It’s exhausting. It’s heartbreaking. It’s terrifying.

Is it illness, is it technology, or is it something I did?

Parenting is hard. Parenting a child with type 1 diabetes feels like an impossible mountain to climb every single day. And when you already struggle with anxiety, that mountain becomes even steeper. Every moment is filled with questions that never have simple answers: Is her glucose monitor wrong? Should I call the doctor? Should I wake my husband for help? Did I make a mistake with her insulin dose earlier?

The questions never stop, and they don’t have easy answers. But the hardest ones always come at night, when the house is quiet when everyone else is sleeping, and when I am wide awake, managing Maybel’s diabetes and my spiraling thoughts.

She Keeps Going Low, and the Fear Feels Endless

It’s almost 2 a.m., and I haven’t even been to bed yet. Her glucose monitor beeps again, pulling me out of the fog of exhaustion. I check her numbers—58. Still too low. I grab another juice box and gently wake her, urging her to drink. She’s so tired she can barely lift her head, won't even open her eyes, her little body heavy with exhaustion as she takes small sips.

I sit beside her, timer set for 15 minutes, refreshing the glucose app over and over, praying for those numbers to rise. But when they don’t, the panic starts to creep in. Another juice box. Another round of waiting. Another failed attempt to stabilize her.

I suspend her insulin, hoping it will stop the drop, but nothing is working. She keeps going low. My heart races as the minutes tick by, fear building with every beep from her monitor. I know what this means. I know what hypoglycemia can do. I know how quickly it can go from just a low number to a life-threatening situation.

And the scariest part? I don’t know why this is happening. I don’t know how to stop it. Is it an illness? Is it a technology failure? Or is it me? Did I miscalculate something? Did I miss a sign? Did I fail her?

Sometimes I wonder if she’s getting sick. That’s the other cruel part of diabetes—when your body is fighting off an illness, your glucose levels can act completely unpredictable. Too high, too low, dropping, spiking—it feels like everything is out of control. These nights, when nothing makes sense and nothing works, are the ones that leave me questioning everything.

These are the thoughts that keep me awake, staring at her tiny face as she sleeps between juice boxes, wondering how much her body can take. I can’t stop thinking about what lows like this can do to her. The risk of seizures. The potential for long-term brain damage. The possibility that I might miss something and not be able to save her in time.

The Weight of Every Decision

Type 1 diabetes doesn’t come with a manual. There’s no guidebook for how to handle nights like this. When to call the doctor. When to wake my husband. When to trust my gut and when to second-guess it. And the thought of going to the hospital looms over me, a constant shadow.

But the hospital isn’t a quick fix. It’s a last resort, one that comes with its own set of risks. The stress of packing, planning, and turning our world upside down just to get her through the doors feels overwhelming. Sleeping in an unfamiliar place, exposing her to germs that could make her even sicker, losing track of days and routines—it feels like a nightmare. But staying home, trying to fight these lows alone, is just as terrifying.

The Sadness Beneath the Stress

What breaks my heart most is watching Maybel go through this. She’s only four years old. She shouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to drink juice while her body fights to stay alive. She shouldn’t have to deal with the confusion of a low, the fear in my voice as I reassure her, or the exhaustion that comes from sleepless nights.

She’s so small. Too small to carry the weight of this disease. But she does. And no matter how much I do to protect her, I know I can’t take it from her. I can’t shield her from the relentless, unpredictable nature of diabetes.

And the weight of it all—the sleepless nights, the constant fear, the sadness—it feels like it’s crushing me. But I can’t stop. I won’t stop. Because Maybel needs me. Because she’s brave, and she’s strong, and she deserves everything I have to give, even when I feel like there’s nothing left.

How a Sugar Dog Could Change Everything

On nights like these, when I feel like I’m running on empty and nothing is working, I imagine how different it could be with a service dog by Maybel’s side. A sugar dog trained to sense her glucose drops could wake me before the alarms even start. The dog could give us an extra layer of protection, an earlier warning before the lows become so dangerous.

Maybel deserves this. Our family deserves this. We’ve been working so hard to raise money for a service dog, and it’s nights like these that show how life-changing it would be. This isn’t just about making our lives easier—this is about saving her life, about giving her the chance to live without constant fear hanging over her.

But we can’t do it alone. We need help—help from our community, our friends, and anyone who can contribute to this journey. Maybel’s sugar dog could be the difference between a traumatic night like this and peace of mind. And honestly, peace of mind is something we all desperately need.

The hardest part of all of this is the uncertainty. I don’t know if her lows are because of the disease itself, a glitch in the technology, or something I missed. And that question—What if it’s my fault?—is the heaviest burden I carry.

This is what it’s like to parent a child with type 1 diabetes. It’s exhausting. It’s heartbreaking. It’s terrifying. But it’s also the most important thing I’ll ever do. And with help, with support, and with the hope of a service dog, we can face it together.