I had just turned six years old when my world was rattled with a life-changing moment. I was lying in a bed at Boston Children’s Hospital, trying to understand what the doctors were saying to my parents. DIE-a-beet-ees? Was I going to die of beetees? I knew I was sick; I’d felt terrible for weeks.
I couldn’t contain myself. “Stop talking over me. This is about me. Please talk to me!” I screamed. My mother remembers that as a defining moment in my Type 1 diabetes diagnosis, and indeed I have taken charge over the many years of living with type 1 diabetes. There was another defining moment during the first week after my diagnosis that is pierced into my memory.
Everyone had left for the night. My father headed home with my older sister; the visitors that had swarmed my hospital room to bring me gifts and wish me well were gone. The floor was darker; quieter. It was, as it would be many times from then on, just me and my mom.
We were probably watching a “Boy Meets World” rerun. During a commercial, I let my very young mind wrap around what was going on. Shots for a lifetime? Meal plans? Finger pokes that seemed endless? I had to admit something to my mother, and so I did.
“Mom. I’m scared.”
She took my hand in hers and in a rare moment of not joking around, looked me in the eye and said, “Lauren. I cannot take this away from you today. I cannot stop what you are going to have to do to be healthy. But I promise you this: I will do everything and anything I have to do to make your life better. I’ll walk to the end of the earth if I have to. We’re going to find a way for you to live well with this. And, Lauren, we’re going to cure this.”
I believed her. And today, 18 and a half years after that fateful time, I can tell you she absolutely has. I know no one who has dedicated more time, energy, and talent to helping better this diabetes world than my mom.
Through her, we discovered JDRF. We walked with our huge walk team each year. She taught me how to fundraise (I was always expected to pitch in) and how to advocate. She taught me how to use my voice, and to use my heart to help so many people. Last year, she even convinced me to do my first JDRF Ride to Cure Diabetes and showed me that even as a young (and admittedly poor!) adult, I could have a huge impact on funding research.
My father has played a vital role in helping to find a cure as well. Over the years, every time my mom had to travel for JDRF as a volunteer, or fill our tables with flyers getting ready to be mailed, or host a giant fundraising party in our house or do whatever was needed to make my life better, he understood and wholeheartedly supported her. He still does because she’s still doing it. Our tables of friends we invited to gala each year as I grew up remains a wonderful memory for me. My mom and dad were —and are — all in.
When my mom called me to tell me that JDRF had asked to honor her and my dad at the JDRF One Night Boston Gala this year, I insisted she say yes. Mom and Dad have — constantly since Oct. 28, 1997 at 2:15 p.m. — been focused on changing the lives of people with Type 1 diabetes for the better. While I am just one of the probably tens of thousands they have helped, I am certainly the luckiest.
I am 24 years old now and doing well, but I still have the incredible weight on my shoulders a person with Type 1 diabetes lives with. When it gets me down or frustrated, I think back to that defining moment and my mother’s promise:
“Lauren, we’re going to cure this.”
Just like that little girl in that moment, I know this is true. I hope to see you at the JDRF One Night Gala in Boston on May 14 to help my mom and dad keep on doing just that. If you are unable to come I hope you will support us with a Fund A Cure donation.
Thank you for your consideration and for supporting JDRF and the One Night where we acknowledge how far we have come and make great strides toward the One Day when we celebrate a cure.
Sincerely,
Lauren Stanford
Age 24, dx at 6