If I didn’t have a child with diabetes, what would I be writing about?

I suppose I’d go back to writing essays on parenting and family life like I used to. Dead pets; the crises of lost toys; my 4-year-old’s pride in his penis; maybe my wife’s germ phobia and her lifelong dedication to the war against terror (aka ball pits).

I guess I’d be writing about my daughter Maeve, who is sad today.

I like True Blood - the HBO show about vampires and other supernatural, uh, things.

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"I don't put the pillow over my head because it's so loud," my daughter Maeve clarifies.

"It's because I get so scared for Charlie and I feel so bad for him."

That's Maeve talking about site changes.

Watching your sibling experience that type on anguish every few days can't be easy. For almost every child out there with diabetes, there's a little brother or a big sister (or vice versa) witnessing some pretty horrendous stuff. Sure, repetition dilutes the ugliness and my non-diabetic kids have certainly been desensitized. For example, they'll often continue watching television – getting up only to increase the volume - while in the background their brother is begging and screaming for mercy. It's a bit surreal when you step back and think about it.

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Sometimes I wonder what Ben really thinks about when he sees us testing his big brother’s blood sugar or putting Charlie over our laps for torturous site changes. What's going on in that large, shaggy head? Behind those big brown eyes, I wonder?

Just to see what he'd say, I have asked Ben why we have the testing supplies. "What is this?" I ask. "What’s it for?"

"That’s for Chow Wei," he responds, mispronouncing his brother’s name in a Chinese dialect.

I guess at his age he can’t exactly comprehend what’s going on. He just knows that it’s something we do to or for Charlie. He also knows that food usually follows, so he falls in line behind Charlie while we prick his finger. (READ MORE)

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. (READ MORE)