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December 2nd, 2008
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My daughter Maeve rode Izzy, a chestnut brown teenager. I followed closely behind on Summer, a horse with a slightly darker coat and a hankering for roadside grass.

Just to see what would happen, I foolishly made the little "click, click" sound with my tongue on the roof of my mouth and gave a slight kick to Summer's sides as they do in the movies. Amazingly, it worked. She responded with a trot. Not so amazingly, the trot seemingly chipped away at my ass bone – slamming me hard against the saddle with each excruciating gallop.

I admit, it's been a while since I've gone horseback riding, but wow! I don't remember it being so painful. Merely sitting on the horse before it even left the stable and stretching my legs around its body was a position my groin muscles vehemently disapproved of. I tried hard to disguise my discomfort as bliss for the sake of Maeve who repeatedly turned her head back to say, "Dad isn't this great?" After all, this was our long-awaited daddy and daughter day.

"Great, monkey!" I squeaked, grimacing now from a new pulsing sting developing in my lower back.

If I could read the thoughts of the girl leading us on the trail, surely I'd hear … "Dork!"

"You guys want to try a trot again?" the girl asked.

Ugh! "Sure!"

Pain aside, horseback riding with the girl along Lake Nockamixon on a brilliant day in April was divine.

There's no such thing as a diabetes vacation, but spending the day with one of my other kids does often feel like a brief diabetes getaway.

No waiver to sign saying that "child has diabetes." No baggage. No calculating active insulin in my head. No calling out "how's your blood sugar?" every few minutes. No constant over-analyzation of complexion or eyes that appear glassy and day-dreamy. No wild scenarios in my head of what happens if hypoglycemic on a runaway horse.

After riding, we found a 1950s-style diner down the road and punched in Love Me Tender and Rock-A-Hula Baby on the jukebox - cooling down with two tall and very delicious vanilla milkshakes. Perfect.

Number of carbs? Don't know. Don't care.



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My God, I'd forgotten that such a life existed once, when I was Maeve's age...such a good way to remind us that parents need a break sometimes, as do siblings.

Hope you're not still saddle-sore! ;-)


I hope your ass-bone recovered. ;)


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Carey Potash
Carey is a full-time hater of diabetes. The benefits stink. His 6-year-old son, Charlie, was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when he was 22 months old. Carey's parenting humor has appeared in various websites and print magazines. He resides in the suburbs of Philadelphia with his wife and three children. (Read More)

Latest Posts: Thankful | Diabetic in the Mist | The Adventures of Gleevec and Sutent

Andy Bell
Andy Bell has lived with diabetes since the age of 14. He controls his type 1 diabetes by taking multiple daily injections. Andy is 28 years old now and despite his diabetes, still maintains a very active lifestyle. Andy works for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) in the National Outreach Department. (Read More)

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