2014 Walk to Cure Diabetes

We are so appreciative of everyone who walked, donated, or supports our day to day to efforts to improve the lives of kids with diabetes. This year, Sam was one of the top ten fundraisers for NYC! An amazing amount has been accomplished since we began our efforts in 2006. The Continuous Glucose (CGM) Monitor in particular is technology that will lead us closer to a closed loop "artificial pancreas" and is making a tremendous difference in Sam's life today. All of you have played a role in helping us get here. Thank you. See you next year!

Perspective Change

My immunity to any other illnesses or hospital visits outside of diabetes ran out this week when Talia had an emergency appendectomy. Sam who has been the patient many times, comforted her, made her laugh, and stayed with her during her first hospital experience. After 10 days, she left with an IV that had to be worn for three weeks. Despite the line in her arm, she faced the remains of summer and attended camp with bravery and poise. As for us, it's been awhile since we spent time in a hospital and had to revisit that feeling of fragility. We are so grateful to NYU for such excellent care (including therapy dogs, a July 4th party, and lots of ice cream.)

Promise Ball 2013: Rock Lobster and $2.4 Million for JDRF

Sam, Talia, Jon and I attended the 42nd annual Promise Ball at Cipriani Wall Street on Thursday. Sam is a veteran at the Fund-a-Cure auction, but this year, Talia got to go on stage as well. The theme was how diabetes affects an entire family and she spoke about her role in the TRIGR study and her blood tests for research. Sam talked about the ways that his family supports him - "too many to count." The evening raised $2.4 million for JDRF. Sam and Talia also got to keep the B-52's drumsticks after their set.

Sam's Friends 2013

Heroes Wanted... That was the theme of this year's shirts at the JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes and numerous heroes answered the call. Over 80 people came out to walk on Sam's team this year ages 3 months to 90 years young! We raised over $15,000 for critical Diabetes research. Special thanks to my dearest friends from high school (Jen, Nikki and Nicole) who came in from afar with their children AND parents to be a part of this amazing day. We are so grateful for all who walked, donated, and support our efforts towards a cure.

Life Rocks and So Does Bret Michaels

Sam is featured on Bret Michaels "Life Rocks Foundation" website. You can read about their meeting here.

http://www.teambretmichaels.com/Stories/2013/06/15/teambretmichaels-com-life-rocks-foundation-story-sam-meets-bret-on-the-stoop/

Safe, Maybe


The gummy smile of the late eight year old Martin Richard is imprinted on my mind as the face of tragedy that the events of the Boston Marathon put into motion on Monday. My eight year old boy is missing all his top teeth too. Three in a row. I have been very conscious of this moment in time – a second really – that passes as a smile fills in and they start to look less like juvenile vampires and more like big boys. This moment when they can understand many grown-up things but they aren’t entirely sure whether a fairy collects their teeth in the night, if they might be magical and their Hogwarts letter is on its way, or if Mount Olympus is presently located on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building. They believe in possibility. They believe in us. They wrongly believe that we can keep them safe.

Having a child with Diabetes, some part of me is thinking about my children's safety all day, every day. But lately there have been so many high profile tragic incidents that have caught my and my children's attention that it's become a topic for discussion. In particular, that I can't guarantee that bad things won't happen.

Are you telling me that villians are real?

This ongoing conversation began in earnest two years ago, when Osama Bin Laden was captured and killed Sam and Talia quickly picked up on the buzz of conversation around them. They wanted to know why people were happy that someone had been killed. I decided to be honest with them even though they were only four and six at the time. As New Yorkers, they frequently walk by the huge construction site where the Twin Towers stood, and where the new One World Trade Center is rising. It is a part of the legacy they will grow up with. They were quite taken with superheroes at the time and I explained that Osama Bin Laden was a villain behind a terrible attack on the buildings that caused them to collapse. Sam asked, “Did anyone die?” and when I responded, “yes” he asked me, “how many people?” “Three thousand” I said and waited for their response. He shook his head in understanding. Talia, after a few minutes looked at me incredulous and said, “Are you telling me that VILLIANS are REAL?” Yes, sadly I am. They are real and even when they die more arrive to take their place.

