You don't know me. I don't know you.
I'm friendly, so maybe I struck up a conversation. Maybe not.
Maybe you came over to look at my baby and comment on his nibbleishciousness. Maybe you're annoyed that Sweetie is loudly proclaiming her alphabet and climbing on something.
Regardless, I have to break something to you.
I might need your help someday.
I've spent many years being cavalier. Complacent. Not wearing a medical ID. Not always carrying glucose or a juice box with me. My friends at Type One Family Network were talking about their kids' IDs and it made me feel unprepared.
I ordered a new ID today. For the first time ever, I dropped a significant dime on a custom bracelet that hopefully fits my freakishly child-sized wrists. It's not a sharp metal $5 piece of junk like the generic one I used to wear from the drugstore. That I stopped wearing because it scratched my loved ones. It's the real deal. And it includes info that you might need to know.
You see, I am almost always traveling with precious cargo these days. And if something were to happen to me...
My name. Line 1. That's important, right?
Next comes the info that will help us both communicate with 911, with first responders, with ER staff:
TYPE 1 DIABETES
For $2.00 more, I could add a fifth line. Maybe my husband's cell number? That could always change though. This is an expensive bracelet and I'll want its info relevant for many years. Besides, these days, seems like they could take a look at my smartphone for contact numbers after 911 was called.
But I had just one more line to give you something crucial. What would you absolutely need to know if I can't talk to you? If I'm unconscious. If...if...
I need you to know their names.
You need to know my daughter's name - to call it if she has run off.
If she's standing over me, you need to be able to tell her that everything will be okay. I need you to bend down and say her name.
To pick him up because he may be screaming and to bounce him on your shoulder. I need him to be held. You need to know his name as you shush him and rub his downy head.
Because while I don't say their names here on this blog because I wouldn't want just any stranger to know them, at that moment, I need a stranger to stand in for me.
I need to know that they feel safe if the unthinkable were to happen.
It's every T1 woman's greatest fear if she has a child.
Please say their names.