on mothering diabetes

by Liezel Graham

inside the door of my fridge

on the shelf designed to hold cheese

and other lovely things

there are, instead, insulin-filled vials of hope

and a Glucagon kit

that should bring you back

if you should ever slip too far away from me

i keep nocturnal vigils

with foxes and other mothers

who also have to keep on keeping on

before the day breaks relief over me

with every meal and with every snack

i punch a calculator in my head

{ask me how much carbohydrate is in a slice of bread}

and i sing songs of

‘no, you cannot eat that now’

‘please, you must drink this now’

‘i think we are out of our depth, i think it is time to head to the hospital’

or else we might walk straight into trouble

{ask me how to keep a child alive}

and in this home, we know needles

and trying to find drops of blood

in the middle of the night

{and i am sorry i know it hurts, i am so sorry}

and we belong to the ones

who also have sharps containers

on their kitchen counters

and cupboards filled with swabs, and ketone strips

we watch numbers rise and fall

like bookies on Fridays

{ask me how to keep breathing when i cannot will 2.3 any higher}

we know the fear that words can carry

hypo. hyper. coma. death

and i am skilled at pinning fake smiles to my face

‘but what did you do to let this happen’

‘have you tried not giving him cake’

‘have you thought of giving him cinnamon instead’

the gift of my son being born at a time

where we know the hope in each glass vial

where each drop holds life

i know that cells might forget

how to keep you alive

but i will not ever forget, or ever give up

and for you, and for life, i am grateful.

© Liezel Graham 2023

my son, who is also autistic, was diagnosed with T1 Diabetes when he was 9 years old.

he is the most beautiful being, tender-hearted and gentle, and my greatest teacher.

today i am sending out love to anybody affected by this dreadful disease, but especially to the mums and dads, and grannies and grandpas, and carers who step in to be surrogate pancreas to small people.

and to all the health professionals who help us keep it together, thank you!

you have got this. it is fierce, but you are fiercer.