Our Dx Story

Diagnosis stories seem to be a common conversation topic when people with diabetes meet. As a parent of a child with type 1, I consider it "our" story and now's a good time to share it here. A preface: there is a bit of my personal backstory that must be revealed here. I thought about avoiding its inclusion, but it may prove helpful to someone, so please forgive the TMI if it offends.

The first time my then-husband hit me, Hemingway was 18 months old and I was early pregnant with ladybug. As I waited for an apology, he said he'd do it again. And he did. Why I didn't leave then is a subject for another blog.

Fast forward to November 2002. Now I'm four kids strong. I offend, somehow, and he shoved me down the one-step into the family room. I hit a chair going down and I completely lost my breath. The kids were playing outside. I thought I was going to die and I realized he didn't care if the kids came in and found me dead on the floor. I began a heavy evaluation of what my life was and what I could expect my life to be.

Then, unexpectedly, my dad had triple by-pass surgery right around Christmas. Other than watching the kids so I could do my shifts to help my family, he ignored the whole event and even skipped Christmas dinner. I was chilled to realize that he wasn't willing to act the happy family act anymore. I knew he could easily cut me out too.

He continued to refuse to consider counselling and after one more episode in May, I found strength in grace, grew a backbone and told my dirty secret. Of course, my family was stunned and jumped in to help. I tearily visited my Pastor, who told me to focus on the vows I made at my children's baptisms and not fuss over the wedding vows. He could have taken a very different approach and I did meet some Catholic clergy who thought I should not have left. My Pastor did much to save my life. June, 2003, went to court and filed for and was granted an order of protection.

(An aside: this decision was incredibly difficult to me although now it seems a no-brainer. The drive to testify for the order of protection was going to be heavy. As I opened the car door, I saw that he had clipped his cigar in my driver's seat before leaving for work that morning. That typically mean gesture gave me new resolve.)

I told the kids and they cried. Hemingway said "I knew this has to happen, I just wish it didn't." We hide out at a hotel until his lawyer contacted mine. He challenged the order and to make a long story short, the woman judge vacated the order and ordered me to let him back in the house. "Mustn't have been so bad since you never called the police" she said. A discussion of calling the police to report an abusive fireman is for another blog. When I told the kids, Ladybug cried for 40 minutes sobbing "I thought you said the judge would do the right thing!" I wish the judge could have seen that.

So, we are all under one roof and surprisingly he expects reconciliation. He works 24 hours every third day, so I propose I am in charge of kids two days and he gets the third. The kids turn to me if I'm there so I begin leaving the house before dawn, working out, sitting at bookstores, crazy. We are working on a parenting agreement so I can leave the house with the kids. We attend court-ordered mediation and we spend the whole first session discussing why I ruined his family and refuse to reconcile. He still denies any abuse, verbal or physical. I empathise, I did change the ground rules of our marriage. But, there is no going back, no hope that he would or even could change.

Finally, we get a calendar he agrees on. At this point, I am so desperate to get out I concede most points to him. He counts days. He wants every Friday. Three out of four weekends. Mid-week sleep overs. OK, OK, OK. He says we have to live within 10 miles of our marital home (which will have to be sold). This is solely to avoid any chance I could move in with my parents. OK. It's not what I want, but I keep focused on what we need: to get out!

January, 2004 he agrees to sign off. My realtor brother immediately starts seriously looking for a rental. Long story short, we find one (very expensive), furnish it from pots and pans to matresses to sheets and towels. Everyone empties their basements of furniture. My siblings drop everything to help me move and make the transition as painless as possible for my kids. I am grateful for my family showing my little family how families work, in good times and bad.

(Aside: I had been a SAHM since 1991. I am so grateful for the generosity of my parents. Now I am really focused on attaining a degree of financial security such that I can be there for my kids, should they need it, like my mom and dad were there for me.)

So 2004 passes as we hammer out the money side of the marriage. The kids finish off the school year at their old schools. They see their dad constantly. They complain to their therapist (in front of me in a joint session) that they want more mom time. This is a big growth time for me. I had been really entwined with my kids. I know I needed to step back, but it was painful at the time. Also, he ramped up his verbal abuse of the kids by focusing on Peony, saying things like "you are most like me" "you'll never leave me" "you are the best kid" Even the other kids started to have Peony ask for stuff they wanted because "he always says yes to her!"

The end of the year approached and we negotiate a new calendar for 2005. I accepted it immediately as it was totally scaled back. Guess what? Having four kids every Friday when you have a new girlfriend isn't so much fun.

The kids are at new schools and making friends. Peony is having a hard time with third grade. She has a teacher on the verge of retirement who confesses she has a really immature class. I hire a nanny and prepare to go back to work. My job is a really cool story, but again not for this blog. I'm to start February 1, 2005. The idea of not having me at home is unsettling to all, especially Peony. The new visitation schedule starts and she really misses her dad. She asks me for more dad time and I encourage her to ask him and tell her I will always agree to more dad time. She is really, really sad. We talk about it and she has no idea how I can help. Her therapist is worried too. Then she starts wetting the bed. She's only 8, so I really think it's emotional and I feel really guilty.

January 24, 2005, we meet with the judge to sign off on the final divorce. He has "given" me more miles, so I will be able to move closer to my family. That night, God came to me and told me that it's not all about me and I should have Peony checked out physically. The next day, January 25, 2005 we were admitted to the hospital and started the wild ride that is life with diabetes.

Another aside: all my kids think of the 2004 house as the best one, with the best neighborhood, etc. What they don't realize is that what they really liked about that time was the peace. Outside of the toxic atmosphere of my marital house we were happier, kinder, more loving, more tolerant. Just better. Also in late January, 2005, Hemingway asked if we weren't close to our anniversary of moving there. I said I would have to check, and it was. He and Ladybug decreed we had to have a party with pizza and cake to celebrate. Words can't express how that made me feel.

Whew. Thanks for hanging in there.

More later.