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This is a slightly different topic, but a friend of mine's three-year-old daughter just got diagnosed with Type I diabetes (BTW, down in Texas we say "dye-uh-bee-tees," Kitsune). She'll have five blood tests and four shots of insulin every day for the rest of her life, unless a magical cure comes along. Two weeks after diagnosis, the little girl is adjusting well. She hasn't screamed or thrashed when it's time for her shot since she left the hospital, and she told her mother that she wanted to "not cry" as well, which she manages about 75% the time now. She calls her little med-bag her purse, and is quite fond of the little butterfly decals that her mother sewed on it.
My friend, still distraught about the whole thing, got hooked up with a support group, and found a woman who lives near her with a boy the same age who was diagnosed about a year ago. She asked her daughter, "Do you think maybe you'd like to go meet this boy? Can you think of any questions you would want to ask him?"
She paused for a moment, then nodded solemnly. "Yes. I need to ask him what color HIS butterflies are."
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