"Maybe try to hold on to the puck a little more, ya know?"

"Don't just give it back to the other team."

Charlie nods in the back seat, pulling his thick hockey socks up and over his plastic knee pads.

"And you should work on your cross-overs when you're out there," I say.

"And your stops. Especially the one direction that gives you trouble."

We turn down a narrow road and over a creek toward the rink.

"Mmhmm," Charlie says.

Staring out from the window at partially constructed homes dressed in blue tarp, I can tell he's thinking of something other than hockey.

"Every year at the beginning of the school year, people see me in the nurse's office and say, ‘hey, you still have it?'"

"They do? What people?"

"I don't know," he says. "People."

"And they ask if you still have ‘it'?"

"Yeah. They forget what it's called."

"Well, what do you tell ‘em? Do you tell them you will until there's a cure?"

"No," he says.

He smiles big; prematurely amused with his response.

"I just say ‘ya.'"

Prior to taking the ice, I experimented once again. My goal was twofold - a. Keep him from collapsing on the ice from a severe low and  b. Keep him at a somewhat normal range. 14 carbs of non-bolused peanut butter crackers plus an 8 carb cinnamon graham cracker cookie thing. I freaking nailed it! 98 post hockey. I was on top of the world.

But that was yesterday. Susanne just called. He's been in 300s and 400s all afternoon.

Diabetes does not allow for long stays on top of the world.

Why can't diabetes just leave us alone!