Blogjacking revisited...

I recently went out and bought a new phone. The old one was a shenanigan seeker, and I just couldn't tolerate it anymore. Here's hoping for a successful school year with the new guy.

RIP old guy...this repost of your blogjacking is a great reminder why you won't be missed...














(Sorry dude. You had to go.)

This life vs. that life

I don't know how it is I'm hardwired this way...but I can write much better than I can speak.  Now, if I write a speech, or a talk of some sort...I can deliver it marvelously!  But if I'm put on the spot and need to spout a long diatribe on a subject...If I haven't written about it before...I'm lost.

Confused much?

Point being, when I sit down at the keyboard my thoughts flow so much easier.  I had a dear friend stay with me this weekend while Ryan and the boys were away camping.  We were up until the wee hours of the morning, talking about everything under the sun.  It was wonderful, and at the same time harder for me than I ever thought it would be.  When I would say, "I believe that..."and have a story I wanted to convey, I stumbled awkwardly through my explanation.  "I believe this because...blah blah blah...ummm, yeah."  She didn't in any way make me feel stupid, in fact she nodded enthusiastically and loved me just like she always had.   It occurred to me the next morning that my thoughts would have flowed so much more smoothly had we been typing back and forth to each other...

Thank goodness for Blogger!

And because the first couple paragraphs really have nothing to do with my post...thank goodness for digression!

What I want to share with you today is an extension of that conversation.  The running theme throughout our late night chatter, was "empathy."  The next morning I woke up and read this article by Michael Hoskins on Diabetes Mine...You can read it HERE...please come back.  :)

The articles title is "At least you have diabetes and not..."  Mike shares his story of his Aunt recently being diagnosed with ALS.  He shares how this has changed his perspective, and in the grand scope of things realizes that diabetes is not that big of a deal.  He is feeling at this moment that all the DOC chatter online is mostly insignificant.  And that now he sees that there are much more dire circumstances being experienced by people all around the world.  (Paraphrasing...please read the article to really get the gist.)

So is it fair to say this disease is harder than that disease?  Are we comparing apples to oranges, or perhaps fuji apples to gravenstein apples?

Personally, I don't think comparing will get us anywhere.  Understanding, on the other hand...will get us far.  And empathy will take our planet all the way to where it needs to go.

After Ryan was diagnosed I will be honest, there was a length of time I would read statuses on Facebook and say, "Really?  Really?  Your devastated because your child was high for three hours?"   But let me tell you this...five months later, I'm right there with you posting these statuses too.  Diabetes is hard and frustrating.  Is it fair to diminish that frustration because you, or your child probably aren't going to die today?

My opinion...no.

Ryan's cancer is hard.  Yes it is harder than diabetes.  Yes it is awful and horrible and it feels like my world is crumbling down...but without the DOC chatter I would most certainly be in a darker place.  Not only to keep my mind off it all, but to give me that support of "same."  To make me feel like I'm part of something.  I can sit here, on my couch all alone...and not feel alone at all.  And the best part is, these relationships are REAL.  I've met MANY people.  I've spoken on the phone with MANY people.  I've had private chats with MANY people.  These connections are vital.  My boys A1C's are what they are BECAUSE of these connections.  They are healthier because of the DOC. 

Yes, I would pick diabetes over cancer any day of the week.  But we don't get to pick our diseases.  The disease pick us.

All we can do is make of it what we can.  And what I see is thousands, hundreds of thousands of people online with diabetes, making a difference in each other's lives.  Attending conferences and events to make a difference for their own family, and the community as a whole.  Diabetes is our thing.  We were giving this cause, and it is just as admirable to chat about diabetes as it is about cancer.  If your cause is for the greater good, it is always worthwhile.

It will often get said to me, "I feel bad when I am overwhelmed because I ONLY have one child with Type 1 Diabetes, or I only have to take care of myself and MY Type 1 Diabetes...and you have three...so I feel silly I feel that way."

What these people forget is that I once "just" had one child with Type 1 Diabetes.  And I was overwhelmed and scared, and exhausted all the time too.  Diabetes is HARD, no matter which way you slice it.  It adds a second hamster wheel to your brain...you can rarely NOT think about it.  Please, whatever you are facing at this time, know that your feelings are valid...and then find a way to come to terms with them.

