The other morning as I was drawing up my smallest Type 1's injection she looked up to me and asked, "Can I take my needle dad"
I paused; my thoughts were immediately mixed. I felt proud and sad almost simultaneously. Here was this small bright blue eyed sweet innocent child asking if she could stick herself with a syringe full of insulin.
I embraced the fact that she wanted to try, thinking, wow, once again her bravery astonishes me. I finished drawing up the insulin and handed her the needle.
With out a moments hesitation she pulled up her shirt and did it. Just like that, no pause, no second guessing herself, like I see my adult patients consistently do, where they pause, then proceed, not this kid, she just DID IT!
She looked up and smiled, and said, that didn't even hurt. She was beaming with pride.
I took the needle, and said; "great job you brave princess", and gave her a high-five. Than, she ran off to get to the stuff kids do, what ever was on her mind.
This sparked a memory of when I was 9 years old, sitting on my bed, staring at the syringe my dad had handed me, only I hesitated, for quite a while, and gradually stuck the needle into my thigh. I was afraid, and I remember thinking, I hate diabetes, I hate taking this stupid needle. Why oh why? But time passed and here I was witnessing my little girl, so gracefully showing initiative and injecting herself, like it was just a normal thing to do.
I am so proud for her and also sad.
Diabetes, once again, forces its presence into my soul, causing a paradox of emotional turmoil.