Serendipity: A Heartfelt Type 1 Diabetes Short Story

Laura led her daughter, Sage, up to the sliding window at the entrance to the community pool. The well-packed tote bag weighed heavily on her shoulder as she located the cash in her wallet. The window slid open. “Two, please,” requested Laura.  

“How old is she?” asked the teenage attendant, pointing at Sage. 

“She’s four,” answered Laura. 

“That’ll be eight dollars even,” he said. 

Laura handed him cash.  She returned her wallet to the pool bag, took Sage by the hand, and led her across the cracked, patchy concrete to a pair of lounge chairs by the kiddie pool. It was just a little after one in the afternoon. The kiddie pool was empty, but noise from the larger pool echoed through the chain-link fence. The heat of the mid-July sun beat down on Laura, and beads of sweat trailed down her back and settled into her swimsuit. She plopped her bag onto the lounge chair and reached to help Sage remove the small pink backpack she wore on her shoulders. Laura took caution to place the bag under the edge of the lounge chair, assuring it remained in the shade.  

“I’m so excited,” chimed Sage as she gazed at the pool. 

“Go ahead and take your swim cover off,” instructed Laura, “I’ll need to get some sunblock on you before you get in.” 

Sage unzipped the pink, terrycloth swim cover, which featured three Disney princesses on an embroidered chest patch. Laura retrieved a bottle of spray sunscreen from her bag, and Sage handed Laura her swim cover. Beginning at the top of Sage’s chest, Laura sprayed a clear coat of protectant over her daughter’s body. She squinted to examine Sage’s abdomen, thighs, and upper arms – the marks from the cannulas were still there. Tiny dark spots.  

How will I get them to fade?  

Laura could hear the white, rectangular insulin pump on Sage’s leg now. “Click, click, click,” it tsked, mocking her ungrateful thoughts. 

“Hold out both your hands,” Laura instructed.  

Sage held out both of her palms, and Laura sprayed them. She instructed Sage on how to apply sunscreen to her face, mirroring how she should apply it.  

“You can get in now,” Laura said, forcing a smile. 

With two quick steps, Sage was in the knee-deep pool splashing cheerfully. 

Laura took a moment to attend to herself, removing the plain white dress she wore over her green swimsuit and applying her sunscreen. Then, she took in the pool’s surroundings with one slow breath – the blue and white patchwork sky, the hazy Appalachian Mountains, and the constant hum of the cicadas.  

We’re doing it. We’re making a life for ourselves here. 

She pulled her phone from her bag, took two steps to the kiddie pool, stepped in, and seated herself at the side.  

Another mother and her daughter entered the facility and made their way to the opposite side of the kiddie pool. Though it was a small town, Laura could not recall having met them before.  

The mother was plump, blonde, and well-groomed with a full face of makeup and long, polished nails. As she turned, Laura saw a cross tattoo at the center of her chest twined with roses, revealed by the plunging neckline of her black swimsuit. Laura released a sigh of disappointment at the emblazoned cross, though she was typically unbothered by tattoos. 

Sage asked curiously, “What’s wrong, Mommy?” 

Laura answered tonelessly, “Her tattoo . . . it bothers me.”  

Sage followed her mother’s gaze, looking also at the tattoo. “What’s wrong with it?” asked Sage. 

“They believe children carry the sins of their parents.”   

Sage looked puzzled. 

Laura watched as the other mother-daughter duo applied their sunscreen, and then the little girl plunged her hand into her mother’s beach bag and pulled out a mermaid Barbie. The Barbie was just like the one Sage had at home, with medium-length blonde hair, a bright pink top, and a pink and orange fin.  

“Look, Mom. She’s got a mermaid just like mine,” Sage announced while pointing. 

“I see that,” responded Laura, who instantly regretted not bringing a toy to the pool for Sage.  

The little girl joined Sage in the kiddie pool and approached her at once. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the white rectangular device on Sage’s thigh, as she waded toward her. 

“It’s my device,” Sage responded. 

“What’s that mean?” the little girl prodded again. 

Sage hesitated before huffing out, “I am . . . diabetes.” She looked toward her mother, Laura, searching for confirmation that she had answered correctly. 

The other mother, reclining poolside, interrupted loudly, “She’s got diabetes, Katherine, but you don’t know anything about that, do you? You don’t know how lucky you are.” 

Laura’s heart rate instantly increased, and her grip tightened on the pool’s edge as she caught the other mother’s gaze.  

