Charlie clutched Baby Doggy, a small puppy with a thin blue collar, and pulled the comforter higher onto his shoulders as we tucked him in. Baby Doggy's age starting to show in its fading gray coat and crusty tail. He also squeezed a small stuffed turtle named Pop as Susanne removed his insulin pump from his waist and gave him a correction for a blood sugar of 530.

Diabetes has spawned many emotions from Charlie. It has made him angry many times, frustrated often and ferociously defiant. On rare occasions, it's even made him happy if you can believe that. Skipping long lines at Disney comes to mind. Oh, and you should see how he dances around the hospital gift shop after an endo appointment.

But, on this night, something new. He was scared of diabetes.

"What if it goes up to 700?"

"What if it goes up to 1100?"

"Does it go up that high?"

He told Susanne he was scared.

"Could I die?"

Susanne assured Charlie that that wouldn't happen. That the insulin would do its job and bring the blood sugar back down to where it should be. She spoke quietly to him, rubbing his head.

"Think happy thoughts," she told him.

"Think about playing hockey,"

"But thinking about playing hockey makes my blood sugar go up," Charlie said.

Oh. Right.

"The insulin is working over here," I said, tickling his kneecaps. "And it's working over here," I said, tickling his belly. "And over here," I said, tickling the back of his neck.

When he recovered from the unexpected tickle attack, he showed me how the high blood sugars get "pushed out" of his body, using a vacuum motion with his hands.

Holding his stuffed animals in the darkness and squirming from the discomfort of hyperglycemia, we kissed him and closed the door, reminded of the fact that he's still just a little boy.

A little boy with a big disease.