It gives me hope that the possibility that human beings can be bad continues to be a leap of the imagination for my child (a lucky child to be fair).

41st Annual Promise Ball

Sam and Michael Strahan rocking it on stage in their tuxedos.

1st Place in the Un-Marathon

In light of the tragic losses related to Hurricane Sandy, Jon and I completely support the decision not to hold the 2012 ING Marathon. After months of training and a feeling of obligation to all of those who supported our JDRF fundraising efforts for the race, a sense of personal obligation, and above all a need to fulfill his obligation to Sam and Talia, Jon ran his own 26.2 mile loop in Central Park on November 4th. We cheered for him and thousands of other New Yorkers running for charity or other reasons that needed fulfillment. Sam presented him with a handmade medal at the finish line and Talia made a plaque that said, "Go Dad, Go. You did it! You ran the marathon." Congratulations, Jon.

Speech to JDRF Researchers and Scientists

I was invited to be the keynote speaker at the International JDRF Fall Retreat for researchers and scientists. It was one of the most difficult speeches I have ever given. I was very taken by the emotion I felt when I stood up to give the following speech:

Good morning. Thank you for inviting me here to speak to you today. My name is Rachel Dickinson. My son’s name is Sam. Sam. You are connected to Sam. Sam is connected to you. You are so important to Sam and to me that it seems strange that we have never met and may never meet again given how much I want for you to succeed.

There is a children’s book by Leo Leoni called Frederick about a mouse that doesn’t seem very busy as the other mice prepare for winter. As they gather food, supplies, and so forth Fredrick gathers up the warmth, colors and sounds of the waning summer. Eventually, their stores run dry and the mice turn to Frederick to share his supplies. It is cold and grey and the mice are hungry. Frederick uses his memory to make stories that sustain them until the spring. Maybe you can put Sam’s story away for a time when you need it in the future in case your stores ever run dry about why you do what you do and how much it means to everyone affected by Type 1 diabetes.

I have two young children. Each day, I see new traits in them that are familiar in various ways. The determination in my daughter’s blue-grey eyes the exact same color as my husband’s. The way my son walks down the street with Harry Potter in front of his nose tripping over roots because he is happily lost inside of a book – it's me in second grade. Long eyelashes that scrape the insides of sunglasses, a love of nature, a wedged pinky toe, a sense of humor, a talent for puzzles or music – these are some of things that make these particular kids mine. These are the familiar things that make us family.

Diabetes was always familiar to me. My mother has had diabetes since I was a child. Her brother, who suffered terrible complications including being a double amputee at the end of his life – the end being in his early fifties – had diabetes. Various grandparents acquired type 2 later in life. Still, nothing could prepare me for the diagnosis I received on October 23rd 2006, Sam had diabetes. He was 21 months old. I was 7 months pregnant with my daughter, Talia.

Could I have prevented this? Was it related to the coxsackie virus he had had a few weeks earlier? Which toy did I let him put in his mouth that caused the virus that ultimately provoked this reaction in his pancreas? It’s a joy to take credit for a child’s wonderful traits, but my smart, beautiful, happy boy had obviously inherited this from us too. Will Talia get diabetes? Or the children’s cousins? I don’t know, but maybe one day you will. Talia asked us once as she was getting her annual blood draw as part of the Trigr study for siblings “when she will get diabetes” and will we be as worried.

JDRF is an amazing entity and has done so much for us personally and for our community. I have a friend whose daughter has a very rare syndrome – maybe a thousand kids in the world have this chromosomal abnormality – and she started a foundation and they just received their first 50K grant. They started a walk in honor of their daughter Sydney – one family, maybe $100k to date. Hope for a thousand families, but really it puts into perspective what it means to have this kind of infrastructure at work toward a cure. JDRF has spent $1.6 billion to date. How much will it cost? Will I still be doing the Walk to Cure Diabetes in 20 years? Going to the 60th Promise Ball? Lobbying the FDA? I expect so, but I hope not. What does a cure look like? For me, it looks like less worry. Less testing in the middle of the night, less disruptions in the classroom. Less time for Sam feeling badly from being high or low (although you’d never know it because he never complains). Less chance of devastating complications. Prevent? I can’t prevent it for Sam but maybe for Talia or for their children. Treat? Absolutely anything and everything that moves this ball forward to make life easier for Sam gets my support. The new test strips that suck up the tiniest bit of blood? Bravo. Wireless insulin pump (which by the way my mother was also on until she recently turned 65 and medicare coding has determined isn’t a real insulin pump because it’s not a durable medical good based on the disposable pods) great. Connect the pump to the CGM even better, and artificial pancreas even better than that. Reversal? You know better than me if we can re-engineer the immune system but if you think it’s possible I’ll walk for you. Every donation we get – all of the kids friends – preschoolers and kindergartners walking 3 miles on September 30th – they are doing it so you can help Sam live a long life – maybe even one day free of diabetes. This connection between you and Sam is strong.

