Something really bizarre-o happened today.
Lance and I have been going to a park for the past two years, and over that time, we have become good friends with a lovely Sudanese family. The older kids look after the younger kids, while their Mother uses her “me” time to study for her dressmaker’s certificate.
These kids have seen Lance slide down a slippery dip head first into a pile of sand. They all roared with laughter until they sensed my panic. Standing around me in a semi-circle, they watched with sombre frowns as I squeezed juice into Lance’s mouth. He kicked and screamed; things ended up getting so desperate that I had to get the honey out and smear it on his gums. After about 2 minutes, the storm died down, and I was able to hold my son close to me, and comfort him.
When Lance had recovered from his hypo, he wanted to go home. One of the kids asked me, “Please, can he stay and kick the soccer ball for a little longer?’
I smiled at him, and ran my hand though his tight curls.
“I’m sorry, honey. Lance has a sickness called Diabetes. Do you know anyone with Diabetes in your family?”
Suddenly, mass Arabic chatter filled the air. The older boys spoke seriously amongst themselves, with the occasional wild hand gesture and flickering eye contact between each other and me. I felt totally out of my comfort zone, and shook hands with each of them, let them have another photo together from my mobile phone, and bid them farewell. I had to carry Lance all the way home. He was in misery with a post hypo headache and dreadful fatigue.
This happened about 8 months ago. After that day, I subconsciously avoid that park, and chose another to frequent.
However, I still see the kids every now and again in the neighbourhood. It may be the two oldest boys, it may be a teenager with the three-year-old, or it can be all of them with their mother. We always exchange pleasantries, and the boys always dote on Lance. On one occasion, I commended their mother for doing such a wonderful job with her sons. She beamed from ear to ear.
Today, we met. Two mothers, both Australians, but both from very different worlds.
She goes by the name of Lily, and her English is very poor. She relies on her sons to translate for her, but today, she had to give it her best shot to communicate alone.
She asked me where my baby was. I replied that he was seeing his father, and that I was taking a walk. She nodded her head and smiled. I didn’t know whether that meant she understood, or whether she was simply being polite.
I asked how her boys were. She laughed, and shook her head. Okay, so that question didn’t go so well.
THEN, she knocked me for six.
“Your boy, he has sugar sickness?”
I slowed my pace, and I stared into her eyes. Eyes like pools of chocolate. Eyes that were wise and gentle. Eyes that knew a life so different from mine.
“Yes, Lily. Sugar sickness. It’s called Diabetes? Do you know about Diabetes?”
“Ya, ya. My mother and my sister has sugar sickness. She still in Sudan.”
I had a million questions but I knew that the language barrier would cause much difficulty.
“Your mother and your sister, do they have injections?”
She shook her head and screwed up her nose. I laughed at her pained expression.
“Your boy, he has injection?”
(There was NO way I was going to attempt explaining the pump, so I simply nodded my head in agreeance.)
“Lots of injections, Lily. Everyday.”
“Come?”
“Ahh, come to..come with you? Come with you?”
“Ya, ya. Sugar boy’s mother come with me.”
I knew that they only lived a street away, so I wasn’t too phased about walking her home.
She hurried her pace, and before too long, we were at her house.
Her children all greeted me with the warmest of handshakes. Lily spoke loudly and expressively in Arabic with her children, who all were responsive and listening intently. I was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable. I remembered that the high school kids spoke excellent English. I heard myself say outloud,
“Why am I here?”
Her son, David (obviously his English name) said to me that she knew how to cure Lance from his sugar sickness.
As much as I was intrigued, at this point, I just really wanted to leave.
David, sensing my uncomfortability, offered me a beanbag to sit on. I politely declined, and pointed at my watch. I told them that I should be going back to Lance.
David translated to his mother, and she nodded her head, and had all of her children walk me to the gate.
“Mrs Kate?” David grabbed me by the shirt.
I turned around, and the whole family were picking weeds out of the garden. Then out of pots, then out of a large planter. They were actually pulling the plants up by the roots, taking meticulous care to keep the plant in one piece.
Lily rushed inside for some newspaper, and wet it with the hose. She wrapped up the biggest bouquet of weeds and presented them to me. I looked up, and found seven beaming faces waiting for a reaction.
The Humble Dandelion. No cure for sugar sickness....
Lily spoke to David again. He translated for her. “Your boy won’t need needles again. This will cure him of his curse. My grandmother, my aunty, the both have the curse, and they eat these plants everyday, and they don’t need medicine. They are cured. It’s a miracle plant. Many, many people do the same thing in Africa. Your people treat it as a weed. My mum is going to write out instructions, and I will write them into English. What time is fine to bring them to your home?” he asked.
“Umm..is tomorrow okay?” I replied. He asked his mother, and she nodded and agreed.
I left the house, and powerwalked home with my weeds.
On the corner of my street lives a lady named Hazel. She has the most pristine garden, and also some quirky little habits, like feeding Heart Smart beefstrips to magpies that she tamed over the years. They visit her the same time everyday, and scream up a storm if she isn’t outside with their food.
“What in devil’s name have you got there?” she asked in a mortified but curious tone.
“Umm..it’s a gift. It’s a gift from my Sudanese friends. It’s a customary thing, you know?”
“You’ve got yourself big pile of dandelions there, you silly girl! Why on earth did you accept them? Oh well, the last laugh’s on you, they cleaned up their garden and dumped it in the hands of a white lady. Ha!” she chuckled to herself.
