Bad Karma

What goes around, comes around.

If that's true, then there's a mom of a student at Jack's school, who's really got it coming her way.

This woman shocked me today. She rattled me to my core and reduced me to tears.

Today was field day at our kids' school. For three hours, rather than sitting in their classrooms reading, taking spelling tests, learning new math concepts and whatnot, the kids participated in a variety of fun activities. In groups of twelve, lead by eighth-grade chaperones, they rotated around sixteen stations operated by parent volunteers. Among other things, they danced the chicken dance. They tossed bean bags through hula hoops. They climbed a rock wall. They ran around and chased after each other during a flag football-like game. They played with a parachute.

It was at the parachute station that I encountered this woman.

"Would you mind helping out?" she asked me. She needed a parent to assist with the station's activities.

"I'm really sorry, but I can't. I need to watch my son," I said.

"Unbelievable!" she hissed and then began to walk away. It was obvious she thought I was unwilling to lend a hand for no good reason.

I generally dislike confrontation, but I felt badly. I knew she was ticked off, and I wanted to clear the air. I didn't want her to think I'd just given her a lame excuse or that I wanted to take photos of Jack rather than assist her. I'm happy to help, when I can. This morning, however, I just couldn't, and I wanted her to know why.

With all of the morning's activities, Jack fought low after low after low, despite juice, despite glucose tabs, despite fruit snacks. His blood sugar would rise only to plummet again.

Jack didn't want his diabetes to stop him. He didn't want to miss out. He didn't want to sit on the sidelines. He wanted to run the relay race. He wanted to push the big, blue ball around the cones (pictured above). He wanted to bounce the rubber chicken on the parachute. He wanted to be like all of the other kids.

So I stood by his side, holding his D kit, watching him like a hawk, monitoring his behavior and coloring, testing his blood sugar and treating his lows when necessary.

At the obstacle course, the station immediately before the parachute, Jack's blood sugar dropped to 62. He ate a package of fruit snacks, but when we arrived at the parachute station, he was still a little pale and lethargic. I was not about to take my eyes off of him.

I would have loved to have helped. I wish more than anything that Jack didn't have diabetes. I wish he didn't spend the morning fighting lows. I wish he could have just enjoyed the fun and festivities without diabetes getting in the way. I wish he was like all of the other kids. I wish an eighth-grade chaperone was enough for him. I wish he didn't need me hanging around, but he did, and I wanted to convey that to that other woman.

So with my heart racing, I confronted her.

"Excuse me," I said while walking over to where she stood fuming at me. "Please let me explain. My son has type one diabetes, and I..."

She refused to listen. She glared at me and cut me off, yelling in the most angry tone, "My husband's a doctor!"

She stormed off, escaping to another station across the field, making the need for help at the parachute station even greater.

Aghast, I stood there stunned. My mouth fell open.

"Oh, Heidi, I can't believe she just did that!" my friend J exclaimed.

My eyes welled up with tears.

J rubbed my shoulder and went off, "Who is she? I want to report her to [the principal]! She was way out of line! She didn't even let you speak. Who treats another parent like that?!"

"I"m so sorry Heidi," chimed in another mom, giving me a hug. "That was just wrong. Don't let her get to you."

I tried to put the ugly exchange out of my mind. I tried to put on my happy face and move on. But that obnoxious woman had left an indelible mark on me.

She reminded me that no matter how hard I try, I won't always be able to shield Jack from judgment and misunderstanding.

That woman thought she'd understood. After all, her husband's a doctor!

In reality, her husband's an orthodontist, someone told me.

But what does being a doctor have to do with anything anway? Do all doctors specialize in diabetes? And does her husband's medical/dental degree make her a specialist in type 1?

Her husband is neither my son's endocrinologist nor his pediatrician. He's not even his orthodontist. And their kids don't have type 1 diabetes. That, I know for sure.

That woman's worries aren't the same as mine. Her days do not mimic mine. She had no idea what had already happened this morning, and she didn't care. She only knew I wasn't going to help her and she quickly passed judgment.

So, if what goes around, comes around, then karma's gonna kick her in the a**!