Our family has a blog about our experience living with diabetes and I wanted to close by reading a post that my husband wrote that seems like a good fit for this team. It’s about insulin and developments in research. And it’s about us. It’s called “Important” - here it is:

A good friend and colleague recently lent me a book titled, “Breakthrough—Elizabeth Hughes, the Discovery of Insulin, and the Making of a Medical Miracle.” I’m only about 20 pages in to it, managing only a few pages a day as I ride the subway (and oddly holding the book up to show off its cover—subconsciously hoping that others will see and somehow understand why I’m reading this book). As its title connotes, this book chronicles the discovery of insulin as a treatment for type 1 diabetes. In 1919, diabetes was a terminal illness, with most patients surviving no longer than a year after diagnosis. A fascinating story awaits me, one that is deeply personal, as my son Sam is alive today only because of the incredible medical advances made less than 100 years ago. When I arrived home tonight I found a familiar package waiting—one we receive every three months. As I opened this package I was immediately struck by a recent labeling change to its contents. A white, padded, insulated envelope now said, in white letters inside an orange circle,

IMPORTANT
INSULIN
ENCLOSED

I was immediately taken aback—how to read this? Is it missing critical punctuation, so that I might read it, “IMPORTANT—INSULIN ENCLOSED,” or, as written, “IMPORTANT INSULIN ENCLOSED.” Is it important that there is insulin enclosed, or is the insulin enclosed important? In 91 years we’ve advanced to a world where this life-sustaining hormone arrives at our door every three months. In a contemplative mood, I examined the package a bit more. “FRAGILE, HANDLE WITH CARE” is a common warning, but means so much more in this context. “REFRIGERATE IMMEDIATELY” wouldn’t have been possible in 1919, nor would “UPS NEXT DAY AIR.” This package was addressed to “SAMUEL DICKINSON, C/O FATHER JONATHAN DICKINSON.” I know this means the package is for Sam, to be cared for by me, but I could only read it one way—“Samuel Dickinson is in the care of his father, Jonathan Dickinson.” It’s incredible that in less than a century we’ve transitioned from diabetes being a terminal illness to where Sam’s life is possible due to something that arrives in a cooler bag by next day air. It is essential. It is, to many, a miracle. It is, quite simply, important.

Jon is Running the NYC Marathon to Raise Money for Critical Research

If you missed the walk but still want to help there's...the run. Jon has been training with every ounce of himself to run the NYC marathon on the JDRF team. He's never run more than a few miles before this year and each year we watch the runners going down 4th Avenue and for the past few Jon has said "I am going to run it for JDRF" and now, he is. Last week he ran from Park Slope after coaching Talia's soccer game to Riverdale and then found himself ending his 20 mile training run at the Morgan Stanley Children's Hospital on 168th Street where this journey began for us in October 2006. He wasn't intending to end there but was drawn to it. We need to raise a minimum of $3500 for this race so if you're inspired to help click below and make sure to come out and cheer on November 4th.

Click here to sponsor him:
RunforSam

Thank You to All who supported the 2012 Walk to Cure Diabetes

We are so grateful to all of our friends and family that came out to walk or helped us reach our goal. We raised over $10K for the sixth year in a row. Thank you for being in our corner.

Little Ninja Big Destiny: Going for Gold in the Race for True Potential

“You know Mommy, I haven’t unlocked my full potential yet” Sam said to me recently from a sea of LEGOs on the living room floor. Brick by brick, tiny ships with air, land, sea and war capabilities were revealing themselves as we talked. “Well, luckily you know it’s there. If you want to, you have the heart and mind to reach it,” I said.