I wasn’t laughing. (From associating with wild birds for so long, she even gaffawed and darted her head about like one.)
Dandelions.
I got home, to find Lance waiting at the gate for me.
“What’s that, Mum?” he said, frowning. “How come you’ve taken so long?”
I briefly relayed the story when I got inside. I was really eager to google “dandelions type 1 diabetes”.
This is what I found.
http://www.ehow.com/how_2119640_use-dandelion-treat-diabetes.html
http://www.springboard4health.com/notebook/herbs_dandelion.html
Both of these links mention the words “diabetes” and “insulin”, but both also stress the serious nature of Type 1 Diabetes, and recommend that consuming anything made from Dandelions be part of a holistic approach to treating symptoms only.
It is just so heartbreaking that we have drug companies handing out free insulin, free pens, yet the people of Africa often find admitting themselves to hospital is the easiest way to treat their diabetes, as glucometers, insulin, strips, and lancets cost BIG money-money that many families don’t even earn in six months. Many children in Africa with Type 1 Diabetes do not own a glucometer; they simply accept that they have to go without. Occasionally, they can visit a pharmacy for a blood glucose test, but even then, a fee applies. I am so ashamed that I have collected five glucometers over the years.
Anyway, my dandelions are wilted, and still in their dampened newspaper. I can assure you that I will receive my translated instructions tomorrow. Dandelion root powder and tea have many tremendous healing properties, however, curing Type 1 Diabetes is not one of them. No matter how amazing it would be to find a cure as simple as a humble weed, most of us know, and worship the gift of insulin, whether it be given through MDI’s or a pump. INSULIN IS THE ONLY WAY TO SUSTAIN LIFE WHEN YOU HAVE TYPE 1 DIABETES.
For now, I need to find someone who is fluent in Arabic-as I have to provide a “thank you so much” BUT “it’s not for us” letter, if I don’t want to continue receiving dandelion parcels week in, week out!
My First Year As An Official D Blogger.
19 August, 2008 · Filed under A Laugh Between BSL's., By Kate, Diabetes hope, Diabetes me, Diabetes superfriends, From Parent to Parent · Tagged Blogroll, Brendon, complications, D Blogging, Dae, Dan, friends who blog, friendships with other "D" Mum's, janek, John Howard, Kerri, Kezza, Penny, post comments, Rhonda, Shannon, World Diabetes Day
Today I took a moment to inspect my blog. It occurred to me last night that I have been doing this blogging caper for one month shy off a year!
I saw photos of Lance that actually made me gasp, as he has grown SO MUCH! His appetite has to be seen to be believed- is it any wonder I have transformed into Suzie Homemaker, preparing batches of cookies, muffins and other diabetes-friendly taste sensations. He’s morphed from a little boy into my best pal. We chit-chat and laugh all day long, and never tire of each other’s company. I’m so blessed to have him. 😀
My Best Mate-All Grown Up.
I recalled historical events like World Diabetes Day, and the ousting of our former stale and tiresome Prime Minister.
The First Recognised World Diabetes Day.
Little Johnny Howard. Bloody GST!
I read comments from all of the wonderful, supportive and unfailingly kind D Bloggers, when Lance was diagnosed with his first complications.
I also marvelled at the many new and special friendships I have made. I am so proud of the people that I call “friend” in my Blogroll, each of them are entirely different, and it’s that diversity that I dearly cherish .
Over the past year, I have reinforced my friendship with my good friend, Shannon, who is a fantastic confidante, and so unbelievably kind. Even though we have an ocean between us, we walk in very similar shoes. (Of course, I am Lance’s Mum, and Shannon is Brendon’s Mom, Brendon being Lance’s penfriend and link to what’s happening in the States.) Dan, my younger brother, has taken some collosal steps over the past year, and as a result is sitting in a very cosy nook, where the sun is always at its brightest. I am so proud of who you have become, sweetheart. Then there is Kerri, the first D Blogger I ever made contact with. She too, has had a fantastic 12 months, and a result, made a stunning bride in May.
I have also made some fascinating friendships along the way. Janek-possibly the most charismatic man I have ever known. I swear, he is the equivilent of Human Valium-his ability to transform me from inconsolable and exhausted, to tranquil and calm is a true gift. He feels more like family these days. Dae is a really funky chick who Lance has taken an extreme liking to-her posts are very inspiring and fresh, despite lugging Type 2 Diabetes alongside her. Oh my, then there is Kezza. This gorgeous creature has left me wheezing from attacks of manic laughter. He also talks my talk, and without fail, has something interesting or inspirational to say. If Lance could grow up and manage to squeeze his Diabetes into his back pocket the way Kezza can, I would be a very content mother. Other “Mom’s” like Rhonda and Penny are inspirational women, and it’s been comforting to learn about their daily struggles and successes as parents of beautiful kids with Type 1 Diabetes.
To every person who reads my posts, and has sent love, prayers, best wishes and hope for Lance, thank you, thank you, thank you. A sentence with a kind sentiment included can make such a difference on a trying day. It also means a lot to Lance that people from all over the world have him in their thoughts.
This post is dedicated to each of you. You continue to provide me with glimmers of hope, and some raucous cackles thrown in for good meaure. The worst day can be turned around by some gentle, patient words of encouragement.
On the same note, please know that I am always really eager to know how your lives are progressing, and that catching up on your posts is always a special time of my day.
Ah, you are just a bunch of shiny, happy people.
Special. Divine. Wonderful.
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