Thursday, November 28, 2013

Everyone Deserves A Happy Ending, Part 2

(Continued from the previous post!)

His hesitation lingered for several minutes until Neighbor heard a woman’s voice - not loud but firm; well modulated, and with agreeable undertones of gentleness. He couldn’t immediately place the accent: it didn’t seem as if she was from Canada, the American South or Midwest, or Europe, or Texas, or Philadelphia or Hawaii or the Pacific Northwest. She had a sort of Everywoman vocalization, and right away, that pleased him. He liked the sound of it.

The movers finally slid the couch through and the doorway was cleared. The woman moved into his line of vision, her head turned toward the movers as she directed them to the living room. Brown hair grazed her shoulders but parted to offer him an inviting view of the back of her neck. The rest of the back of her was appealing, too: she was petite but not really thin - healthy looking, he thought. Not someone who lived on ramen or couscous, it would appear.

Now that he was edging toward the condo, Neighbor could hear music playing inside. If she’d already unpacked and set up a stereo system before anything else, chances were good that music was very important to her. He liked the implications of that.

And the music he heard was Sting - one of his true favorites. Be still my beating heart, indeed, Neighbor thought. This is positively serendipitous.

She turned to face him and a large smile graced her countenance. “Oh, hello! I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” she said.

Neighbor was a little stunned so he didn’t respond right away. She had bright blue eyes whose loveliness could not be minimized by the rectangular frames of her glasses. A small, chaotic gathering of bangs drifted over her forehead. Her skin had a slight olive tone to it, and he’d bet she wasn’t at all afraid to go out in the sun. She was not a classic beauty, but it didn’t matter. She radiated happiness and good humour, and Neighbor knew without knowing that she was kind. This mattered to him a great deal, for he believed that kindness nurtured all sorts of other desirable qualities in a person.

“Ah…hello. I’m your neighbor across the hall. I wanted to come by and welcome you,” he said, extending his hand. They exchanged names, and it was fortunate that Neighbor possessed above-average intelligence, otherwise he might have forgotten it the moment they touched. Once she put her hand in his, he could feel his future in their clasp. It was as if uncertainty had dissipated and the rest of his life had become corporeal. (Coincidentally, it took the shape of a brunette woman.)

But she was talking again, so Neighbor pulled himself back to reality. “Thank you. I’m glad you stopped by. I have a feeling I’m going to be buried in a hobbit hole of boxes for a long time. I don’t know when I’ll get out to meet anyone,” she said warmly.

Neighbor noted that she held a cup of coffee from Tim Horton’s. We’ll have to do better than that, he thought, promising himself that he would bring her a mug of fresh-brewed real coffee the very next morning. He was warmed by this impulsive commitment, and somehow he believed it would be well received.

“Do you mind talking while I work? I don’t want to be rude, but it won’t be very long before living among boxes will drive me crazy. I need to keep moving,” she said, hefting a carton and heading toward the kitchen.

“Not at all. I’d feel the same. Let me help you,” he said, grabbing another box marked “kitchen” and tucking it under his arm so he could keep his coffee mug in his other hand. He followed her out of the foyer and saw that the counter had a small assortment of snack food.

“Would you like a s’lore?” She handed him two graham crackers that were stacked sandwich style, with something in between.

“A s’lore?”

“Yes - it’s like a s’more, but with chocolate and peanut butter, instead of marshmallow.”

“Wouldn’t that be a s’pore, then?”

“Probably,” she said impishly, “but I like the word ‘s’lore’ better.”

She’s into neologism. Sweet.

Oh, Neighbor was falling hard.

“So, if you don’t mind my asking,” he said as he licked the last of the s’lore off his fingers, “what brings you to the Manulife Building?”

“I’m new to Toronto. I just took a job with an importing firm.”

“Oh,” he replied with even more interest. “What do you import?”

“Almost everything, it seems,” she replied airily. “Argyle and high-quality whisky from Scotland. Wine, art and food from Italy – oh, and leather as well. Mangoes from the Caribbean. We export, too. We sent out a lot of maple syrup from Canada. I have a feeling that’s now going to be one of my major responsibilities.”

