Several years ago, I bought this sign from a kitschy store in the small Pennsylvania town where my children attend sleepaway camp. It was half-way through my one week stint as a pediatrician, where I treat the injuries, illnesses, and psychosomatic pains of campers and staff. I laughed out loud when I read this sign, recognizing both the absurdity and appropriateness of the motto. As a general pediatrician for the past 17 years, I preach anticipatory guidance at most office visits. As a mother, I do my very best to comply. Car seats, helmets, protection from sharp corners, outlets, and choking hazards. A tragic case I saw in the ICU left me with a balloon phobia, so my children only had mylar balloons (no latex helium) until their fifth birthdays.
The sign rests in the most conspicuous part of my home, on my entry bureau as a daily reminder. What exactly does it mean? I both appreciate the sign and resent it. Chronic health conditions such as diabetes, the most difficult part of my children’s existence, could not have been prevented by a helmet, or full armor for that matter. Neither could they have been prevented by my meticulous pre-natal diet with food restrictions, followed by breast-feeding. A ski helmet did not protect my mother from a traumatic brain injury, which required surgery and prolonged rehabilitation. It clearly would not have helped Sam with his multiple injuries this past summer, for which he spent several weeks in a leg and arm cast. Most recently, a helmet did not protect little Leo from breaking his wrist while skiing last month.
Metaphorically, I love displaying the sign. The importance of developing a thick skin to deal with life’s challenges should not be lost on anyone, including myself. We prevent what we can, we hope for the best, we walk outside and face the many obstacles in our path. I have tried to teach my children that diabetes should not prevent them from doing or accomplishing anything. My 14 year old son just left for an eighth grade trip to Israel for two weeks. A year ago, even six months ago, we did not think this was possible. It was too complicated: diabetes, celiac disease, multiple food allergies, growth hormone deficiency and asthma. No helmet could protect from him the myriad complications which could occur from any of these while he was away. Thanks to technology, we armed him with as many gadgets as possible: a continuous glucose monitor, an extra insulin pump, even a new incredible device called the Dexcom SHARE, which allows us to view his blood sugars from our iPhone as he SLEEPS while he is half way around the world. Although it only works part of the time, it is an extra cushion to prevent the near disaster of what happened on his Washington DC trip in April (see: Not just a gadget).
More importantly, he is armed with the fortitude and problem-solving ability he has developed over the past few years. That’s his real helmet. Both he and we know that problems will arise. He is sharing this amazing experience in Israel among his closest friends, We hope he won’t let his frustration and discomfort (which we have read by text already) ruin his time. “It’s hard doing everything myself, being in charge of everything. I never get to relax.” This trip will empower him and help him realize he is able to accomplish all he sets out to do. That is what he and we want.
But dammit, he better tie his shoes on those long rugged hikes, and whenever necessary, he better wear an ACTUAL helmet…