May 9th is my son’s diaversary. If you’re not familiar with that term, it’s the anniversary of the day he was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. A diabetes anniversary, if you will. Many people celebrate their or their child’s diaversary. Some people don’t even remember what date their diaversary is. I am painfully aware of what day it is. I will never forget it, and I will never celebrate it.
Why do people celebrate diaversaries?
There are a couple of reasons people celebrate.
- They are celebrating another year of battling the disease. Diabetes is a difficult disease to manage. It takes patience, hard work, and you have to be on top of it 24/7. Many people want to acknowledge this achievement by celebrating.
- The fact that there is a life to celebrate. It wasn’t too long ago that the outlook for people diagnosed with diabetes was very grim. A century ago, if you were diagnosed with T1D, you were going to die. The prognosis was months to years. And that was only if you were put on a starvation diet. People would slip into comas and never wake up. It was a long, slow death caused by a mix of starvation and ketoacidosis. Now, you can eat anything, play sports, and do almost everything that people without T1D can do. It’s a “diabetes won’t stop me” attitude that they are celebrating.
It boils down to viewing your or your child’s T1D in a positive light. Positive enough that you want to mark the date and celebrate it.
But not everyone feels that way about T1D.
I don’t Celebrate my Son’s Diaversary.
I can’t. May 9th is a horrible day for me. I am so very grateful that my son is here, I don’t know what I’d do without him. We work hard and he is doing well. He can do anything he puts his mind to and T1D doesn’t even occur to him as an excuse, obstacle, or barrier.
But on May 9th, my mind goes back to that day in the doctor’s office. I remember sitting there in that small room, telling the doctor that we thought our 2 year old son might have diabetes. Even as the words left my lips, it sounded so unbelievable to me. It was all so surreal. The doctor looked at me like I was being an over-protective parent and he tried to reassure me by saying, “he looks perfectly healthy. 9 times out of 10, drinking a lot and sleeping more are just signs of an active toddler.” Then he walked out of the room to test my son’s urine for sugar and ketones.
And for those couple of minutes, I believed him. I thought it could be nothing. Maybe I am over-reacting. I hoped and prayed that I was wrong and the doctor was right.
But when the doctor came back into the room, I saw the look on his face. I knew before he said a word that we were not one of the 9 times out of 10… we were the other one. And then he sent us to the hospital.
You know those movies…
The ones where the main character has to make a choice. The movie continues on with the character’s life and it turns out horribly. Then, in the end, you are shown that the whole thing was just a daydream or a nightmare. They’re still at that juncture, they still get to make that crucial choice.
On May 9th, it feels like I’m in that movie. I’m that main character. But it’s not a choice I get to make, it’s simply a different answer. I go back to that day, and I wonder “what if”. What if the doctor had come back into that room and told us there was nothing to worry about? What if my son didn’t have diabetes?
We wouldn’t be counting carbs and injecting insulin.
Or be worried about seizures and comas.
We wouldn’t even know what DKA, ICR, or ISF mean.
We would be oblivious to the loud snap of an insertion site.
To the smell of insulin.
To the panic you feel when your child’s blood sugar drops so low and so fast that he starts shaking while sitting on your lap.
A lap that he is supposed to be safe in.
He wouldn’t have to wait to play at recess because his blood sugar is too low.
Or have fingers that look like swiss cheese from all the finger pokes.
Or hear strangers say, “cool fanny pack.” about the life-saving device that is strapped to his little body 24/7.
That’s not something that I can celebrate.
I don’t make a big fuss about May 9th. I don’t take pictures or make a diaversary cake. He doesn’t even know that it’s his diaversary. But I acknowledge the day to myself. It is my day. My day to think of what happened and what could have been. My day to take a moment and be sad that diabetes is part of our lives.
Is that selfish of me? Maybe.
But I can’t celebrate a day that makes me feel that way.
So no, I don’t celebrate diabetes, our fight with diabetes, or our strength in spite of diabetes.
Edited in 2021:
I wrote the above article a couple of years into Jordan’s diagnosis. It’s time to add some thoughts.
At the time, I 100% felt like I would never, ever be able to celebrate his diaversary. I logically understood why other people would want to, but it wasn’t for me.
He was so young that he didn’t know what a diaversary was. So he didn’t care if we did anything or not.
When we were at the 5 or 6 year mark, his diaversary went by and I forgot about it. I thought about it the week before, and a day or two after, but the day itself almost seemed to vanish. It wasn’t painful, even when a friend of mine sent a “happy diaversary” message to me.
It’s been like that for a few years now.
Last year was Jordan’s 9th diaversary. It was 2020 madness and the world was kind of crazy, but for the first time, I considered doing something special.
Unfortunately, life was chaotic and it didn’t happen.
I did tell Jordan that it was his diaversary and explained what that meant. I asked him if he wanted to do anything. He just shrugged. He had no particular interest in celebrating it.
But, we’re coming up on the big 10. Maybe we’ll do something this year. Or maybe we won’t. I don’t know yet.
I’m adding this because I want you to know that even if it your diaversary feels like a negative, terrible day that you’d rather not relive, that’s ok. Those feelings may change over time, or they may not.
And I’m not putting down diaversary celebrations. I think it’s wonderful for people who are able to do it.
It’s just important to know that not everyone is able to.
~ Leah
One more tiny little edit in 2023:
We did celebrate Jordan’s diaversary last year and I wrote an article about it. You can read about it here if you like: Why we Celebrated my Son’s Diaversary
Do you celebrate your or your child’s diaversary? What do you do to celebrate or why do you skip celebrating? Let us know in the comments!!