Normally, it took awhile before Handsome Neighbor’s teasing nature made an appearance, but something about this woman brought it out easily. “Well, then. You’re the one who’s responsible for our maple syrup shortage?”

She laughed, a bright, glorious sound of happiness. “Guilty as charged, I suppose.” Then she lowered her voice. “I’ve learned French to try and smooth my path. J'ai appris les subtilités de la production de sirop d'érable. A ton avis, pense tu que je maîtrise la langue française assez bien?? *

The sounds of those elegant, rich Gallic words rolling off her tongue did something to the already off-kilter Neighbor. He tugged at his collar, which was suddenly uncomfortably tight.

”Tu m’étonne, oui tu te débrouilles très bien. J’aimerais continuer cette conversation à un moment qui te convient.’’ ** he said, slightly above a murmur.

Suddenly self-conscious, she looked away, as if she’d detected the shift in temperature between then. “How long have you lived here?” she asked, deftly changing the subject.

“Several years. It’s really a good place to be. The location is convenient, and the building is well maintained.” He disliked the way he sounded - like an ignorant trunk monkey, or one of the real estate types she’d surely had her fill of.

But her warm smile returned despite his dry words. “Did you know the previous tenant?”

Neighbor involuntarily stiffened his shoulders. “Not well, no. He was a professor at the university.”

“Too bad,” she mused. “I was hoping you could tell me what on earth he had hanging on the walls of the master bedroom.”

“Come again?” He said it before he could rephrase it.

“There are about six large pale markings on the walls in that bedroom, as if really big prints or paintings were hanging there. I wondered what they could possibly be. They must have dominated the room.”

He smiled at her. “Sorry, can’t help you with that.” Neighbor then noticed what appeared to be artwork on the floor, covered with sheets and propped against the wall outside the kitchen.

“May I look?”


He carefully moved the sheet off the frame closest to him. Underneath was a print of a woman taking a bath, shown from the shoulders up; her gaze was far off and contemplative.

“Alfred Stevens?” Neighbor said.

Everywoman’s eyes brightened even more. “Yes! He’s not well known, especially considering the other Impressionists...”

“...but he’s an important artist just the same,” Neighbor completed.

She blushed and her gaze dipped to the floor. “It’s nice to find someone else who’s familiar with him.”

“I like this painting very much. Do you like art?” He made his inquiry broad to see how she would respond.

As if on cue, she picked up on his phrasing. “That’s a wide-open question,” she replied, chuckling. “I like almost all forms of the arts. As far as paintings go, I’m a big fan of the Impressionist era.” She rolled her eyes self-consciously. “It’s pedestrian, I know.”

“No, not at all,” he said, trying to reassure her. “There’s a reason Impressionism is so popular. It’s wonderful.”

Her expression grew excited again. “Do you like the Impressionists?”

“Yes, but to be honest, my preferred era is Renaissance.”

“Oh? Who are your favorites?”

“Botticelli, Giotti, Brunelleschi, to name a few.”

She nodded in understanding. “I went to Florence a few years ago. It gave me a much greater appreciation for that era’s artwork. I was astonished at the beauty and complexity of the paintings.” can say that again, Neighbor thought. Who uses words like “astonished” in every day conversation? Everywoman was sounding more and more like a prime candidate for his soul mate.

He really wanted to keep her talking. “You’ve been to Florence? It’s one of my favorite cities. Sounds as if you enjoyed it.”

“I did,” she responded thoughtfully. “Initially, it was a business trip. But I stayed for weeks because I loved the art and architecture, especially Il Duomo. And the food and wine, of course, were fantastic!” He nodded in complete agreement. “By the time I left, I felt as if I’d gained a much better insight of that period in history.”

“That tends to happen to enlightened travelers,” he said quietly.

