Ich ziehe mein Essen tot, ich danke Ihnen sehr

was a physician well-known for her observations about the grieving process. Her work was ultimately expanded to recognize These stages are dynamic, meaning that one stage isn't necessarily resolved before we slide into the next, and we can backslide into an earlier stage anywhere along the way . . . Today marks the three-year-anniversary of my son's diagnosis with . (This is the type of diabetes that begins during childhood and with which it is essential to regularly inject supplemental insulin.) In those first days, I felt detached, as if watching from afar all that was happening. As a nurse, Dr. Kübler-Ross ' grief stages were well-known to me, and I could "feel" myself living in those stages at the time. I thought it would be useful to share my family's progression through the phases on this anniversary. 1. Schock.There are no fences in El Paso, Texas . . . well, very few anyway. Instead thousands upon thousands of rock walls neatly surround and divide neighboring properties. They all look pretty much the same, but the one surrounding the military RV park at the intersection of Ellerthorpe and Gerlich Streets is embedded in my mind. My son was a freshman at Chapin High School. I was picking him up after school one day in November of 2005, parked in my usual spot which happened to face the aforementioned wall. It had to have been seconds after greeting my boy that he remarked how thirsty he was, and in fact had "been thirsty all day." I felt like a rocket exploded in my chest, but it was just a burst of nurse-mom adrenaline. One part of my mind was fixed on that segment of rock wall, while another part (where the reflexes live) demanded immediate answers, "How thirsty? Did you have to pee a lot?" Something in my tone and manner brought out the disdain in my 14-year-old, who of course wanted to know why I was asking him such off-the-wall questions. I choked out a reply,"Because being really thirsty and having to pee a lot are signs of diabetes." He rolled his eyes,"MOM--why do you always have to be this way?" My answer, "Because I'm a nurse and a mom. Forget it, I know you don't have diabetes!!" But a seed of fear had just been planted in my soul. 2. Verweigerung.Weeks passed and my boy was still thirsty. But we lived in the desert, and he was very physically active; he needed the water. And he wasn't urinating more than usual. He was hungry, but just what I would expect for a tall thin boy who was in the midst of a growth spurt. For months I'd been fixing him late-night-snacks to try to put some meat on his bones while he grew. His daddy and I were both thin and muscular at his age--no reason for our boy to be any different. So I cooked him big omelets and stacks of pancakes and enjoyed seeing him eat. He complained once about blurred vision while taking his final exams the first week of December. We looked for his reading glasses--the ones he had never worn . . . but we didn't find them and the blurred vision passed. I promised myself to get him an appointment for a physical exam over winter break from school, just to make sure all was okay. We didn't have a regular pediatrician, though, since my son was always such a healthy kid. Instead we relied on the pediatric clinic at the nearby Army hospital with occasional visits to local doctors if need be. A few days after Christmas on a Saturday, my son accompanied me on some errands. The errands included a drive through McDonald's to get him a huge meal and chocolate shake, shopping at the PX on Fort Bliss, and then on the way home a stop at Walgreens to get a few items including a simple glucometer to measure blood sugar. I wanted the cheapest one. I knew I'd never use it again unless one of the neighbors wanted to check their blood sugar sometime. I got the one with the fewest test strips. I knew I'd only need one strip. Just one strip to set my mind at ease . . . because my son was still thirsty, and the night before he had been alarmingly hungry. My son wanted Gatorade at Walgreens. He got a liter bottle and drank the whole thing before we got in the car to go home. 3. Zorn.I didn't know I'd ever be mad at God. But I was. Very mad. I thought I had done my earthly job of protecting my son and wondered why God had let the devil harm him in this way? Sometimes irrational and often crying by myself, in the first days, weeks, and even months, I couldn't wrap my mind around the "why?" of it all. Es war nicht fair that my good boy should have to bear the burden of sharp needles prodding his fingers and belly multiple times a day for the rest of his life. Nicht fair that his dreams of being a soldier or marine be suddenly unattainable. Nicht fair that the spontaneity of his life be interrupted by the demands of managing this condition. The cheap glucometer I bought at the drug store had recorded an initial blood sugar of 600 for my son (while mine was 90 and his dad's was 82). His second reading was higher. Perhaps during the months that his body's insulin production was ceasing he'd been this high before . . . but in any case, it was imperative that we get emergent care, because suddenly had joined and ; the triad of classic diabetes mellitus symptoms was complete. I was mad at myself, too, thinking that I was to blame; revolted that I had not bought that glucometer sooner, worried that I had been neglectful of his symptoms. I was angry that all of my careful attention to the details of his well being since conception seemed to be irrelevant . . . I failed my child somehow in providing for a healthy foundation, I thought. What was the point of following Dr. Spock's advice, of getting every immunization on the day it was due and never missing a well-baby appointment? In infancy would have been impressed by the way I nursed my baby, and wouldn't have had anything to criticize regarding the introduction of solid foods in his first year. But in this stage of anger, it all seemed to have been futile, because those things didn't protect him from the autoimmune insult that resulted in Type 1 diabetes as a teenager. 4. Verhandeln.The ER nurses at were great. They did everything that was indicated to begin reversing the that had started to set in. After midnight we were transferred to another hospital for overnight intensive care. I always say that my son handled every step of this entire illness with grace and maturity beyond his years--and so did my husband. It was me that was emotionally ripped apart by it all. While my son slept attached to the cardiac monitor and with IV fluids infusing, I laid on the reclining chair and urged myself to sleep--so that I could wake up and find that this was all a dream. I prayed that I could have the diabetes instead of my son . . . and tried to figure out other schemes for making this whole surreal chain of events "not be true." 5. Depression.We were absolutely blessed to have wonderful people in our daily lives to help take the sting out of this life-changing event. My son's Godparents, Ken and Shalla (another nurse in his life); my dear former charge nurse, Violet; our next-door-neighbors the Salvadors who are really more like beloved family; family friends Christine and G. Cartegena; and my darling friend and public health classmate, Ethel Martinez, a physician trained in Nicaragua who just so happened to be the main educator at the . As I said before, my son handled this situation with grace, but in looking back at photos taken on the ski trip for teens with diabetes, he's wearing a very sad expression. I was so grieved about this for a long time, and I would easily cry about it. Sometimes it can still happen in certain circumstances, but rarely now. The depression aspect of this grief stage also caused me to cut myself off emotionally from some other friends and neighbors. 6. Testen.We looked for for new onset of type 1 diabetes during this stag
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