That’s the thing about diabetes: just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, you’re reminded how little you really know.
Case in point: I was still riding high from the success of my son’s first soccer game with diabetes. I don’t like to brag (who am I kidding, of course I do), but I had his blood sugars under 200 the whole game—which felt like a win. So when we rolled into the soccer fields the next Saturday morning, I was feeling confident. Surely we’d have the same success again.
What did I do last game? I gave him a small snack with some protein and fat beforehand, adjusted his insulin based on his blood sugar, and gave him a swig of Gatorade right before the game started. Simple. Effective.
Feeling smug, I watched him warm up on the field with the other Marshmallows (you’d have to read the last post for that one). The coach called them in to go over the game plan—which at ten years old, really just means “have fun.” I gave Owen a swig of Riptide Rush Gatorade and headed back to my chair, ready to bask in the glory of diabetes management at its finest.
The kids ran onto the field… but wait. Where was Owen? Oh—there he was, sitting on the sidelines with four other Marshmallows. Huh? What was he doing on the side? And where did all these Marshmallows come from? There weren’t this many last week.
I crept back over to the coach to find out what was going on. Turns out, half the team hadn’t played the previous week—for all the usual reasons: family plans, other sports, forgetting it was game day. The coach told me she’d sub Owen in when it was time.
“That won’t be a problem, will it?” she asked.
“No problem at all,” I replied.
That was a lie. But I didn’t want to make his diabetes a thing. So I slunk back to my chair and helplessly watched as his blood sugar arrow on his Dexcom began to climb.
161 mg/dL: flat
187 mg/dL: angled up
231 mg/dL: single arrow up
281 mg/dL: double arrow up
To learn what the arrows on youyr Dexcom G7 represent, head to Dexcom’s page on arrow meanings for better treatment decisions
Within minutes of finally getting in the game, he was over 300 mg/dL.
Of course, he didn’t know that. He was just running around with a bunch of other ten-year-olds, all kicking the ball at the same time like bumper cars in cleats, all charging at the ball from different directions.
How could I have been such a bonehead?
I tried to focus on the game. Owen was having fun—and that’s what really mattered. He wasn’t going to stay high forever. And even if he did go high, it would be temporary.
In the end, the Marshmallows lost 2–4, and Owen was none the wiser to the panic-stricken 50 minutes I had just endured. I had to take back my promise that he could have the rest of the Gatorade after the game (he got Gatorade Zero instead).
Diabetes management isn’t just about numbers. It’s more nuanced than that. Outside factors—like whether your kid actually plays in the game—matter just as much as carbohydrates and insulin doses. And if you’re reading this: don’t beat yourself up over moments like these. Diabetes is a disease of trial and error. But as long as you keep kicking the ball forward (pun intended), you’re doing just fine.