The comment struck me as a strange thing for a seven year old to say and set me thinking about where he would get the idea that he had potential to unlock. Did I impose this awareness on him? Was it driven by a feeling of security and competency that his future holds a version of himself that is more than what he sees himself as now, or is it driven by a feeling of inadequacy that one day in the future he will be able to accomplish things currently beyond his grasp like catching a fly ball or reaching the pedals of the Batmobile?

The gravity of my responsibility to help him keep that treasured potential in tact for as long as possible is not lost on me. As destiny calls from every which way, my window for making choices is waning and theirs is growing. The butterfly effect of everything that goes in – family, school, friends, environment, culture – exposes them to new trajectories. I can’t begin to imagine what “full potential” looks like for Sam or for Talia. Even if I could, the only picture that matters is the one they will believe in for themselves.

When Sam was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes at 20 months old, we told ourselves that we were going to raise him to be who he would have been anyway whatever that means. In retrospect, I know that’s not possible. Some doors are closed. Sam can’t fly a plane or join the military (not that bad). Sam can’t scuba dive (kind of bad). Sam can’t live without insulin (bad, but getting better as technology improves). These are boundaries, but not limits. What can Sam do? Maybe he will grow up to be more than he would have been if the diagnosis had never happened. Maybe we all will.

What is it to have potential anyway? I’ve always taken it really hard when the kids bring a seed home and it doesn’t grow after they water it (sort of) diligently. Generally defined as a latent excellence or ability that may or may not be developed, I’ve been thinking about this lately with the London 2012 Olympics approaching. Watching the trials, I was riveted by the victory and the heartbreak. All the athletes at the trials were truly champions (and not in the everybody gets an AYSO trophy way). They had spent years training for this moment. Sportsmanship, composure, effort, and for some, the heart to have to wait four years to try again, are a part of reaching this level of achievement.

This year there is more promotion than ever of the Paralympic Games and even an athlete from South Africa who is a double amputee competing in the regular games. No doubt this is due in part to the number of military veterans participating in the games which has increased from 34 to 51 percent in the past two years. It’s true that these elite athletes find new hope through serving their country as Olympians, but glimpsing their true potential for even a moment, a 100 yard dash that might once have seemed like a million yards lifts us all. Those hundred yards, to use a quote from The Little Prince, that is a matter of consequence.

Jon will run the NYC Marathon for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) in October. Until recently, he has never run more than a few miles, but I am certain that he will accomplish this goal. As part of his training, he ran a 10K on Governor’s Island last weekend. Sam and Talia also participated in two races as part of the event - a 100 yard dash and a 1K. I was so worried about Sam in a sea of kids and him possibly having low blood glucose that I insisted that he and Talia stay together. They ran the 100 together without incident. The next race was the one that terrified me because there were parts of the course I couldn’t see. They took their marks and were off. Within a minute Talia had lost her shoe, he stopped and helped her put it on and was trying hard not to run faster than her. They ran with her trailing him. It came off again. He stopped and looked for me in the crowd. Her sparkly purple Velcro sneakers and my worry were holding back the two years of strength and agility he had on her. I met his eyes and waved him on. Go, Sammy, go. Run.

I went to Talia and helped her with her shoe. I told her she was a champion. Don’t give up. Never give up. Finish the race. Her shoe came off four times. She came in dead last to the biggest cheers of all because she kept putting the shoe back on and resuming the race. Sam, despite two stops to help Talia still placed in the first half. Both kids received gold medals. I think the 100 yard dash and the big long race are both happening for all of us everyday. When a shoe comes off and no one will fault you if you stop running, but they’ll certainly applaud if you keep going.

As it turns out, Sam is not exactly cognizant of being on a journey of self-discovery towards his true potential the way I had initially thought when he made the comment to me. Apparently, the plot of the popular animated series LEGO Ninjago, Masters of Spinjitsu, involves Sensei Wu and five young ninjas with an interconnected destiny who seek to unlock their "Full Potential." It is a classic and complex fable in which the balance of the world depends on their victory and their victory depends on the depth of their character, the opening of their hearts and their ability to use their gifts. When they unlock their true potential they gain exceptional powers. In this state, their golden weapons illuminate brightly, and their bodies glow. To reach this state, they are faced with the question: What is the obstacle of my hero journey?