We need to have empathy for the entire human experience.  It is good Mike wrote that article if only to open our minds that others are suffering too.  My bestie who stayed with me this weekend?  Her Mother...my second mother...died in 2008 of Alzheimer's.  Would I trade our Diabetes journey for her Alzheimer's journey?  I think we can all agree that that is a ridiculous question, and at the very least a moot point.  We take what we are given and we run with it.  Sometimes we trip with it.  Sometimes we are paralyzed with it.  But it is OUR journey for a reason.  Grab it by the horns and live your best damn life. 

Heaven knows I am trying.

Although a widened perspective is wonderful, and vital...comparing is fruitless. 

Love your best.  Try your best.  Hope your best.  Connect your best. 

Look around and empathize your best.

Make a difference the best way you know how.

In the end, that is the best we can do.

14 years of soaring anyway.

He's 14 years-eight months old, and he has been living with diabetes for 14 years today.

He has been living with it.  And in my own way, I have been living with it.  In his own way, my husband has been living with it.  In everybody's own way, our entire family has been living with it.

Here it is.  A big boring ol' Tuesday.  And today 14 years ago our lives changed in an instant.

Today, there was no parade.  No fancy dinner.  No balloons.  Just a family sitting together on the couch before bedtime taking it all in.

When I brought it up, everyone became very quiet.  There was a solemn respect emanating from all the boys.   They weren't sad, they weren't cheering...they were simply contemplative of it all.

"How does it make you feel J?"

"Special."  Said with the sly smirk only a 14 year old could muster.

We went through a few things that I had saved in J's keepsake box.

The hospital gown they gave to J when he was admitted.  It was the smallest they had and he swam in it. 

J's very first Medic Alert bracelet.  The picture below just doesn't capture how completely small it is.

J's first glucometer.  The rubber bear that gripped it was his teething toy for many months.

And pictures of J on our vacation just a few days before he went into DKA. 

We all hugged each other a little tighter before the boys went off to bed.  We know how lucky we are that J made it through the entire ordeal.  I remember on his first birthday bursting with happiness that we got to celebrate it!  It was a party of epic proportions.  He is so loved.

And 14 years later, he's all ready to get his permit soon.  He is entering High School in just weeks.  And he is every bit as strong and resilient as he was that day so many years ago.   I wish I could convey how proud I am of him...words fail me.

So here's to J.  As well as all my boys, and all of the children, teens and adults that live anyway.  Soar anyway.  Succeed anyway. 

Inspirations.  Every one.

And especially today...this one.  My one. 

Love you J!

Apricot Advocacy

It's almost time for Back to School.  I love summer, and I love school.

What I don't love is going BACK to school.

For parents of children with diabetes, going back to school means advocating...which at its core is a really amazing thing.  

On the surface though, it is a super delicate thing at best. 

Kind of like an apricot.

In our hearts we have all the right intentions.  We want our children to go to school with a plan in place.  With safety measures signed off on, and with a staff that is trained to keep a watchful eye on our little ones. 

We want our kids to be safe.  Sounds like a completely admirable goal...right?

Sounds hard and true...just like an apricot pit. 

But when we go into the office and speak with the administrators our resolve becomes a delicate thing.  We have to handle it all very gently or else we will bruise and discolor the apricot flesh of our advocacy.

We don't want to be viewed as vigilantes.

We don't' want to be seen as trouble makers.

We don't want to be perceived to be tiger parents.

Because once those perceptions start getting thrown around...we aren't getting anywhere.

There is nothing worse than having the school administration on the defensive.

The hardest part for me personally is feeling as though I am being judged as a pancreas by people who were taught what diabetes is by Wilford Brimely and Doctor Oz.  I'm coming in there giving them an entire new perspective on what Type 1 Diabetes really entails.  I'm telling them things they never dreamed of.  And at the end of the day I wonder if they think I'm nuts.

The people at the school have only ever seen magazine pictures with the number 103 on it.  They think a 300 is neglect.  They think constant lows after recess is bad pancreating on my part.  Or do they?  Even though I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job, I get all kinds of vulnerable and self conscious when school starts.  They might not even think those things at all!  They have a ton of other things to think about anyway...their jobs are already hard as it is without my family in the picture!