Katherine’s brows crinkled. She looked at her mom and then at Sage again.  

Sage tried again in her most confident four-year-old voice, “I’m diabetes. This gives me insulin.” 

Feeling the need to explain something as well, Katherine said pointing, “That’s my mom! Her name’s Kristen.” 

Katherine paused. “Do you want to play with my mermaid?” she asked, presenting Sage with her Barbie. 

“Sure,” replied Sage. She took the mermaid from Katherine and, bending at the waist, moved it in a swimming motion under the water. Katherine looked on with delight, the curly ringlets of her pigtails bouncing. 

Laura released the breath she had been holding slowly through her nostrils. She could still feel her heart pulsing. Her mind raced. 

  Luck? She thinks my child lacks luck? And hers has luck . . . because she isn’t a Type 1 diabetic?  

Will there ever be a day when people don’t stare, point, or ask questions about her devices? Will there ever be a day when people don’t view her as a less valuable human because her pancreas does not produce insulin? 

 It’s hard at the pool. It’s hard at the splash pad. It’s hard during the summer when she wears tank tops and shorts. There is always someone there asking questions. 

The memory of last week’s outing to the splash pad flashed through Laura’s mind. She could picture the blonde boy, in his trunks, visibly pointing to Sage’s insulin pump. He was taller than her and at least two years older. At the time, Laura was too far away to hear what he said. Sage, however, came to her directly after their interaction.  

“He wants to know what my Pod is. What do I say?” she asked. 

“Can you say you are the bionic woman?” Laura asked, hoping to make light of a tricky situation. 

“Who’s that?” asked Sage. 

“Right . . . can you tell him you’re part robot?” 

“No,” replied Sage, “I don’t want to.” 

“I guess you should tell him you’re a diabetic, and it’s your pump,” Laura relented, though she didn’t feel a child who was in kindergarten or first grade would understand these words.  

“Okay,” Sage responded and ran off again to play.  

Why is it my four-year-old’s responsibility to explain her disability? How long do I have before she starts trying to cover up her devices, so she doesn’t have to answer questions about them or combat snide remarks? How can I make sure she never considers covering them up? 

Laura reached behind her for the plain white dress she had used to cover her own body. Now, she slid it over her head and let it puddle in her lap.   

And then there’s the issue of luck . . . there’s a one in ten chance that a sibling would also have type 1.  If I had ten children, it's possible only one of them would be a Type 1 diabetic. It's also possible that all of them would be Type 1 diabetics. I only have one child . . . Luck? It has nothing to do with luck . . . or God.  

Laura shifted her posture away from the pool, forcing her shoulders to relax, forcing her eyes away from Kristen. Her mushroom-brown hair lifted away from her back. She inhaled slowly. She pulled at the high-waisted two-piece, which dug painfully into her thigh, unlocked the phone that lay beside her, and examined her daughter’s glucose chart through the Dexcom Follow App, which provided real-time readings of Sage’s glucose level every five minutes. The number in the center of Laura’s screen automatically updated to 176. The arrow that represented Sage’s glucose trend changed from an arrow pointing to the right, indicating a steady glucose level, to an arrow pointing diagonally down. 

Her sugar level is slowly falling. When it drops below 100, Sage will have to stop playing in the pool, eat fast-acting sugar and protein, and remain inactive until her glucose once again rises above 100. For now, she still has time—time to be in the water.

In the kiddie pool, Katherine and Sage moved mechanically across its width, as if they measured out time itself with their steps. Sage still held the blonde mermaid in her hand. She made her leap over the minuscule waves of the kiddie pool before plunging under again. Each time they completed a lap, their pace quickened. 

Laura glanced again at Sage’s glucose chart as her activity level increased.  

152 down. 

It won’t be long now before I have to get her out of the pool, and she will be sad again. 

They say her diagnosis has caused depression. 

I know what the hardest part is for her – she says it's the sadness.  

Laura reached automatically for Sage’s diabetes bag, still in the shade of the chair. She plunged her hand in searching for each necessity that assured her of Sage’s safety. The phone-like Personal Diabetes Manager, the lancing device, the lancets, the glucose test strips, the blood glucose monitor, the alcohol wipes, the gauze, the replacement Dexcom sensor, the replacement Omnipod, the vial of insulin, the ketone test strips, the red case with glucagon, the six mini Airheads, and the six fun-sized Snickers. It was all there. She rezipped the bag, returned it to shade beneath the lounge chair, and redirected her attention to the kiddie pool.  