After we left Governors Island, we realized that we had left Talia’s beloved Hello Kitty behind on the grass. She was sad and I was sad for her. The next day, there was an unprecedented thunderstorm. Talia ran to me after the first thunder beside herself that Hello Kitty was alone in the rain on the island. Sam immediately came out with, “Talia, Hello Kitty is in a mail truck on her way home” and looks at me imploring me to agree. He completely took control of the situation (despite having used some critical ninja deception for tactical purposes). Helplessly, I confirmed his statement and resolved to try to find a doppelganger HK on the internet.

This small kindness is one among many that I have seen Sam give to his sister. The shoe incident described above is another. He is a good sport (even about his health challenges) and works to make sure that everyone around him rolls with the punches in the face of all the noise and chaos that surrounds us. At a recent street fair, while Sam was perusing a table of vintage superheroes, Talia threw up pink lemonade all over several of the exact same repulsive fork-tongued, serpentine villains. In an awkward panic as Wayne and Garth stared at me to see what I was going to do about the fact that my kid had just puked on their merchandise, I bought the whole lot. Talia looked at the serpent beasts that she now owned with disgust (even after I had cleaned it up) when Sam says, “Talia this army is the rarest of rare.” If you know Talia, she is very attracted to the rarest of rare. She stopped crying and they started playing a game where any less than four of the cloned reptile wouldn’t have been as much fun. It’s a small thing but these little shifts that he is capable of making in our family’s little universe - these new trajectories - make me think that Sam’s exceptional power or “golden weapon” is mastery of himself and his environment. The obstacle to his hero journey will be to carry this treasure – in tact – as he and his world become more complex.

Double Dose of Rock Star

Sam and Nick Jonas talk about diabetes, Children's Congress, OmniPod and of course playing the guitar.

Promise Ball at Cipriani Wall Street, New JDRF Video Featuring Sam Released

On November 17th, JDRF hosted the 39th annual Promise Ball at Cipriani Wall Street. True to the promise I made last year, I allowed Talia, now age four to attend her first gala. She was so proud to be a part of the night and took great care in putting on her pearls and polished shoes. Sam's best accessory is always his smile whether in a tuxedo or a peanut butter covered T-shirt, but both kids looked adorable and it was a very special night.

After a stellar performance by the cast from Jersey Boys there was a program honoring Bob Obernier, a long-time supporter of JDRF. I was both moved and disheartened listening to testimonials from his family and other affected families that were interviewed for this presentation - people whose children are now in their twenties -- and still working (and waiting) for a cure. It made me wonder if there is a post about the 59th Annual Promise Ball in my future and pray that the answer is no.

During dinner, JDRF unveiled a new eight minute video (link below)by Bird's Nest Productions that Sam and I participated in last year. The room was quiet and when the screen came to life the video opened with "my name is Sam Dickinson. I am from Brooklyn, NY and I have diabetes." The first image in the film is of Sam sitting in his room in a Scooby-Doo T-shirt with a Mr. Potato head poster in the background. He is confident and matter-of-fact. A small child, but wise beyond his years. I had to choke back tears as the video went on showing clips of Sam scaling a rock wall on his fifth birthday and playing in the surf on Nantucket. You can also see Jon holding Sam as he changes his pod and does the dreaded "snap" when the cannula enters his skin. At one point, he explains that his "pancreas cannot create insulin."

The kids chased trays of hors d'oeuvres, danced to the band and ran around the beautifully decorated space. Finally, Sam and six other children with Type 1 Diabetes also participated in the fund-a-cure live auction and raised $496K for the artificial pancreas. You can see him with Ron Darling, the former Major League Baseball player and auction MC below. Ron Darling's foundation actively supports research toward a cure for Type 1 Diabetes. As always, we were impressed by the dedicated staff of JDRF and grateful for the generous support of everyone in the room.