My biggest problem is my perceptions of how people at school perceive me.  (That's a real sentence, right?)  I've so many times wanted our endo to call up the school or teacher and say, "You know what...Meri is a dang good pancreas.  The back to school yo yo is not her fault.  She'll figure it out in a few weeks...cut her some slack."

I am so hard on myself when the kids go back to school.  We don't have a nurse, so often the littles' teachers want to know where their blood sugars are at so they can know how to help them.  And when they call me all kinds of shocked that there is a 225 staring back at them...it's hard not to feel judged.

I am fully aware it is all about educating...over and over and over again.  Eventually they all get it.  Eventually they come to see what Type 1 Diabetes is really all about.

It's just the beginning of forging new relationships and teaching them the ropes...it isn't easy.

I have my binders.

I have my 504's.

I have my boxes full of supplies and fast acting sugar.

What I don't have is the magic button that lets everyone see what I see.

I see four boys, three with T1, that at THIS time, and at THIS moment mean more to me than they ever have.  More than all the riches of the world and all the castles in heaven.   How do I love them MORE every day?  I love them so much today, it seems impossible!

I see three T1 Boys that are amazing in a million different ways.  They are more responsible and in tune to their health than anyone else I know.   Amazing boys who just want to fit in and do everything everyone else does.  Amazing boys who always TRY their best when it comes to diabetes.

I see a mother that tries her very best to keep their numbers as even as insulin-ly possible.  A mother whose heart aches with every high and every low.  

I see a family that needs an easy back to school...and I'm bawling like a baby thinking about it.

It's hard to hold a delicate, very ripened apricot in your hand while crying.  It's so easy to bruise.  Emotions can take over and make a mess of everything.

Squished apricot...not cool.

I know that we will survive.  I know that we can do this.  I know that most of the success hinges on keeping my emotions in check and not guessing what others are thinking of me.

I know back to school is a necessary evil. 

But with the possibility of my littles having teachers we never had before, and  J starting High School as a Freshman...

I just wish I was holding an apple, and not an apricot.

Facebook Friday Sandwich

Wherein I smoosh today's goings on between some Facebook postings of late.

Facebook Friday?

Is there such a thing? 

I feel like I live a double life online.  I have my life here on my blog, and I have my life over there on Facebook.  Here there are just small, (very emotional,) snapshots of my life.  Generally written in the wee hours of the morning...like now.  On Facebook I'm able to share more about the little things that light up my life.

(And by little things...I mean my boys.)

Take this morning's status for instance:

I ask the boys to check their sugars before breakfast. J: "78! I win!" B: "No! I'm 111, that is closer to 100...I win!" L: "I'm 132! I win, I have the high score!" Could they be any more awesome?

That, my friends, is a true story.  I laughed all morning thinking of L's "high score."

Earlier in the week I had the pleasure of experiencing this little gem:

Our change jar was full so the boys are sorting the coins. B found me to excitedly exclaim he found "THE most AWESOME penny!" He said it was from "The year of the PARTY!" What year is that? 1999.

He's 10 and he is referencing Prince.

Parenting. win.

And another one on perspective:

Happiness is: Our 8 year old and 10 year old making a box cake on their own, and the three T1's after dinner/pre-cake blood sugars yeilding 101, 105 and 122. (I'm pretty sure paradise would be those same blood sugar #'s before bed, post-cake. I'm not holding my breath though...)

A friend commented that she thought it was great that paradise still included a life with T1.  That really got my swelly brained wheels turning.  I can't help but feel we do live in our own version of paradise.  My boys are so great.  No.  Really...amazing.  With Ryan being out of commission , they are taking on a tremendous amount of responsibility around the house.  I saw grief on M's face for the first time yesterday when I sent him out on errand number 4 for us.  Honestly, that is the first time I have EVER seen it.  They water the garden, do the yard work and all the heavy lifting with a smile.

Blessed.  I am so blessed.

As crazy as things are, our days go by as normally as they can be.  Today J and M left for Weblos Camp to be councilors.  J's blood sugar 5 minutes before leaving was 62 with 1.6 on board.  My good friend Worry came to stay with me for awhile, and then I made the decision to kick Worry out on his sorry arse.   I know  J will be ok.  If the past is any indicator, he'll rock this weekend for sure.