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Hello Leah! To be honest with you this is a very interesting point of view about “diaversary”. I’ve being a type 1 for the last 20 years, I was diagnosed when I was 15 years old. I have never been keen even celebrating my own birthday, however, celebration the day I was diagnosed (which I’m not 100% sure when it was) after 20 years of battling Diabetes feels great. It is a way of giving a treat to myself and looking back to see all things I have done no matter where my sugar levels where. On the other hand, not sure if my parents feel the same way, as they experience my disease in a very different way (as parents, of course!) 🙂
We’ve had the same terrible experience with diabetes and for the first two years August 18th was a sad day. I would look at photos from before diagnosis and be sick with the loss of something. We celebrate our daughter’s diaversary because I will not be sad about it any more. Our baby has been so brave and strong. I have been brave and strong and we’re thriving with diabetes not just surviving. This year is our daughter’s 3 yr diaversary, she’s 7 and we’re have a huge party today. It has been helped me to change a yearly reminder of the trauma and grief to a celebration if how much we’ve grown and of her bright future to come.
So many people celebrate and I completely get it. I wrote this quite a while ago and interestingly, the last 2 years, I didn’t even realize it was my son’s diaversary when it came around. I knew looking forward that it was coming, but on the actual day, it didn’t occur to me. I am so glad you’ve been able to take a traumatic experience and turn it around into a celebration! Happy Diaversary to your daughter!!
Omigosh, we must have the SAME doctor!!! Impossible, of course, as ours is a woman, but carbon copy experience of going in, saying this is what we think is going on, getting a “There, there,” head cocked to the side look, as if we were the most overreacting parents ever. The urine test, the brief moments of allowing myself that flicker of hope, maybe it’s not T1D after all??? And the gloom she came back into the room with. “I knew before he said a word that we were not one of the 9 times out of 10… we were the other one. And then he sent us to the hospital.”
Yes, yes, YESSSS. Ugh. Dec. 17, 2018 was a horrible day, indeed, but as we come upon our daughter’s 1st, I am here reading your blog just to hear different perspectives on celebrating diaversaries (or not) and what folks actually do (or do instead). Thank you for that. I totally hear the heartbreak of it, glad it was able to pass by rather uneventfully for you the past 2 years. I’m thinking of having a small gathering of the family members who tried their best to learn how to care for her, the playground moms & dads (& grandparents) who agreed to be an extra set of eyes, and those who lent an empathic ear all year. They got us through, as did our courageous, tiny powerhouse of a daughter. Thank you for your perspective!
I just read your point of view and completely understand where you are coming from. Every family deals with diabetes differently. What struck me was your statement ,“You can’t celebrate a day that makes you feel that way.” The celebration is to recognize your brave T1D warrior and his daily struggle. As a parent who lost a child at 18 in a car accident, I know how precious life is and it can be taken in the blink of an eye. My younger daughter was diagnosed 11/2016 and we celebrate every year. We celebrate her strength, her optimism, and most importantly her life. This wasn’t meant to call you out, just a different perspective ❤️
I’m very sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine what that must be like.
I totally get that many people do want to celebrate it. And honestly, I wrote this years ago and the last few years his diaversary has actually come and gone and I didn’t notice at all. We still don’t celebrate it, he doesn’t even know what a diaversary is. I definitely don’t take it personally when people talk about celebrating it. I get it. There are lots of people who want to celebrate, and lots who don’t. It really comes down to personal preference. 🙂
Thank you for this. I feel the same way and feel like my son is missing out on something every time I see someone post about the things they do to celebrate their kids diaversary. I remember the day every year but don’t tell him. He has no idea what day it is nor has he ever asked. I have never shared the pictures I have of him in the ambulance or hospital and don’t think I ever will until I can show the day he was diagnosed vs the day he was cured.
My daughter’s 5 year Diaversary is coming up on Sunday. We started the Diaversary tradition her first year. I remember walking to our local bakery the week before her first Diaversary. I wanted to order a specialized cake. As I was nearing, I began to uncontrollably cry. I had the most difficult time when she was diagnosed. I stayed the full 4 days in the ICU with her. I didn’t sleep or eat. So as I was walking, i started to remember the trauma I experienced. I remembered my younger daughter not seeing me for almost a week. I remember my husband visiting us in the hospital once and not understanding why I was so stressed and concerned. I remember struggling eating carbs because when my daughter ate them, she had to experience pain with a shot.
I thought about turning around and forgetting the whole idea. I don’t know why I continued with the celebration, but now we can’t quit. Kinda like the disease itself! I buy both girls surprise presents every year and today my youngest asked how big the gift bag would be!! We go out to eat and always have a custom dessert made for us. It’s just a holiday for the 4 of us and I am starting to look forward to it as well.
😭❤️ I have had type 1 diabetes for 21 yrs (Oct 19 is my day). Dates have always been my thing so naturally I am very aware of my diaversary. I don’t necessarily “celebrate” it with anything in particular, I just acknowledge it and mostly with a smile because, to me, it’s another year I’ve lived. Living on this side of diabetes (being the diabetic rather than being the parent of the diabetic), I read your article and gained a new perspective which I am very grateful for. I also hoped that you would one day be able to let your son decide how he wanted to deal with that day. And then I read your edited portion…😭 May the day continue to become less painful for you and God bless. Thank you for writing this article. ❤️