Sam and Ron Darling during Fund-a-Cure

Click here to view the video http://www.youtube.com/embed/ETwiV-7-nag

TKO for Diabetes

Sam, Sugar Ray Leonard, Cat Greenleaf, and Gracie (asleep on top step) talking about JDRF on the Stoop.

Pushing the Limit

A few weeks ago, Jon and I decided to take to the sea with Sam and Talia (now aged six and four) on a 35 foot sailboat off the coast of Maine. This idea inspired a variety of reactions from friends and family. Most opinions centered somewhere between concern over our sailing prowess (which thankfully is better than you might think), disbelief that “camping” on the water with children could be fun, and my personal favorite: “that’s not crazy – that’s completely, totally, bat shit crazy.” I knew that certain elements of the trip would push the limit, but I wasn’t sure where the limit was so it was hard to worry too much about it. Armed with five vials of insulin, three loaves of gluten-free bread, and a satellite phone, the four of us set off from Southwest Harbor in search of adventure.

The sun was shining and I was giddy with how untethered I felt as we cast off. The kids were exploring the limits of their harnesses (about three feet) and Jon and I were figuring out the systems of “Circe” a beautiful 1964 Hinckley with a bright red hull. We plotted a course for Little Cranberry Island. Within minutes an opaque fog started to roll in and we couldn’t see 10 feet in any direction. Circe was very well-equipped with both radar and GPS. These instruments reminded us that the world wasn’t far away, but the isolation of that moment was striking. Sam said, “Mom, I feel like we are the only people in the world” which was exactly what I was hoping for if only for a brief two weeks.

The idea of being alone and “off the grid” can be both frightening and exhilarating. Obviously the fact that Sam has diabetes added a layer of complexity to our preparations for this trip. The possibility of an emergency is omnipresent and in this environment we had to accept that we might have to manage one on our own. My cell phone and blackberry had limited service from the moment we left the dock. After a day, we acclimated to the cadence of being on the water and I stopped checking to see if I had service. I was comfortable that we had the boat radio, the satellite phone and most importantly the proper supplies (glucagon) for a diabetic emergency. When I think back five years to the fact that I was afraid to leave the hospital in New York City after Sam was diagnosed with diabetes – afraid that I would be unable to keep him alive – I am amazed at how far we have come.

I was relieved after we successfully picked up a mooring at Little Cranberry. It had been more than seven years since we chartered a boat (and never with our children), and I felt that if we approached each small challenge individually the trip would be a success. Through the dense fog, I could see a single light on the dock marking the restaurant where dinner was waiting. The only thing separating us was a few hundred yards of harbor and the task of getting the kids off of the boat we had just secured, putting them in an eight foot inflatable dinghy in the dark, and going ashore. Jon started the engine. I passed the kids down to him, hopped in and released the line that had us secured to the boat. And then the engine died. We were slowly moving away from land on the dinghy and our sailboat was fading into the fog and darkness. Jon picked up the oars that were in the bottom of the little boat for this purpose, rowed us back to our sailboat where we tied on and figured out what was wrong with the engine. Once it was humming consistently, we went ashore.

The fog gave us the same view from land that we had seen from the water of the single bright light on the dock. I focused on the kids, and the fact that they trust us so completely. They believe that we will keep them warm, safe and dry. Even when they were wet, cold, and drifting rudderless through the ocean at night they still seemed to trust us.

We ordered lemonades, declined the warm bread basket as we usually do in restaurants with Sam, and scanned the menu for gluten-free options. Sam chose a cold cantaloupe soup with chilled lobster and edible wildflowers and we all shared a lobster cioppino. The meal concluded with strawberry ice cream and by the time we went back outside the fog had dissipated into the night and we could see all the boats in the harbor as clear as day. There were more stars than our children had ever seen and we lay on deck for a long time staring at them.


The next morning, the wind was blowing like crazy. The halyards were banging against the mast and the kids ate breakfast down below while we readied the boat. It was a fairly long haul in choppy seas to our next port. This was the only day the kids didn’t feel well – particularly Sam. Talia fell asleep immediately upon encountering the swells – she is a professional at powering down in difficult situations. Sam worked through it and spent his time looking for bald eagles (which we were lucky enough to see several of). Once we got back into the lee of the island, the waves subsided and we sailed into the stunning Frenchboro Cove – a small island with a school, a church, a working dock, two small seafood shacks and miles of hiking trails. On our first expedition, Talia collected an impressive bouquet of wildflowers and left them at the entrance to a small graveyard in honor of my grandmothers who passed away in April. We all slept soundly in the protected harbor.