Now one would think that with JUST two littles around, I would be in hog heaven.  I mean...I should have a handle on all of this "diabetes stuff."  I've cut the ratio down a full 1/3 for crying out loud!

I took these pictures today.  Look at these faces! 

They were both SO excited to sleep in their older brothers' beds tonight. 

SO MUCH FUN!

 But alas.  My 10pm check yielded two unsightly numbers.  76 and 52.  With IOB no less.

I had to interrupt the boys' blissful sleep to feed them some snacks. 

When I was gently forcing some juice into L, (I can TOTALLY gently force!,) he became alert only for a few seconds to look at me as though he just received an epiphany from the angels..."You know what mom?  I LOVE pudding.  ((Snore))"

"You know what,"  I told him..."I LOVE pudding, too." (Said while he snored.)

The highlight of that moment had to be I wasn't clinging to dear life to the side of his usual sleeping spot:  The top bunk.  It was so nice to just sit next to him and "gently force" him to drink and eat.

The picture below was posted on facebook a couple weeks ago.  Those with T1 children who sleep on the top bunk will appreciate it most:

How lucky am I that my life is bursting with these moments??  Tonight , and every night, I'm thankful for our four boys.  Their honesty and their hilarious sense of humor remind us not to take everything so seriously.  

It isn't easy being a Schuhmacher, but it's so worth it.

The Dark Side

There's a place that I know
it's not pretty there, and few have ever gone.
If I show it to you now
will it make you run away?

Or will you stay?

Even if it hurts,
even if I try to push you out,
will you return?
And remind me who i really am...
Please remind me who i really am.

Everybody's got a dark side.
Do you love me?
Can you love mine?
Nobody's a picture perfect,
but we're worth it..
you know that we're worth it.
Will you love me?
Even with my dark side?

~Kelly Clarkson

I'm a pretty strong person.  I haven't always been that way.  But trials and just plain life has molded me into who I am.  Lately, sometimes, I get told how strong I am by other people, and I get told how "inspiring" I am that I can keep the faith during times as hard as these.

And sometimes I partly agree with those people.  Sometimes I marvel how I keep myself walking upright, and I think how much strength I have to function and keep the family strong and happy during times like these.

But as much as I don't want to admit it...I'm not always strong.  And today especially, I feel so weak.  I feel like the world sits on my shoulders made of glass, and at any moment I will shatter under the pressure. 

I know a lot of the time, (maybe even all the time,) Ryan feels this way, too.  He doesn't always articulate it, but I know that we are living our lives on the fine line of pretended normalcy and complete chaos.

Last week's bad news was a punch in the gut.  Ryan's meds aren't working anymore.  The tumors are growing.  We were moving forward at a good clip and now we have lost our footing and have to find our momentum all over again.

It isn't easy.

Part of me wants to crumble. 

Part of me is questioning everything. 

Part of me is really angry right now. 

Part of me is so scared it is literally paralyzed.

Thankfully, the greater part of me is staying strong.  It is continually nursing my weaker parts, encouraging myself to keep the faith.  The greater part of me believes in miracles, and angels, and that some things are meant to be.

For Ryan and I, one of the harder parts of all this is not being able to articulate our fears to one another.  I told Ryan the other day if he just needed to tourettes syndrome out all his fears and anger that I can take it...let it out.  He gave me a smirk and said, "I'm okay."  And instead of lamenting of what could be, or how completely scared out of our minds we are...we talk about how blessed we are.  We talk about how despite it all...we have each other and four amazing boys.  We talk about the undeniable feelings we have had in the past telling us that all will be well.

We talk about our faith.

We all have a dark pieces.  I don't know if it takes up an entire side of us...but somewhere in us lay the dark days...the sadness, the bitterness, the loss.

But just because I have a dark day, or a dark week, doesn't mean all is lost.  It doesn't define who I am...it's just part of the process.  I've felt a lot of guilt the past couple days...guilt that I'm faltering and not the pillar of strength that I need to be for my husband, or my family, or my God.

I like to think that it is normal...or at least I hope it is.  When one is punched in the gut with bad news, one steps back for a moment to catch their bearings, right?