She regarded him for a minute, clearly understanding his compliment. Then she smiled, and while it wasn’t as brilliant as the grin she’d greeted him with, it was somehow more satisfying. More intimate.

“I’m not sure I can say I’m more enlightened. If anything, I began to see how much I don’t know about art or history - any of it. I gained a new respect for what the artists of the Renaissance achieved. I’d never thought before of how art was so crucial to the era. The paintings were not just created to pretty up someone’s home. They conveyed ideas, beliefs, political opinions, and probably most important, what was happening in the world. Not that artists today don’t strive for the same thing,” she said, frowning slightly in thought, “but the drawings and paintings back then were truly the multimedia of their time. It was the only significant way they had to convey thought, feeling, interpretation, opinion and faith to the masses...almost anything regarding the human condition.”

Handsome Neighbor was quiet because he was trying not to swoon. He didn’t even know if he agreed with what Everywoman said, but he loved that she said it. He loved that she thought that way.

She stopped, embarrassed again, thinking his lack of response meant he disagreed, or disapproved, or merely thought she was out of her mind.

“Well,” Everywoman said, shrugging her shoulders lightly, “I really have a lot to do here, and I’m sure you’ve got your own Saturday things to attend to.” Her smile faltered, and it broke his heart a little. He wanted to reassure her even as he realized she was speaking the truth about unpacking.

“Of course. But - can I ask you...” and Neighbor took the leap. “Can I bring you something for dinner? I mean, maybe we can share something. Nothing fancy. I’ll bring over some pizza from the best carry-out Italian restaurant in Toronto.” Her gaze was toward the floor again, so he tilted his head to catch her eye.

She looked dubious but hopeful, and his heart soared. “I don’t want to put you through any trouble,” she said.

“It’s no trouble. No trouble at all. I mean, you have to eat, right? And I have to eat. We can eat together.”

Everywoman’s genuine smile returned. “Okay. You know, that sounds nice.”

True epiphanies are rare; rarer still is the person who can recognize when it happens. Handsome Neighbor was no fool. He knew he’d just been granted entrance to a new world, with room for one other occupant. The memory of everyone else – the longing curiosity about Julianne, the lingering animosity toward Emerson – evaporated like fog in the sunlight over Lake Ontario.

That night, the writing came easy.



*”I've learned the finer points of maple syrup production. Would you say I've mastered the French language well enough?”

**”You're doing very well. I'd converse with you any time.”

Many thanks to our lovely Lady Fallow for the assistance with translating English into Canadian French.

I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it! ~Mango

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Everyone Deserves A Happy Ending

Have you ever wondered about the fate of The Professor’s “not entirely unfortunate-looking” neighbor in the Manulife Building? He’s one of my favorite secondary characters in the Gabriel series. So as a wholly inadequate thank-you to Sylvain Reynard for sharing his wonderful writing with us, I thought I’d draw out the character of The Neighbor a bit, and imagine what could have happened to him after Professor Emerson’s departure.

I’m clearly taking a great deal of poetic and personal license here. There aren’t many explicit descriptions of the character known as SiR, whom I call Handsome Neighbor. So I’ve tried to create a story that remains respectful to the author and SR’s own literary achievement, while fleshing out, pun intended, a little-seen but important supporting player. The resources I’ve used are GI/GR, my own imagination, and Google. (Not Wikipedia, though. I promise.)


Everyone Deserves a Happy Ending

By Mango (Susan/SerendipitousMC)

Mere days after it was listed, the condo formerly owned by Professor Gabriel Emerson was host to a parade of potential buyers and real estate agents. It seemed it would remain empty only for a very short time. Handsome Neighbor across the hall sighed and wondered what the new tenant would be like.

He hoped the new owner was not averse to laying in his own supply of milk. It was rather annoying when The Professor was the only person knocking on Neighbor's door, wanting to borrow yet another cup.

The Manulife Centre was a sleek, multi-use complex in an attractive area of Toronto’s Yorkville neighborhood, so it wasn’t surprising that the apartment would attract prospects. Throughout the week, Neighbor took note of the different people who toured the vacant condo. There were a gregarious man and his sweet, quiet wife; a teacher, a nurse, of course some real estate agents; a number of men and women from other countries…it was like a carousel of humanity looking for desirable housing.