The least I can do is be prepared. 

Now, Barbie sat poised on the side of the pool, as if she were a mom. Her pink and orange fin hovered over the water. The two girls kept trying to push just her fin into the water, but were unsuccessful as the doll was too rigid. They left her sitting there and raced back and forth across the length of the pool. They splashed loudly and laughed, the cicadas rounded out their symphony. 

On the other side of the pool, Kristen’s head moved in unison with the girls' laps across the pool. Her face looked flushed.  

The Lifeguard’s whistle blew. “Girls, no running in the pool,” he commanded. 

Sage and Katherine stood frozen.  

“Beep. Beep,” Laura’s phone alarmed.  

Laura looked hurriedly at the glucose chart. They all waited.  

98 down. 

Anxiously, Laura announced, “Sage, you have to get out of the pool and have some candy." 

Sage started toward her mother and then stopped. 

“Mom, can I keep my feet in the pool?” Sage asked. 

“I guess that’s a fair compromise,” Laura responded with her heart in her throat. 

Laura retrieved a mini Airhead and a fun-sized Snickers from the little backpack. Then, she realized Sage had taken Katherine by the hand and was bringing her along too. Both girls seated themselves side-by-side on the edge of the kiddie pool, the water ebbed against their calves. Laura handed Sage her candy. 

It’s 2:03. By 2:23 her sugar level should be 100 or more. 

Katherine stuck out her hand in a gesture to receive candy as well. Laura was unsure how to respond. She looked across the pool at Kristen, who seemed unaware of what her daughter was asking. 

“Can she have some candy?” Laura prompted loudly. 

Kristen hesitated. 

“The packages are sealed. You can check them if you’d like,” Laura offered. 

“I guess it will be okay for her to have some,” answered Kristen, who gave a slight nod. 

Laura turned again to her bag, pulled out two pieces of candy for Katherine, and handed them to her. She then sat down beside Sage and looked at the glucose chart again, although it had not yet updated. 

Sage and Katherine both ate the taffy first. They smiled as Sage’s lips and tongue turned green and Katherine’s turned red. They stuck their tongues out at each other in jest. Soon, they were both onto the candy bars, which had grown melty in the heat. They made fast work of eating them, and the evidence remained on their fingers and around their mouths. They laid their wrappers beside the pool. 

“Swim?” Katherine asked, pointing to the water. 

Their height difference was more noticeable now that they sat side by side. Sage was a few inches taller than Katherine and perhaps a year older. 

“I can’t,” replied Sage, quietly. 

“Why?” asked Katherine. 

Sage looked to her mom for support.  

Laura tried to explain, “Sage’s sugar is low. She must wait a few minutes before she can get back in the pool.” 

Katherine formed a noticeable pout. 

“I’m sorry,” said Sage, “You can get back in.” 

Katherine stood up, looked around at the empty kiddie pool with Barbie still poised at the side, and sat back down beside Sage. 

Laura noted the similarities between the two girls – their beige complexions, the ash brown color of their hair, and their slender builds. They could easily be mistaken for sisters. The water in the pool stilled, and Laura watched as their reflections materialized in the water. In the stillness, the air seemed momentarily cooler.  

Laura caught Sage’s distant gaze and whispered, “Are you okay?” 

“I think so,” she whispered back. 

Suddenly, Kristen stood up from her lounge chair and plodded around the right side of the pool. She snatched up the Barbie, which was still perched on the ledge, and quickly approached Katherine.  

Laura’s mind felt muddled. She was uncertain what type of interaction Kristen wanted and knew her reaction to Kristen’s commentary had been off-putting. Her eyes followed Kristen as she approached. 

Kristen seated herself quickly, and not all that gracefully, by her daughter’s side. She flopped the Barbie over into her daughter’s lap. Katherine held onto the doll but did not move to leave Sage’s side. 

“Mom, is my sugar up?” asked Sage, uncertain of whether it was too soon to ask. 

Laura looked again at the glucose chart, “Yes, it’s 104.” 

Without hesitation, Sage jumped to her feet, grabbed Katherine by the hand, and they continued their race back and forth across the pool. Barbie was once again in tow, but this time she was being dragged carelessly by her hair. The girls themselves took center stage.  