I'll fell better soon...and when I do...I'll be stronger.  I know it.  I'll tell the dark side to take a long walk off a short cliff and the only thing left will be my faith.

What other choice do I have?  Can I let the dark side win? 

Hell no.

You all are so kind to me.  I know many of you are saying to your screen, "Meri, be kinder to yourself!  It is ok to have bad days for crying out loud!"

And my response to that is this...

It goes both ways.  Can't you be kinder to YOURSELF too?  It's ok to have a bad day, a bad week or a bad month.  True strength comes from overcoming the bad days...not from pretending they don't exist.

This post is my small way of taking my own advice.

Thanks for the prayers by the way...I know they are part of what keeps me upright each and every day.  They make me stronger, and that is a blessing for sure.

(PS  I don't know why my font got suddenly bigger mid-blog, mid-sentence.  And now this PS is even bigger...I'm too exhausted to figure out why.)

Let it be.

Let it be.

Let it happen.

Let it alone.

Just BE.

My husband and had the rare opportunity to have dinner with some friends in the city.  On the way home the sun was setting and the Bay Area glowed in yellow haze, carpeted by reflective pools of water. 

Almost intuitively the radio began to play "Let it Be" by the Beatles.

The words pierced my heart.  I tried to internalize exactly what they meant to me.  To us.

Let it be.

Let it be...as in, Let it happen?   Life doesn't stop for anything.  It is a crazy ride and when something big shakes up our world my first instinct is to think, when will this end?  How long must we endure?  Maybe I need to step into the calmness of "letting it happen."  These hard moments are changing us, and someday I'll have the benefit of hindsight to see what miracles were wrought in our life.  Someday I'll be wiser and the bigger picture will be clearer.  Instead of punching mindlessly at the storm...maybe just acceptance is what I need.  Storms blow through, and they are scary.  But it waters our fields and the rainbow follows.

Let it be...as in, let it alone?  Sometimes I let the question creep in.  Why?  There is no answer to why.  Why is only there to make me miserable.  There is no strength in why.  Why is there to take my mind away from the things that are really important, like my blessings.  Why wants to preoccupy me with its time so there is no room for anything else.  Why is extremely needy.  So leaving it alone...alienating the why may be my only option right now.

Let it be...as in, just be?  Just LIVE.  Make the most of every day.  Enjoy all of the little moments.  I read a quote the other day that said happiness is not in the destination, but in the journey.  I can't look ahead and say, "someday this will be over and then we'll all be happy."  That isn't fair to my family, and not fair to my soul.  I/we need to find happiness in today. 

A few days ago our family received a miracle.  My husband who has been suffering from nausea, exhaustion, pain and weakness, woke up last Thursday and said, "I feel amazing."  For the first time since his diagnosis Ryan feels "normal."  He can eat again.  He has energy again.  Gone are the days of two naps and constant misery.  He can sleep well at night again.  It's like we've all woken up from a coma.  How long will this last?  I don't know...but we'll enjoy each wonderful day we have...and "let it be."

Yesterday when I was up all night with a rouge 400, the words echoed in my swelly brain...."let it be."

Today when the boys had breakfast and then an hour an half later ate again at Costco, (because apparently it's sacrilege to NOT eat a hot dog when we're at Costco,)..."let it be."

And tomorrow, when Ryan has another diagnostic appointment to give us results of yet another chest scan..."let it be."

It's sticking for a reason.  If diabetes has taught me anything...it's that acceptance is the fastest way to happiness.

"And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me, shine until tomorrow, let it be." ~The Beatles

When numbers take over the night.

Deep in the nighttime when children are dreaming,

When parents are snoring and resting their minds.

The numbers march into our homes never failing,

And dictate the peace that our bodies will find.

A wave of emotion they bring with each blinking,

The numbers they know how to hurt and be kind.

They bounce up and down like a young child flailing,

And soothe us to sleep with their one hundred and nine.

When we dose we are hopeful that we are securing

A strong healthy number to keep the calm night.

But that number will turn when we're least expecting,

No choice but give up our sleep for the fight.

Some numbers are brutal, they'll fight until morning

taking bits of our life 'long the way.

