The day our world turned upside down...

It's 3pm.  Exactly one week ago I sat at my desk and watched my 4-year-old go potty for about the fourth time in an hour.  It had been like that for about three days.  I thought it was strange...maybe she had a urinary tract infection...maybe she was just keeping herself really hydrated.  But at about 3pm exactly one week ago, a thought occurred to me that maybe...just maybe...it's diabetes.  My little brother was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was thirteen and the memories of him in the days before his diagnosis came flooding back...the excessive drinking and urinating was one of the things I remembered. 

My heart began to race a little.  I called a friend of ours who is a physicians assistant, but I could hardly wait to hear back from him.  My intuition was telling me to just put her in the car and take her to the clinic.  And that's what I did.  I called my husband on the way and he met us there.  On the way there, I called my mom because knowing that she went through the same thoughts 18 years ago, I knew she would understand my sense of urgency. 

When we got to the clinic, I filled out the paper work and the question asking why we were there.  In the blank I wrote, "diabetes?" 

I remember giggling with Mackenna about how silly it was to try and go pee-pee in a cup. 

I remember waiting for what felt like HOURS for the doctor to come back in and tell us the results of her urine test.

I remember the doctor looking into my face and saying these words that I will never forget, "Mackenna has diabetes."

I remember hot tears forming immediately because I knew what that meant.  I knew a new kind of life was necessary.  I knew she would be hospitalized and she would be scared.  I knew she would need to get used to multiple pokes and injections every day for the rest of her life. 

I remember the doctor continued to talk, but I didn't hear any of it.  I just wanted to hold my girl, who was confused about why her mommy was crying.  I wanted to hold her and go back to yesterday so badly.  And at the same time, I wanted to rush out of that clinic and get her to the hospital as quickly as I could so the situation could not get any worse. 

My husband drove the kids home and I followed them in his car.  I called my mom first.  Through tears and a shaky voice all I said was, "She has it.  She has it.  Can you come?"  Then I hung up the phone and cried...prayed...and cried until I pulled into our driveway. 

We threw things into bags, called someone to meet us and pick up our 2 year old from the hospital, and drove (probably too fast) to Children's Hospital in St. Paul. 

I won't go into the details of our hospital stay...but will share some images.  I had my camera there at the hospital, but I couldn't get myself to use it.  I get so much joy from photography and it just didn't seem right to mix something I enjoy so much with this diagnosis and new life that I really just hated.  So I used my phone.  The images are not quality.  But they tell a part of her story...our story...and our hospital journey. 

(Just getting settled in the ER.  Tiniest little hospital gown I've ever seen.  This is before any pokes...before the horrendous IV experience...before she started to realize that the journey she was on would require a tremendous amount of strength and courage.)

(She's sitting on my lap on the hospital bed, being wheeled down to her room.  No tears for the moment...she is just a kid enjoying a "ride" down the hallway and up the elevator.)

 

(Settled in her room.  She has an IV on her left arm, covered with a washcloth that's being held on by two Bugs Bunny bandaids because she doesn't like looking at it.  She has her blankie and two piggers with her.  My goodness...I just adore her!)

 

(Trying to make light of the situation as much as we can, we name her IV "Frank".  Frank has to follow her around, even into the bathroom which she thinks is funny.  Later, when her IV is unhooked and they nurse started to wheel Frank out of the room, Mackenna got sad and asked if he could stay...right by her bed, even though he didn't need to be there.)

 

(I posted this image to Instagram with the caption, "watching her sleep...praying over her tiny body...wishing I could take her place"  This is the image that gets me every time.  I love it.  I took it at around midnight.  We were alone in her room, just her and I.  She had been asleep for about an hour and I couldn't stop staring at her.  As long as she slept, she didn't have to be scared...didn't have to think about pokes...didn't have to wonder why her mommy couldn't stop crying.  I wrote her a letter at the same time I took this picture that I may share at some point.)

 

(This was taken before bedtime on our second night in the hospital.  She had been playing doctor with her daddy.  By the time she was done giving him all the pokes he needed "to make him strong and healthy" he had bandaids on every finger, most of his toes and even one on his butt.)

 

(Heading home from the hospital.  We were ready to leave...but I was terrified that she didn't realize all the pokes and injections were also coming home with us.)

 

 

 

The next day was Friday.  It was beautiful outside, so we ventured out to one of Mackenna's favorite parks.  And I took my camera.  Because it was a happier time.  We were home.  We still have our giggly, silly, caring, beautiful little girl in our lives.  And she was loving every minute of her playtime at the park.  It felt alright to take a "good" photo.