1Dec 1, 2023
Our new ophthalmologist wears red socks, that’s the first thing I notice as he leans into an apparatus that makes him look like a mechanical bug, or maybe an owl, with eyes made of magnifying glass and metallic feathers outlining the sockets, with grommets like tiny decoys scattered about his face. It can feel like […]
2Aug 6, 2021
The first time we walked into the eye doctor’s office, the top of Adam’s head came up to my waist. I remember the feel of his baby hand, the way his soft, stubby fingers tried in vain to reach my own. I gripped his wrist to be sure he wouldn’t wander. At the time, the […]
3Feb 26, 2021
We can’t be sure when Adam first realized he had forgotten the wireless controller for his insulin pump, whether it occurred to him as he stood outside the door at school at the end of the day or only after he had climbed in the car to go home, or if he didn’t know until […]
4Jul 31, 2020
Just before sinking into bed, I put my phone on the charger and I see: Adam’s blood sugar has skyrocketed so high his continuous glucose monitor has stopped reporting a number. HIGH it reads, caps-shouting, double arrows pointing up, up, still going up! though no alarm has sounded. “Adam’s blood sugar is high,” I say […]
5May 22, 2020
Beside me, Adam’s voice breaks, shattering into silence. I glance over to read his face, careful not to linger lest he feel my gaze; he doesn’t like me to watch him worship. My son could care less if I walk in on him in the bathroom when he’s wearing no clothes and stepping into the […]
6Mar 10, 2017
A mile from school, Adam’s insulin pod starts beeping, that insistant chirp we once never imagined knowing—one two three, one two three–not an emergency yet, but a countdown to it, and just as the stress knot in my neck begins to ease. “Mom, Adam’s beeping,” Riley says, reporting, as though I can tune out the […]
7Sep 25, 2015
Hello there! Good morning to you, he calls. Â He has a brightness I can feel before I see him, even though I realize as I look up that his gear—suit, helmet, even the bike—is all black, like the deepest part of the night. I’m suddenly aware that I’ve been staring at the pavement, while he […]
8Sep 4, 2015
It only takes a moment for things to crumble. At day’s end, twilight throws last rosy beams across the kitchen table, lighting up flecks of glitter melted into the clear coat years ago during some school project, making Riley’s golden flyaways shine like a gossamer crown faintly visible on her forehead. Â She has just finished […]
9Mar 27, 2015
Walking behind him, I can see clearly that his jeans only just reach his ankles.  The nurse talks over her shoulder—okay, follow me and then some small talk about the weather, the red file folder jutting out, an extension of her hand that messes up all the angles.  She fills the space with words so light […]
10Dec 7, 2012
“DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis) is a medical emergency, and without treatment it can lead to death.” This truth makes me shudder as I kneel beside my son and scrub the leg of his jeans where he points, where some of the toxic sickness missed the bucket beside him and soiled his clothes. Â Sick Adam is strong, […]