With lows taking pleasure in seeing us foraging

for carbs to keep crueler numbers at bay.

And the highs they love to march with a'clattering,

They joy in the panic of  insulin on board.

Our hearts work with resolve to keep up their pattering,

But our sanity seems to fall on the sword.

The numbers, they are forever weaving

their quantities into our heads.

There is never a night that we are not dreaming

of meters meeting with dots crimson red.

On those nights that the numbers cause up their stirring,

We hold our breath:  Three.  Two.  One.

And keep in check emotions that surely are surging

To prove to these numbers, we've won.

Because life marches on, the numbers will shift,

The one hundreds sympathetic to our plight.

Peace always returns...there's an end to the rifts,

When the numbers take over the night.

Holding on by a bracelet...

Yesterday was a big day.  14 hours from beginning to end at the hospital for Ryan's Gamma Knife Radiation.  As thankful as I am for the technology that will surely help my husband, I am so glad that yesterday is over.

It's hard to explain what feeling helpless is like.  It mentally hurts so much that your body viscerally responds to it.  It is an aching anger that comes from the gut, and a quiet hurt that haunts your heart. 

Needless to say, feeling helpless is not my favorite.

One would think I would be used to it.  When it comes to diabetes I often feel helpless.  But when you see someone in front of you miserable...that is a different story.  My boys are very rarely miserable.  They are happy and busy kids.

But cancer is a totally other animal.  Yesterday we had to look that cancer in the eye.  We had to let it take over our day.  We had to let it hurt.

Helpless.

Many many hours of waiting at the hospital, I set my focus on my wrist.

(The orange FFL bracelet fell off a couple days ago. Super sad face.)

I read these words yesterday a thousand times:  You can do this.  And, COURAGE.

The You Can do This bracelet taken from Sara's wrist and put onto mine during Richard Rubin's Diabetes Overwhelmus course at FFL.

The Courage bracelet given to me in a tender moment from Wendy, another mother who is like a sister to me.

And in the palm of my hand I held the third bracelet, also given to me from Sara.  It is a cancer awareness bracelet with a heart inscribed:  Together we can make a difference.

I was able to take all the love out there and bring it all to one place.  And to be honest, I drew strength from it, and it helped.

One of the most important lessons I've learned from this journey so far is:  small gestures make a big difference.  Most often it isn't the grand things that are needed but rather a small token of love, a meal, or even a kind word.  We have been recipients of so many kind gestures and I'm ashamed to say I never knew.

I never knew that bringing a meal to someone who is having a hard time could cause them such complete relief.  (And really, it isn't a small gesture when you're cooking for a family of 6.)

I never knew that just saying, "I'm sorry, I hear you, god bless."  can heal a heart so.

I never knew that bracelets, probably monetarily worth very little...could be equal to the mansions in heaven for my soul.

I never knew that when  a person is having a hard time, just writing on their facebook wall or sending them a text or an email could make them feel BETTER, and lift them up out of the fog.

If you ever feel prompted to call someone, or text someone, or help someone...

Do it.

It makes all the difference in the world.

My heart...my surviving all of this...is living proof that it is so.

Have diabetes, will travel

Four oversized swollen suitcases.

Four backpacks, one for each boy.

One large tote bag for me.

One carry on that looked like this.

We were ready.

As we made our way to the security lines at the airport I searched for the "family and medical assistance line."  When I found it I explained that I had three boys wearing insulin pumps and they couldn't go through the metal detector/scanner.

"Don't tell me...tell the next guy."

The next guy checked our ID's and waved us through.  He didn't want to hear it either.  "Tell the next guy."

As we arranged all our bags on the x ray conveyor belt, I explained to the gentleman standing there that three of my boys could not go through the scanner.

"That's ok...just have them walk through here," as he gestured to the scanner.

"I'm sorry, their insulin pumps could break.  They'll need a pat down. They are not walking through there."

He gestured again..."No, it is ok...have them walk through here." 

"I'm sorry, they can't."

He was frustrated now. "I've never heard of this before.  Never."

"I read on your website, they have the right to request a swab or a pat down.  They are not going through that scanner.  I can't risk it."

"OUR website?  The TSA website?"

"Yes...YOUR website."  I answered as I fumbled through my paperwork looking for the section I printed out just in case I was questioned.

