One of my nephew's friends, Alan, came to brunch with us on Monday. Alan was diagnosed earlier this summer with Type 1 d i a b e t e s, and spent his summer l e a r n i n g to carb count and give himself shots. He and his parents have done a great j o b adjusting, and l e a r ning, and it really showed.
Alan ordered a low-carb breakfast so he wouldn't need a shot. Mark, who has a pump and not nearly the discipline that Alan has, ordered a huge plate of french toast. That french toast looked yummy, and after a while, Alan couldn't stand it. Tim handed him a slice, and Alan broke off a small bite to taste it.
I explained that we do the same thing at our h o u s e. My rule on eating is that for snacks and meals, whatever goes in Mark's mouth must also go in his pump. (Meaning, if he eats anything, he must program the pump to give himself i n s ulin for the food.) But for tasting small samples or bites of stuff -- well, I'm a little more relaxed with that.
"We have a saying in our house," I told Alan. "One bite won't kill you."
Alan nodded his head. What I didn't know was that at that exact moment, at the other end of the table, Mark was experimenting. He'd put Tabasco sauce on his french toast to see how it tasted.
I'd literally just finished telling Alan that one bite won't kill him when Mark started screaming.
"My mouth is on FIRE!" he shouted. "My lips are burning!" He gulped down his water and smeared sugar-free syrup on his lips to quench the burning. None of it worked, and he kept screaming in agony.
I just shook my head and sighed. I looked at Alan and said, "OK, I take that back -- I guess one bite might kill you!"
Only my kid...
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