He’d met a few of them during his comings and goings from his own condo. Tonight, he’d just extricated himself from a lengthy conversation with a musician about the live music in Toronto pubs. He was anxious to start his dinner and then try to chip away at the writer’s block that had been his constant companion for the last couple of months.

Before Emerson left, The Professor’s relationship with Julianne Mitchell, his extraordinarily lovely girlfriend, had ended. Handsome Neighbor no longer saw her in the hall or the elevator, and frankly, he missed her. Their few glimpses of each other and brief interactions had been inspiring, and he always found the writing flowed after she’d given him just one of her shy waves of greeting in the doorway. He wondered what could have happened to make The Professor let her go, for she seemed delightful in every way. More than that, he wondered how to get in touch with her. She’d completely disappeared after one tearful encounter in which he’d offered her his handkerchief, which she’d kept. It was obvious she was crying over Emerson, that bastard. Neighbor was certain he could be a much better companion than the carnality-on-legs that was The Professor, if he only knew where to reach her.

And if he only had the nerve to actually contact her.

The blinking light of his answering machine signaled for his attention, and Neighbor hit the button before unpacking his groceries. Most of the messages were from his mother, informing him that she might have the flu (though she’d had a flu shot not long ago), and asking if he could possibly take a few minutes away from his computer to call her. Neighbor rolled his eyes at her unsubtle request for her son’s attention. He enjoyed his mother’s company, but more frequently he chafed at her undisguised concern for him. She thought he spent too much time alone and that most of his companionship was virtual. Unfortunately, she wasn’t entirely wrong in her assessment.

Neighbor set up some water to boil for the fresh pasta and poured himself a glass of red wine from Tuscany before preparing the white wine, garlic and lemon sauce. He’d thawed some shrimp to throw in for good measure.

The laptop remained in its usual spot on the desk in his study. Neighbor tipped up the screen but vowed not to start until after he’d forced himself to have a leisurely dinner. No use tackling the writing while he was hungry; the writer’s block would only frustrate him more.

Dinner was delicious, but really, it usually was. Handsome Neighbor’s culinary skills were quite advanced; and he enjoyed creating new dishes. He often cooked for family and friends, and as effusive as they were in their praise, he longed to have someone else to critique him - a woman who would sit across his table on a regular basis and know the difference between sweet basil, purple basil, and sacred basil, and would want to try all of them.

Several days later, Neighbor was retrieving his morning newspaper at the same time as Krangel, the elderly gentleman next door. “Did you hear Emerson’s condo was sold?” Krangel said in his raspy voice. “About time, too.”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Neighbor said, puzzled at the man's annoyance.

Krangel shook his head. “Eh, there were so many strangers running all over this building. Anyway, now we’ll have to get used to somebody new around here.” His gaze drifted off to a corner of the hall. “Too bad. I liked that little girl who was with Emerson at the end there. They were noisy, though. How many times do you have to push against a door before you’re sure it’s closed? I swear we heard them every night.”

A sense of decorum prevented Neighbor from correcting Krangel on the likely reason for the rhythmic banging on The Professor’s front door. “Well, let’s hope the new occupant is quieter,” he said kindly.

“She looks like a nice woman. All you young people are taking over this place. I suppose that’s the way it’s going to be,” Krangel groused.

Neighbor took note of Krangel’s information on the gender of the new resident but did not respond, bidding his elderly neighbor all best for the rest of his afternoon.

A woman, he mused. Maybe she would be nice. Maybe she’d be personable. Maybe she’d just be normal. And single. Yes, unattached would also be good. He hoped he’d run into her soon - a teaser of this newest resident would be sweet.