Laura was suddenly aware of how close Kristen was now that the girls were no longer seated at the side. It made her uncomfortable.    

“I don’t know how you do it,” Kristen disclosed, making eye contact with Laura. 

She nodded at the familiar statement. “I wasn’t given any choice,” she stated matter-of-factly.  

“How long has she been type 1?” asked Kristen. 

“It’s been two years,” Laura answered, even though she felt Kristen was prying. 

“My dad was type 1,” she disclosed, making herself vulnerable. “He passed away three years ago, and my mom’s been so lost without him.” Clouds gathered in Kristen’s voice.  

It seems as if everyone I meet has a Type I diabetic story, and yet the words they use concerning my daughter and her disability remain insensitive. Their judgments—unfair. What does this woman want from me?  

“I am sorry about what I said earlier . . . about Katherine being lucky. Your daughter’s lucky to have a mom like you.” 

Laura moved through the words as she found them: “You don’t have to compare them, or us, you know? Her being a diabetic doesn’t make her a point of comparison for other able-bodied children. She is living her life for herself. She isn’t living it to make others feel better about themselves.” 

She paused for a moment, and the thick hum of cicadas filled the air. She knew that if her internal clock had a sound, it would be the sound of the cicadas.  

Regaining her composure, she continued, “You also don’t have to compare yourself to me or feel sorrow for the life you perceive us leading. We’re doing just fine.”  

“I’m just afraid,” Kristen iterated, “I’m afraid that Katherine will become a Type I diabetic . . . like my father.”  

Understanding Kristen’s desire for assurance, Laura replied, “I cannot tell you whether she will become type 1 or not, but I can tell you that if she gets a type 1 diagnosis, both of you will find a way forward.”  

Laura paused before continuing, “I know that isn’t the answer you want to hear, but it is the truest answer I can offer."

Kristen turned then and looked at the analog clock hanging on the gray cinderblock wall. Time had escaped them. “Katherine,” Kristen asserted, “it’s time for us to go. It’s 2:45 and they’re closing soon.” 

Laura felt relieved. Yet another uncomfortable conversation concerning her daughter’s health had come to a close, and she had navigated it in a way that didn’t leave her feeling empty.  “Sage, tell your friend bye and say thanks for playing.”  

“Hug?” asked Sage, looking at Katherine. 

Katherine nodded. 

“Thanks for playing, friend,” remarked Sage as she hugged Katherine. 

“Bye,” said Katherine quietly. 

Still gripping her Barbie, Katherine made her way to the edge of the pool, sat on her bottom by her mother, pulled her feet out of the water, and stood up. Kristen stood up as well, took Katherine by the hand, and led her back to gather their things. 

“It’s time for us to go, as well,” Laura explained to Sage. 

“Do we have to?” asked Sage. 

“We do. They’re closing soon, and the folks that work here are ready to go home,” Laura replied. 

“Okay, but can we come back soon?” Sage asked. 

Laura smiled. “Do you like the pool?” she asked. 

“Of course,” exclaimed Sage. 

“It’s just . . . I know it can be hard,” Laura confirmed. 

“Because I have to get out of the water sometimes?” Sage asked. 

“Yes and . . .” Laura checked her surroundings before she said more. She caught a glimpse of Kristen’s beach bag by the exit, “because people ask a lot of questions.” 

“I don’t know how to answer their questions,” Sage confessed.  

“That’s okay. I don’t always know how to answer their questions either, but I think I did okay today,” explained Laura. 

Laura pulled the blue and white striped beach towel from their bag and dried Sage. 

“Have you felt happy today?” Laura asked as she wrapped the towel around Sage’s shoulders. 

Sage paused. “Mom, it’s been a good day. I don’t think about diabetes all the time, like I used to.” 

Laura looked at her daughter’s face in amazement at how far she had come since her diagnosis. In her eyes, she saw an unexpected flash—her untamed spirit reigniting.  

“You are fierce! Do you know that?” exclaimed Laura. 

“I know. I’m a lot like you,” she responded with a smile.  

Laura picked up the mini backpack and placed it on Sage’s shoulders. She picked up the tote bag, and they made their way to the exit. Both of them felt just a little lighter.  

“Beep, beep,” the glucose monitor alarmed. 

Laura pulled out her phone as they drifted across the parking lot. Sage’s glucose level was 256.  “Your sugar is too high. You need some more insulin,” explained Laura, as she reached for Sage’s backpack.