of family proximity

That means occasionally buying pricey foods with special ingredients that stand in for things like chips and sweets that most “normal” kids can get away with ordering from, say, a vending machine. And — especially with two siblings who CAN get away with those things — that adds a layer of complexity that extends beyond the physical.

Case in point: When a classmate brings cupcakes to school for a birthday, we ask to know in advance so we can send in something that won’t cause The Architect’s blood sugar to skyrocket and then plummet, forcing her to miss recess because she’s sitting in the nurse’s office.

When the school announces it’s going to have a cotton candy day, we come up with something else for her to eat or do because maybe it’s just me, but feeding a diabetic a literal cloud of sugar feels counterintuitive.

When we go to restaurants, she drinks water and not fancy lemonade. Because in the long run it makes her feel better, and even at 10 she recognizes that.

But sometimes the weight of all these alternatives — and being “different” — is hard for her heart, and as a mom I feel it, too.

Not long ago we were at our second home, the ice rink, where all three girls figure skate a few days a week. A kind employee there offered Bookworm and The Architect some candy that she keeps around for visitors. Bookworm politely accepted, but explained that her sister couldn’t have it — at least not without insulin — because Type 1 is cruel in that way.

And then the conversation took an unexpected turn, because this person, who barely knew my 10-year-old, said that she, too, tries to be conscious about her food choices and wishes there were more options that were blood-sugar friendly. They talked about specific brands and treats The Architect likes to have, many of which the employee said she buys for herself.

I had assumed the thread would end here, but a half hour later, that woman popped into the office where I was sitting and said she’d ordered a selection of low-carb and sugar-free treats that would arrive the following week to be put in the concession stand.

And I actually cried at that point, because for someone to go out of their way to make sure my child feels included is a balm to a mother’s heart.

Abbey's Road: Basking in boredom

We’d already come to grips with the fact that the standard concession offerings of soft pretzels and nachos and candy would never work for The Architect, but that’s just part of our lives: Always bringing alternatives.

Then last week, we walked into the rink for a lesson, and on the menu above the concession window, all the special treats were there. In their own section. For my kid and any others who do things a little differently.

I pointed it out to the Architect and she smiled. A real, genuine smile of a kid who can order something from the concession stand for the first time and not worry about whether she has to take a mega dose of insulin for it, and have to sit out half of her lesson while her body tries to regulate.

This employee is not the first at the rink who has made extra effort to help The Architect feel included, and it strikes me what a gift it is to find a place where people are so genuinely interested in our kids’ well-being that they go out of their way to show this type of kindness.

When, in the course of your life, you find places — and people — like that, treasure them and keep them close.

Because that level of care is life-changing, and I am deeply humbled to have been able to experience it.

Abbey Roy is a mom of three girls who make every day an adventure. She writes to maintain her sanity. You can probably reach her at [email protected], but responses are structured around bedtimes and weekends.

This article originally appeared on Newark Advocate: Amid the trials of autoimmune disease, small acts of kindness add up.