A poem from a diabetes Mum: I lost a layer of skin

One of our members has written this beautiful and moving poem about her child with diabetes – she has agreed to share it. We are sure many of you will identify.
thank you Maureen
xx

I lost a layer of skin
I lost a layer of skin as we entered the hospital on the day of the diagnosis.

I didn’t feel it fall off.
It certainly didn’t hurt.
It gently slipped off with less than a whisper, unnoticed, like a soft, satin scarf.
I wish I had noticed it leaving.

I imagine it floating gently over the roofs of nearby houses,
carrying with it the half formed dreams I alone held for my child,
leaving behind only rawness.

Over days, weeks and months a strange new layer has grown in its place.
It’s a bizarre contradiction – tough yet sensitive.

Watching the drops of intense ruby blood makes it want to shred itself
Glimpsing needles pierce the stomach where raspberries were once blown makes it ache.
seeing the sombre eyes of a child learning to cope leaves a hollowness.
Dragging a weary body through night times of wakefulness leaves it feeling prickly.

It’s certainly more careworn than the layer it replaces
but it’s strong and it needs to be.
It bears the brave scars of battles: some internal and silent, some of epic proportions.
Hiding the multitude of maternal fears which largely remain unshared has hardened the carapace.

It has to be tough for the times when it’s all too much for a child who just wants the old normal.
The old normal isn’t coming back.

I like to imagine
that I’ll find that layer of skin again some day and fashion a purpose for it in this new existence,
for there is hope.

 

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