After a breakfast of gluten-free pancakes on the boat, we went on an early morning hike to pick wild blueberries in the woods. The deeply wooded trail eventually led to an amazing rocky beach. We were alone, far from the boat radio and the Satellite phone that turned out not to work anyway. Sam started to drag and I knew he was low. Although we had juice and a snack we were starkly reminded of the invisible boundaries this disease puts around us.

The days continued like this – surrounded by incredible beauty, filled with the emotion of really being able to see each other, and interrupted periodically by challenge.

The parallel with our everyday life was magnified out on the boat. Some days are all challenge dotted with moments of beauty and other days are the opposite. Conditions change in an instant and while it’s imperative to have the right supplies it’s equally critical to be able to navigate through the fear and doubt and “manage” the daily “emergencies” as they arise. The fact that I am actually a professional emergency manager for work is ironically not an advantage. Quite the opposite actually as my risk index is pretty tuned to all of the things that could go awry on any given day. I can imagine the "job" coming over the radio: We have a confirmed confined space rescue: Two parents are locked in a boat head over marshmallow dispute. The suspects are both three feet tall with sticky fingers...

We definitely took calculated risks on this adventure and pushed the kids pretty hard. We didn’t find their limit. By the end, the kids were driving the inflatable dinghy. The fear and doubt I felt lowering them into the tiny boat that first night on Little Cranberry disappeared after a few days the same way the first night home in October of 2006 is a distant memory. Somewhere in the back of my mind there is always a gnawing discomfort for the safety of both of my children, but it’s not looming over me in the same way anymore. It’s not complacency and it’s not confidence. Diabetes doesn’t allow either one, but somehow pushing ourselves in other ways was very restorative. There was a night we ate “egganogin soup” (named by the kids for Eggemogin Reach) for dinner which consisted of giant marshmallows roasted to perfection with melted chocolate and gluten-free graham cracker crumbs served in a bowl (58 carbs). Even with a double reef in the sail, there were a few times we had the leeward rail skimming the water while the kids held on with delight. We hiked a country road at night under a brilliant sky and over beaches covered with giant boulders. We sailed wing on wing and anchored in desolate coves.

For a moment, the four of us were the only people in the world – without limits, without fear, but always with a juice box.

Four Generations Walk to Cure Diabetes

Great Grandpa Joe with three of his four great-grandchildren

For the fifth year in a row, our family team, "Sam's Friends" participated in the annual Walk to Cure Diabetes to raise critical research funds for JDRF. We are proud to be able to say that we met our goal and we are grateful to the friends, family, and friends of friends that supported us.



This year the shirts had a star wars theme and text started out with "It is a period of great scientific discovery..." and it is. The backs of the shirts always say, I am walking for Sam Dickinson, Age X and then we make one for Sam that says, "I am Sam." People say, "go Sam" as he passes. This year, we made Talia a special shirt with a picture of Princess Leah and the words, "I am Talia and I am walking for my brother." Go Talia... May the force be with you both.

Book Review: Rabbit Hole for Rent and Other Allegorical Tales

I was asked to do a reading on the topic, "Unclaimed Space" at the Sackett pub in Brooklyn and I thought I would share what I wrote on SFC...

Seeking out the novel and the alien in a world that is designed around routine and obligation isn’t easy. There are fewer hours for getting lost, less proximate unexplored spaces, and more empirical evidence that I may not actually have any superpowers. This last bit of self reflection may seem irrelevant to a love of getting lost, but across a lifetime, my belief that I could always find my way home – even defy laws of physics and tamper with fate--made it easier to disappear. I also happen to know how to read a map.

As a kid, my dreams were always geocoded to the same location. The world of my nighttime adventures was debatable, ethereal, and fantastic. As I walked alone on the silver pavement, the concrete would turn into a sundrenched stream, the city would fade away and I would be left standing with wet feet in an unfamiliar landscape. This never scared me. I wished for it. I expected it. I still expect it and I know there are other adults out there that expect it too.