Early Saturday morning, Neighbor heard the unmistakable sounds of movers hauling furniture across from his apartment. Their shouts were loud and unrestrained as they called to each between the apartment and the freight elevator. “Krangel’s not going to like that,” he thought, as his own excitement built. He wanted to run to his apartment door and sneak a peek, but he remembered he was wearing his Superman pyjama bottoms of dubious origin along with his argyle socks, and he didn’t wish to repeat the unfashionable introduction he’d had to Julianne. He decided to take a shower instead, assuming that the movers would be there awhile and the new owner would be present as well.

But first, he put up a pot of coffee, quickly grinding some Kicking Horse beans and using them with the DeLonghi coffee machine he was so proud of. He considered making a perfect cup of espresso romano for the new tenant, since he had lemons for the requisite twist of rind, but decided against it. Handsome Neighbor did not want to seem like a pretentious bastard, and at any rate, the woman would likely have her own coffee, considering the hour. (If she was truly the kind of woman he could be interested in, she would.)

In the shower, he rubbed a bar of Provence Sante soap through the small puddle in his hands as he decided what to wear: carefully worn-out jeans and one of the tailored shirts he’d purchased in Perugia, which looked casual but was perfect in its craftsmanship. Neighbor enjoyed dressing well, although he wasn’t beneath wandering around his home in pyjamas and a tee shirt emblazoned with Bruce Cockburn (or Flock of Seagulls, if he was feeling particularly nostalgic). But this morning, he wanted to make a good impression.

It occurred to him that it was especially fortunate that The Professor had left the building. If Emerson was still around and a female moved in, he would likely have pounced and captured the woman’s attentions before Neighbor had even buckled his Italian leather belt. This, and the lingering disgust Neighbor had for Emerson’s treatment of Julia, deepened his dislike of the man. Almost as bad, he had come to believe The Professor was stealing his best sartorial moves, appearing periodically in bow ties and a beret, and carrying the most fashionable of bumbershoots.

Shower completed, hair combed, coffee poured, Handsome Neighbor opened the door of his apartment to see what waited across the way.

At first, the answer to that was bookshelves - many bookshelves. They lined the hall like sentries, and Neighbor became distracted wondering just how many books she owned, and what she liked to read. Two movers were struggling to push a blue sofa through the doorway, which barely accommodated its width. The activity prevented him from entering the apartment, and that was just as well because he was overcome with shyness and doubt. He’d just come to realize how much he’d staked on meeting this woman. She could be anybody! He’d created this image, this persona in his head, and for all he knew it could be no more real than a fictional character in a book.

But he’d lived in the building for awhile now and she was a new resident; the least he could do was introduce himself and offer his help. It would be the polite and neighborly thing to do. He would feel better if he extended himself, regardless of how his thoughtfulness was received.

His hesitation lingered for several minutes until Neighbor heard a woman’s voice....


Tuesday, November 26, 2013

At last: the new series from SR!

Have you seen the news about SR's new book series?

Check out the full post here of SR's Website:

SR also discusses a few giveaways for Gabriel's Redemption.

We give you...

The Raven...

(FYI this picture is just a cool one found, not associated with SR's book but it fit.)

My next novel is the first in a new series, and it will be entitled The Raven. With this novel, I'm asking you to pack your bags and travel with me to the city of Florence. The Gabriel Series showed you the city during the day. This time, I'll show you Florence's underworld, which is ruled by creatures of the night …

Here's the formal announcement:

From the New York Times bestselling author of the Gabriel Series comes a dark, sensual tale of romance in a city shrouded in mystery…

Raven Wood spends her days at Florence’s Uffizi Gallery restoring fine works of Renaissance art. But an innocent walk home after an evening with friends changes her life forever. When she intervenes in the senseless beating of a homeless man, his attackers turn on her, dragging her into an alley. Raven is only semi-conscious when their assault is interrupted by a cacophony of growls followed by her attacker’s screams. Mercifully, she blacks out, but not before catching a glimpse of a shadowy figure who whispers to her …

Cassita vulneratus.

