On Tuesday afternoon, our family thought we were dealing with something ordinary.

A mild chest congestion.
A little nausea.
The kind of childhood illness parents see countless times and rarely fear.

We did what parents always do. We monitored. We reassured. We told ourselves he would feel better by morning.

By nightfall, everything we believed unraveled.

When Instinct Replaces Calm

Brooks—our sweet, bright-eyed boy—went from uncomfortable to frighteningly lethargic in just a few hours.

He couldn’t keep water down.
His body felt unusually heavy when we lifted him.
His eyes, once full of curiosity, seemed distant and glassy.

Something in us shifted.

Parents know this moment. The one where logic gives way to instinct. Where a quiet voice inside starts screaming that this is no longer normal.

We rushed Brooks to urgent care, hearts pounding but still clinging to hope. We told ourselves it would be quick—tests, maybe a prescription, then home. A long night, but a manageable one.

We were wrong.

The Diagnosis That Changed Everything

At urgent care, test results came back rapidly—and alarmingly.

Positive for the flu.
Positive for strep.
Positive for pneumonia.

Doctors grew concerned about dehydration and sent us immediately to the pediatric emergency room at GBMC.

By the time we arrived, Brooks was barely responsive.

Each step through the hospital doors felt heavier than the last, as if we were walking toward something we weren’t ready to face.

Then came the test no one warned us about.

A routine blood glucose check during intake revealed a number no parent ever expects to see.

In seconds, the tone of the room changed.

Doctors’ voices lowered.
Urgency replaced reassurance.
Movement became fast and purposeful.

Brooks had Type 1 diabetes.

There was no gradual explanation.
No time to absorb the words.

Just the sudden understanding that our child’s life had already changed—forever.

From ER to ICU in a Matter of Minutes

Before we could process what was happening, everything accelerated.

IV fluids were started immediately.
Doctors explained that Brooks was in diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA)—a life-threatening condition often caused by undiagnosed Type 1 diabetes.
An ambulance was called.

Brooks was being transferred to the pediatric intensive care unit at Johns Hopkins.

We stood helplessly as our son was prepared for transport, surrounded by monitors, wires, and medical professionals moving with practiced urgency.

Fear hollowed us out.

The unknown loomed larger than anything we had ever faced as parents.

Life Inside the PICU

The first days in the PICU blurred together.

Doctors rotated in and out.
Nurses adjusted lines and whispered encouragement.
Machines beeped relentlessly through sleepless nights.

Time lost meaning.

Every hour felt like an endurance test—one we didn’t know how to train for.

And yet, even in his sickest moments, Brooks fought.

He held on when his body was exhausted.
He responded when everything inside him was overwhelmed.
He showed a resilience that left us in awe.

The care he received went beyond medicine.

The nurses spoke gently.
The doctors explained patiently.
The entire team treated Brooks not just as a patient—but as a child they genuinely cared about.

When our strength failed, theirs carried us.

Grief, Gratitude, and a Life Rewritten

In quiet moments between updates and alarms, our emotions collided.

There was grief—for the childhood that would now look different.
Fear—for the lifelong responsibility this diagnosis carries.
And unexpectedly, gratitude.

Gratitude for timing.
For sharp eyes and fast decisions.
For the unexplainable alignment of events that got Brooks the help he needed before it was too late.

Friends, family, and our community surrounded us instantly.

Messages poured in.
Prayers traveled across distances.
We felt held when we could barely stand on our own.

A Diagnosis That Runs Through Generations

For me, this moment cut deeper than I ever expected.

Not only as a parent—but as someone who has lived this life before.

I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at age 11.

I have spent decades navigating blood sugar checks, insulin injections, alarms, and uncertainty. I understand the exhaustion of a disease that never takes a day off.

But I also had something many don’t.

A built-in mentor.

My dad was diagnosed as a teenager. He walked this road before me. He showed me—without ever saying it out loud—that a full, meaningful life was still possible.

Now, the torch has passed again.

This time, to Brooks.

Standing beside him is a team shaped by generations of lived experience—Craig, Jonas, and me.

Learning to Live Forward

The road ahead will not be easy.

Type 1 diabetes doesn’t pause for birthdays or holidays.
It doesn’t care about sleep schedules or plans.
It demands attention, discipline, and resilience—every single day.

But we are not walking into this blind.

We understand the language.
We know the weight.
We recognize the fear—and the hope—that coexist in this diagnosis.

Our mission now is simple—but enormous.

To ensure Brooks never believes his diagnosis defines him.
To teach him how to care for his body without letting it cage his spirit.
To remind him, again and again, that he is still exactly who he was before the ICU, before the monitors, before the word diabetes entered his life.

Brave.
Strong.
And full of possibility.

Moving Forward Together

This chapter began with panic and uncertainty.

It continues with learning, adjusting, and rebuilding.

And it will be written with love, patience, and faith.

We ask for continued prayers as we find our footing.
As fear slowly turns into routine.
As we help Brooks grow into a life that may look different—but can still be joyful, full, and limitless.

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for walking with us.

This journey is far from over.

But we are ready to face it—together.