As parents of children with diabetes, we are constantly being challenged with difficult decisions to make.

Charlie has wanted to play ice hockey for over a year now. He lives for hockey. He mimics the moves he sees on television from professional hockey players, pretending to stop on a dime and spray ice on the hard-wood floors. He sets up little hockey figurine players and simulates game situations. When he's not doing that, he plays hockey on his Playstation. And when he's not doing that, he and I play indoor knee hockey in his bedroom where he repeatedly takes ferocious slap shots into my groin. It's great fun. The kid loves hockey, is what I'm tryin' to say.

The waiting was finally over. I knew how excited he was for this moment, so I didn't want to screw it up on my end. I came with a simple plan:

1. Feed him lunch before he plays

2. Disconnect pump

3. Hope for the best

Hockey was from 11:45 to 12:45.

Perfect, I thought. I'll just pack a lunch for him and feed him just before he starts playing. One cheese sandwich on wheat bread and a bag of pre-sliced apples. He'll have a full belly of carbs for the exhausting hockey workout. Perfect.

I suppose I'm making it a bit too obvious that the outcome would be anything but perfect.

As parents of children with diabetes, we also know that all plans can be tossed away at a moments notice because diabetes don't play that way.

When I tested Charlie about 15 minutes before hockey was to start, his blood sugar was over 300. That wasn't part of my plan. Decision time. How can I give him the full lunch when he's so high? How can I disconnect him when he's so high? There really couldn't be much active insulin lingering from breakfast to bring him down. Was this an adrenalin high? Very possible. But he's got to eat something.

I passed on the sandwich and gave him 8 carbs of apple slices. Not knowing what the hell would happen, I didn't correct the high. I just bolused for the apple slices. I still went ahead and disconnected the pump.

Off he went, striding into the center of the ice, joining the others for a pre-hockey stretch. At least he won't be low, I thought.

The first half-hour was rigorous skating drills. No sticks, no pucks. Just a drill sergeant of a woman putting the kids through a very intense workout. When the drill sergeant lady came off the ice briefly, I reminded her that there was a diabetic amongst them and that the instructors should be aware in the event that his blood sugar goes low and he needs to come off the ice.

"I don't see there being any problems today though," I said confidently.

I believe they call that foreshadowing.

Just as the hockey sticks were coming out and Charlie's dream of playing hockey was finally about to happen, he skated over to me with a thumbs down gesture, indicating that he felt low.

Have I mentioned that I absolutely despise this disease?

Charlie's blood sugar was 40. I snapped off his helmet quickly and worked on him like he was a racecar driver pulling in for a pit stop. I filled him up with a juice box and Lorna Doone short bread cookies. I then cracked open another juice box and filled him up some more.

"Hurry dad!"

We watched and waited. At this point there was only about 15 minutes left. I know how badly Charlie wanted to touch stick to puck.

"Let's just give it five minutes," I said.

Charlie was revving his engine and watching the other cars go by.

"It's almost over," he said, dropping his head back on the bench in frustration.

After about three-and-a-half minutes I took his finger and pricked it. He was 62.

Have I mentioned I absolutely despise this disease?

Decision time again. I can take the safest route and just keep him off the ice. Or I can let him enjoy 10 minutes of hockey while I watch uncomfortably from behind the glass.

What would you do?

What did I do?