I lived a fast and furious life in my younger years and did a lot of crazy shit. I now have a 12 year old daughter who is precious. She really is a great kid. Never no trouble, never disobeys, straight As’ in school. I can’t wonder to think of her Type 1 Diabetes is somehow my fault.
I went to her parent teacher night last week and her teach gave me one of her essays. I took me several attend to read it because I couldn’t keep my composure.
How to deal with this burden of blame. Here is here essay.

Brielle
Language Arts
Mrs. Capone
Period 3 - 4

My Diagnosis

I had recently turned seven, and my parents had realized that I had changed quite a bit, and even before I had turned seven. They noticed that I was drinking more water than usual, going to the bathroom more often, and had been developing bad headaches and stomach pains. When my father took the time to think everything over, he remembered that his mother was a Type 2 Diabetic, and that she gets her daily medical supplies that day.
“Mom,” my dad asked, “Do you mind testing Brielle’s sugar?”
My grandmother didn’t question him, she simply replied with an “Okay.” Later into the day, I got home from school to hear my grandmother ask,
“Can you come here for a second, Brielle?”
I mumbled a “Yes” and slowly walked to my grandmother. She then took out this stick looking thing, put the tip of it on my finger, and pushed down on a button. Soon after, I felt a sharp pain and my finger began to throb. I had a look of fear in my eyes, as the bright red blood poured from my finger. My grandmother then picked up something else, pushed it towards my finger where it was bleeding, and it collected my blood. As I looked at the machine that took my blood, it said that it was too high to calculate. As a seven year old, I was incredibly confused, even with my burning hot finger, as it continued to aggressively trob, and began to turn purple. I then heard faint murmurs coming from the adults, but I didn’t care much. My dad then looked at me with a worried expression on his face.
“Come on, Bri,” pleaded my dad, “We’re going somewhere for a while.”
I immediately thought that he was taking me out to eat, since he always took me out. Turns out that we were instead going to the hospital. I was pretty scared, but my dad reassured me that everything would be okay, so I trusted him, and smiled. As we entered the hospital, a cold burst of wind hit me in the face. I could feel the goose bumps form on my arms. Later on, I heard that I was meant to go to the ER, but at the time, I was unsure of what that meant.
After sitting down in the room I was put in, they once again did the thing my grandmother did. This time, we found out that my sugar was close to nine hundred, which was very serious. We later found out that I had Type 1 Diabetes. The doctors were unsure about when I first got it though. My dad didn’t really know what to think about it. Although I was only seven, I could tell that my dad was upset, but refrained from trying to show it so I wouldn’t be scared. About an hour later, I remembered that my mother had been at work this whole time.
“Dad,” I requested, “When will my mother come?”
“Soon,” he replied, “Very soon.”
He was right. Soon enough, my mother sprinted into my room and hugged me tightly. I could hear her trying not to cry. I felt really bad that I was causing all of this trouble, and felt like I was the one to blame for having Diabetes.
I was there in the hospital for a week, and got my own room on the top floor. I couldn’t really leave my room or my bed for that matter. My windows were opaque, so I couldn’t even look through them, even if I tried. My mother stayed with me in the hospital for that long, painful week.
One day, she got a call from her mother. While they were talking, I could see my mother’s eyes begin to water. She then ran into the bathroom, sobbing over the phone. Once again, I felt really bad. After the week was over, I finally got to go home on April seventh. Although I was sent home with tons of medication, and an important event in my lifetime, I still make an attempt to be happy, especially for my parents.