When Raven awakes, she is inexplicably changed. She returns to the Uffizi, but no one recognizes her and more disturbingly, she discovers that she’s been absent an entire week. With no recollection of the events leading up to her disappearance, Raven also learns that her absence coincides with one of the largest robberies in Uffizi history – the theft of a set of priceless Botticelli illustrations. When the baffled police force identifies her as its prime suspect, Raven is desperate to clear her name. She seeks out one of Florence’s wealthiest and elusive men in an attempt to uncover the truth about her disappearance. Their encounter leads Raven to a dark underworld whose inhabitants kill to keep their secrets …

As I mentioned in my September post, readers of Gabriel's Redemption will be able to read an excerpt from The Raven at the end of both the paperback and e-book editions.

But what I didn't mention was that one of the characters of The Raven appears in Gabriel's Redemption. Can you identify him or her? I welcome your guesses in the comments below and on social media.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that there's a connection between The Gabriel Series and my new series - a connection that is more than simply me, or the city of Florence, or the Uffizi Gallery. If you've read the cover copy above carefully, probably you're beginning to guess the answer. But I'll be explicit and state that we won't be saying goodbye to the Professor and Julianne at the end of Gabriel's Redemption. Look for them to have cameo appearances in The Raven as well ...

While I don't have a release date for The Raven yet, I hope to have one soon. This novel marks my transition from a contemporary love story to a paranormal one. I hope you'll join me on this journey and that if you have friends and family who enjoy paranormal novels, you'll help me share the news with them.




Share your excitement with us here!

And also come chat with us on twitter: @Argyle_Empire And Facebook If You have not been to the new Facebook Page for Argyle Empire come Like us! We could not change our GI Series Fans site so we scrapped it and are starting over. We have 300 of you so far. Help us spread the word! There is also a new Pinterest Board for The Raven Series. Follow the board to keep up with links on the new series!

(Updated by Iris~Elli)

Thursday, November 21, 2013

20 Questions with the SUBCLUB

Hello Everyone,
Argyle Empire was recently highlighted by the SUBCLUBbooks website.  Jenn represented the group in the blog's "Let's Play 20 Questions," segment and you can read it by clicking on the following link:

Jenn was honored to appear on the post and wishes to thank SUBCLUBbooks as well as her fellow moderators at Argyle Empire for the opportunity.
Enjoy and Take Care,
Mango, Iris, Ms Cuppy and Cran

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Charity Tuesday: American Diabetes Association

Hello Everyone,

As we all know, spotlighting charities and worthwhile causes is important to SR.

As a group, Elli, Coco, Sere and I are also dedicated to promoting these endeavors. Therefore, we are happy to share a series of posts in order to take a more in-depth look at the various charitable organizations highlighted by SR. You can find a complete list of these charities on our blog by clicking on the "About the Charities" header.

We hope you will find the information in these posts informative and educational.  If you have a particular cause that is close to your heart or you have personal experiences with any of the charities we spotlight, please feel free to contact us about it.