I pointed to this section that I had highlighted:

"If you are concerned or uncomfortable about going through the walk-through metal detector with your insulin pump, notify the Security Officer that you are wearing an insulin pump and would like a full-body pat-down and a visual inspection of your pump instead." ~TSA website/hidden disabilities/diabetes

He glanced at it impatiently.   "OK, I'll call security."

A few minutes later three very large, very seriously looking Samoan men in uniform came to gather the boys.  I explained I wanted to stay with them at all times and they said no problem.

It was quick and efficient.  They gave J a swift half hearted pat down and had the two younger boys touch their insulin pumps and then swab their fingers. 

Five minutes and we were ready to go.  Except for the initial conversation, everything ran pretty smoothly and efficiently.

Florida on the other hand...well they are a little more militant about it all.

Returning home was a bit more complicated.

It included a long conversation with the guy at the scanner.  He wanted the boys to go through the new full body scanner.

"I'm not familiar with the technology.  I don't feel comfortable with their pumps going through there."

Honestly, I had no idea if it was ok or not...but my gut said it wasn't.

The TSA agent went on and on and on about how it doesn't have magnets and it was safe for the boys to go through.

I looked him in the eye and said, "We are requesting pat downs or swabs.  The boys will not be going through any scanner.  I know we have the right to request this, and we are."

He nodded and called security.

Three men eventually approached us and waited for a manager to join them before they began their work.  In Florida, it is protocol for minors under 12 who are searched or swabbed to have a manager there to witness.  J was whisked away.  They didn't ask if I wanted to witness, and I had to follow the littles that were taken in a different direction.  I found my husband and pointed two fingers towards my eyes and then pointed the two fingers towards J, signaling to Ryan to keep an eye on him.

They swabbed the littles hands and feet and shoes.  They swabbed my hands and feet and shoes.  Why I was included, I do not know.  I went through the security scanner like everyone else.  I found it interesting they didn't ask them to take out, or even touch their insulin pumps.  I'm not even sure they knew they were wearing them.  To make it less invasive for children, if they are under 12 they no longer do pat downs on them.

After a slew of radioed calls to the upper management they apparently did some kind of background check and then insisted on searching the boys backpacks.  The backpacks had gone through the scanner, but regardless, everything was taken out and swabbed to see if there was explosive residue.  Again, we were asked to wait for the final ok.  Another 10 minutes passed and we were given the ok to go.

While all this was going on I glanced to the other side of the room to see J.  Wide eyed, he gave me that look like, 'What the heck!"  Let's just say his pat down was very, VERY thorough. 

All in all it took a good 30 minutes to get through security in Orlando.

I want to say at this point I think the boys could have walked through the scanners and everything would have been ok.  I think MOST of the time nothing happens to the pump...but I have heard too many stories to risk having three pumps going haywire on our vacation.  When J flew to see my brother last year he didn't even tell them he had a pump and walked through the scanner and the alarm didn't go off.  On the way home it did go off because he had starbursts in his pocket and starbursts are lined with a foil liner.  Unfortunately, I know some people have had pumps completely stop working, and some stories of pump settings being completely erased.  I made sure to have all the boys settings written down before we left.  (Last year all three boys jumped into the pool at Disney and I had no idea what their basals or sensitivities were.)

The word is Animas pumps have metal inside, usually setting the scanner off, and Medtronic doesn't.  I think it has a lot to do with the setting the scanner is set at.  Some airports set the scanner to higher sensitivity than others.  Both pump manufactures recommend NOT going through the scanner, though...so there's that.

I don't know what the right answer is, I just know in our situation it was better to be safe than sorry.

What helped us most was being firm in what we wanted.  Don't let them sway you...because they can be pretty persuasive with their permissive tones and crisp uniforms.  It is your right NOT to go through the scanner.  They can't say no. 

All in all the people with TSA were kind enough.  They are in a hurry and try to find a harried solution to get you out of their way initially.  I went to the airport expecting it to be complicated so I could be pleasantly surprised if it wasn't. 

It all works out in the end...vacations still happen...the airplane still takes off...memories are still made...and that is what's important.

Don't let diabetes stop you from traveling.  You can do it!  And it is so worth it in the end!