The Girl

The monkey. The Maeve-inator. Principessa. Maeve the Brave.

Maeve was just 4 years old when we rushed Charlie to the hospital in the middle of the night. She stayed with her Aunt Kimmie for five days, unaware of what was suddenly happening to her baby brother.

Everything revolves around Charlie. The forecast of the day is set by Charlie. It consumes us. It must consume us. It will consume us today, tomorrow, the next day, and all days after that. When we're not talking diabetes, treating diabetes or blogging about diabetes, there's 20-month-old Ben, wanting every ounce of excess attention. So, where does that leave the monkey?

This post goes out to the girl.

Maeve has a heart as big as Alaska. She'll compliment you on your hair. She is compassionate and kind. She's a daydreamer. She would share even her most special thing in the world with you without hesitation. She cries when she's happy. She's been planning her wedding since she was 2. She called movie theaters "movie gators" until she was about 5. She says "deal with it, dad" with a giggle, when talking about liking boys. She wants to author and illustrate her book, "The Dog with a Purple Ear."

Maeve is beautiful.

Maeve has been witness to thousands of Charlie's finger pricks. She's rubbed his head or held his hand for thousands of needle injections. She's seen way more blood than a child should. Always there. Always good. A good girl. So good that we've lost sight of how she has been affected by this disease.

Early in the school year, out of the blue, Maeve broke down crying in the arms of the guidance counselor. She said she was worried about her brother. This was a shock to us. She had never expressed this to us nor did she show signs of worry.

Since then, she has had a few big cries, sobbing about the boys getting all of our attention. We tried to explain that she wouldn't want the kind of attention that comes from having diabetes. But, she was clearly sad and had every reason to feel that way.

With large, gasping sobs she said, "why does Charlie always get his food and his drinks first?"

It was a very good question. She was right. Her snack and meal schedule became contingent on her brother's blood sugar. And when they did sit down to eat, I found myself stuck in the routine of getting food to Charlie first all the time. Even when it wasn't necessary.

We sometimes role play on weekend mornings where I play various waiters, taking the kids' breakfast orders and delivering their food.

There's Pierre, the French waiter (real original, Carey); Godfrey, the grizzled old Scottish sea captain who tells scary stories; Sebastian, an insecure, overly apologetic, odd sort; and Cowboy, who, uh, sounds like I suppose a cowboy would.

Just a few of the horribly stereotypical and culturally insulting characters that I play.

So, it's not too uncommon for me to enter the dining room with a Texan accent like Flo Castleberry from the TV sitcom Alice.

"Reckon y'all wanna start with some coffee while yer lookin' at the menu?"

I'm going to try very hard to break the habit of serving Charlie first. It's Maeve's turn. She deserves it.

And ya know what? I may not even spit in her pancakes this time when she sends it back because it's too cold.