American Diabetes Association
Mission Statement: We lead the fight against the deadly consequences of diabetes and fight for those affected—by diabetes.
We fund research to prevent, cure and manage diabetes.
We deliver services to hundreds of communities.
We provide objective and credible information.
We give voice to those denied their rights because of diabetes.
Twitter: @AmDiabetesAssn
In the spring of 2011, our son was winding up his time in middle school.  He was nearing the end of eighth grade and was growing non-stop.  Over the course of the school year, he’d grown several inches, was eating and drinking everything in sight and became enthusiastic about cross country running.  Over a period of weeks, we noticed he was looking taller and leaner, running up our grocery bill and sleeping in every chance he got.  We concluded that he was your average fourteen year old boy.
We left home for a week’s vacation and ventured into the mountains of northern Idaho to enjoy some time together at a lakefront resort.  While there, our son seemed out of sorts.  He slept a lot, and didn’t have energy or interest in suggested family activities.  Halfway through the trip, he began feeling ill.  We assumed he had contracted food poisoning and began treating it as such. By our final night at the resort, he seemed to be perking up once again. The vacation was a bust as far as he was concerned, so we prepared to leave for home the next morning and called it a night.
At about three o’clock in the morning, our world changed forever.  Our son woke up extremely ill and nothing we tried to do for him helped. We watched his condition deteriorate rapidly and by sunrise we knew he needed emergency medical attention.  Morgan and I put him in our car and drove sixteen miles to the nearest hospital. Along the way, our son had trouble staying alert and coherent. By the time we reached the ER, we didn’t know what to think, but within minutes the diagnosis was made.
His blood glucose reading was nearly 500, and we were told our son had Type 1 Diabetes.  Before we could even process this news, other complications arose.  He was transferred by helicopter to a larger hospital and admitted to a pediatric ICU.  We saw him taken away, and then made the slower journey by car to join him.  Once the urgent need to stabilize his condition receded, our family spent a week at the hospital learning how to take care of our son under this new reality.
We learned how to count carbs in the food he received, and how to calculate the proper dosage of insulin to administer for those carbs.  We learned how to give him shots of inulin and glucagon and monitored our son as he learned to do the same.  We watched our son carefully as the reality of life as a Type 1 diabetic fully settled into his consciousness.  We spoke with doctors, nurses and counselors. We took classes and we received resources from the American Diabetes Association, which we held on to tightly as we learned to navigate along this new path. Without this assistance from the ADA, we would have felt lost and uneasy about what to do.
When our son was able to leave the hospital and we all returned home, it felt a bit like becoming a parent all over again.  He needed to put on weight after having lost essential body fat over a period of months leading up to his diagnosis.  Our son had to be sure to eat every few hours in order to help regulate his blood sugars. We were all up in the middle of the night to make sure his blood glucose readings were not dropping too low as a result of his insulin dosages.  We had to educate our family and friends on exactly what it means to be a Type 1 diabetic and make sure they knew what signs to look for to help identify when his blood sugar might be running too low or too high.
Two and a half years later, we have all found our way again.  Our son manages his own care as much as possible and he’s inspired us all with his determination and commitment to live his life and thrive despite the condition.  Although some days are better than others, he rarely complains about the constant routine of finger pokes,  the numerous daily shots of insulin, the relentless monitoring of his carbs at every meal and snack, and the inevitable moments when his blood glucose falls too low or runs a bit too high, wreaking temporary havoc on his body.
As parents, there is little doubt that the preparation and education we received from the American Diabetes Association and the medical community has played a vital role in this critical time of transition.  Now that we have learned how to manage our day to day lives with diabetes, we look to the ADA (and other organizations with the same mission) to develop a cure for our son’s condition. It is generally believed this will happen during his lifetime.
Type 1 diabetes is not an illness caused by eating too much sugar.  Our son didn’t become diabetic because of his lifestyle or eating habits. It is a complicated autoimmune condition that renders the pancreas incapable of producing insulin.  The condition is partially genetic and partially environmental.  Although the medical community is still trying to fully understand the triggers of Type 1 diabetes, it is clear that many factors have to fall into place in order for the immune system to target the beta cells in the pancreas for destruction. In order for our son to stop injecting himself with insulin several times a day for the remainder of his life,  doctors and researchers will need to find a way to regenerate the beta cells in the pancreas that produce insulin naturally.
In the months since our son’s diagnosis, we have heard some very encouraging news in this field, and feel strongly that continued support of the American Diabetes Association will not only benefit our son in the long run, but will also help the 300 million people worldwide diagnosed with the same condition.
November is the month of our son’s birth.  It is also the international observation of Diabetes Awareness Month. Chances are very good that you know someone in your life that has been diagnosed with diabetes.  Take a few moments to think about how there is never a remission from this condition. There are no days off from diabetes, and in the long run complications from this condition take their toll on the body.
Please take the time to remember those in your life who deal with diabetes every day, and honor them this month by supporting your local diabetes association.
Thank you and Take Care,

©2012 All Rights Reserved | Website Designed by Website Design Credit

Powered by Blogger