I didn’t mean to emotionally adopt the school nurse.
But here we are.
When your kid has Type 1 Diabetes, the school nurse becomes your lifeline, your secret therapist, and the only other adult who truly understands what it’s like to make snack decisions based on numbers and vibes.
When my daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, one of my biggest fears was sending her back to school.
Who would watch her numbers?
Who would know what to do if something went wrong?
Who would understand that a juice box isn’t just a snack—it’s a literal medical tool?
The answer turned out to be: our school nurse.
And not just a nurse.
Our nurse.
The one who handed me her personal cell number without hesitation and said, “Text me anytime. Seriously.”
How It Starts
You send your kid to school with a medical bag the size of a carry-on suitcase.
You write a note with “instructions” that slowly becomes a novel.
Carb counts, dosage ranges, correction factors, emergency contact trees, backup snack stashes, emotional warnings like “She cries when she’s high, it’s not personal”…
And then you wait.
You refresh your phone 400 times.
You consider duct-taping a juice box to your child’s forehead just to be safe.
She Doesn’t Just Care—She Shows Up
Every time my daughter walks through the school doors, I breathe a little easier knowing someone there knows her.
Knows her quirks.
Knows her signs of going low or spiking high.
Knows when to text me a heads-up or just send an encouraging message like, “All good—numbers holding steady!”
She doesn’t treat my child like a burden or a checklist.
She treats her like a whole person. A kid who happens to have diabetes.
How It’s Going
Now the nurse and I text like coworkers on a sinking ship.
Updates like:
- “She’s 85 and holding. Had a juice just in case.”
- “Insulin pen stopped working—backup used.”
- “She says she feels ‘wobbly but fine,’ so I gave her a snack and a hug.”
We are in the trenches together.
She knows my tone by emoji now.
Sometimes I send memes. She deserves that.
To All the School Nurses
You didn’t sign up to be a pancreas.
And yet, here you are—counting carbs, delivering insulin, decoding CGM graphs, and comforting kids who are just trying to make it through math class without a blood sugar rollercoaster.
You are seen.
You are appreciated.
You are probably underpaid and definitely over-relied on.
And I’m more grateful for you than words can say.