The reason that I believe in this possibility is because I was introduced to science fiction before I had a firm grasp on the limits of reality. Like a heart that has never been broken, imagination space free of imprint was first marked by the backdrops and characters of beautiful, but terrifying places. These were places riddled with conflict, and it was here that I first learned about the truly wicked ways creatures can treat each other, and their worlds. Children are well-equipped to become citizens of imaginary lands - shaped by the cultural identity of places like Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Mars (a.k.a. Barsoom) and C.S. Lewis’ Narnia –where violence and warfare are an inescapable part of being on the side of right. In these places, I witnessed the customs and traditions of people concerned with harnessing the scarce resources of their world for survival and made peace with the art of war.

Each night as I read stories with a flashlight under my covers I wondered if tonight might be the night I would fall down the rabbit hole into the lands beyond expectation. I was ready to be pressed into service to save a dying planet or to restore the earth’s equilibrium. Empty wardrobes, bricked in alleys, and unclaimed spaces where a child might hide – or better where they might seek, and find a world that would reveal their true identity -- were passages. Marked by beacons that only the initiated might see, these roads alluded to the promise of heroic work. Side of right jobs are difficult to come by and it’s a gift not to have to look elsewhere to create meaning in one’s life. I wanted one.

While waiting for my offer, I was expected to get an education so I built my ability to recognize danger and create alliances. I studied aesthetics – literally the examination of different ways of seeing and perceiving the world, hoping that I wouldn’t miss the beauty disguised all around me. And then there was this thing about the maps. I studied planning, but it was my informal work in this discipline that has a direct correlation to the superhero waitlist. I meticulously catalogued and memorized tactical terrain. The visual geography of moss-covered dead-sea bottoms, extensive canals and the inhospitable frontier that separates the deserts and cities of Barsoom is as clear to me as any landscape on Earth. The in-between spaces – unnamed, unremarkable and on the way to somewhere else – are the ones that determine the way home and tell the story of whether one arrives at their destination.

With time though, the real estate of imagination gets cluttered with the rights and responsibilities of the perceptible world. I didn’t quite fall down the rabbit hole (unless you count the time my infant son was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes), but I have heroically found my way back from dark places. My side of right job at the moment (when I am not managing emergencies in NYC)is reading the Phantom Tollbooth to my children as frequently as they can stand and making sure they study the landscape between the marked foothills of confusion and the great city of Dictionopolis. My heart sings when my children try to conduct the sunset or demand that we call a wizard when a task exceeds our mere human abilities.

I dutifully got a day job too, but my predilection for mythical creatures, righteous warfare, cartography, and being unexpectedly thrust from reality into another time/space continuum is still there. Like an avatar waiting for my return, the girl standing with wet feet in an unfamiliar landscape waits.

I am not sure I want to know if she's real or worse, if she isn't. In this hyper-networked world where do any of us live really? From the rabbit hole to the wardrobe to the imagined geography of all of the places I’ve never been, the who and what and where of becoming a citizen of a place has changed. In our dissolving hearts, minds, and countries? In the boundaries? It’s the space between us that is most notable – the last great wilderness.

Required Reading:

The Phantom Tollbooth; A Princess of Mars; Alice in Wonderland; The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe; Le Petite Prince; A Wrinkle in Time; The Secret Garden

Sam Gets to the Point on NY Nightly News with Chuck Scarborough

Click below to view on NBC's site as the above video cuts off the far right of the screen:
http://www.nbcnewyork.com/on-air/as-seen-on/6-Year-Old_Diabetes_Advocate_New_York-126251978.html

Justice

Sonia Sotomayor met with delegates from JDRF's Children's Congress to talk about her life with diabetes. In simple and compassionate terms, she told the children how confusing it was when she was diagnosed because she had never seen her mother cry. She was remarkable. The children were remarkable. Sam, who probably doesn't know how cool it is to meet with a member of the Supreme Court listened attentively in the front row. He wanted to know if she was part of the "Justice League"... "sort of" was the best answer for the moment. Read more below:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/reliable-source/post/sonia-sotomayor-discusses-her-life-with-diabetes/2011/06/21/AGTDVqeH_blog.html