Written by David Rosenberg

On January 23, 2015 my world was changed forever when my then 1½ -year-old daughter Sawyer was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes (T1D). From that day forward, we–I, my wife Stephanie, Sawyer, and our youngest daughter Emerson—would become a family with a new purpose. Our goal was and is to help Sawyer live as normal a life as possible. At the time, however, we wondered if that was a real possibility. Would she still be able to live a full, happy life? Would the world look at her differently? Would our family understand the meaning and impact of this disease? Would her sister understand? Would she, just a baby, be able to understand? We had so many questions and so many worries, and very little direction.

It’s been six months since Sawyer’s diagnosis and I still find myself asking these same questions. The only difference is that now our lives have become routinized; we wake up, test Sawyer’s blood sugar, have milk, wait; have breakfast, weigh her food, eat, then bolus. The day continues on and on like this until it’s time for bed, and even then the worrying never ends. On top of managing Sawyer’s day-to-day needs, we also have to contend with questions and comments from the outside world. “What happens if X,” and, “is this forever?” There’s already so much that’s unknown that I find, at times, I just want other people to go away.

Initially, I submerged myself in my work as a coping mechanism. As the founder of a martial arts center for children with special needs (called Kicking the Spectrum),  I spend my time with other individuals and parents who require extra care and attention like Sawyer. My job is to offer these people some hope; to let them know that I can and will help them succeed. For me, this role comes naturally. I’ve always been the person that people turn to for support and the first to offer assistance when needed. But after Sawyer was diagnosed with T1D, I found myself struggling to be helpful in the ways that I want and need to be, and especially struggling to accept help from others.

As a father, I worry everyday about being able to support my family and pay for the endless supply of insulin and test strips that Sawyer needs. Moreover, I wonder if I’ll be strong enough to support not only my children when things are bad, but be the husband my wife needs. She is the rock of the family. She takes care of both of the kids and never complains. Yet I see the toll it takes on her. She feels guilt over Sawyer’s diagnosis, as most parents of type 1 children do, along with anger and sadness that I can’t take away. I do the best I can help, to be of comfort and support, but it never feels like enough. It feels like being trapped in quicksand.

What do I mean by quicksand? I mean that one day you make a mistake, just when you finally feel you have a handle on everything, and it makes you second guess yourself. And slowly you begin to sink. The more you think about it the more you realize, “I have no clue what I am doing, but I am learning.” So like quicksand, it becomes harder to get out. The doctors try to help, family tries to help, but at the end of the day, it comes down to you and this disease. I find that the more I try to be the rock my family needs, the deeper I sink.

Until recently, it felt like asking for help was futile. “What would it change?”  I thought.  It won’t take away Sawyer’s diabetes. It won’t take away my anger and sadness. There have been so many people offering ropes to help pull us out of the quicksand, but I haven’t taken them for fear that I’ll end up pulling them into this mess, too. I imagine there are other fathers of type 1 children out there who feel or have felt similarly stuck.

It wasn’t until I realized that there was another option; an option that would empower me and my family and support my daughter in her diagnosis that I began to feel there was hope again. That lifeline came in the form of running; not away from reality as I’d been doing through my work, but toward a cure and a brighter future for my daughter.

This year, I’m fundraising for JDRF as I train for the Rock ‘n’ Roll Philadelphia Half Marathon in October and then the Rock ‘n’ Roll DC Marathon in March 2016, all leading up to my ultimate goal of running the NYC Marathon next year for Team JDRF. I’ve found that both running and fundraising have given me an outlet to release my emotions with every step. It’s a way to show myself that, though there might be pain, struggles, and tears (yes tears!) I can and will finish the race; that my family and I will do whatever it takes to make it to the finish line for our daughter, and hopefully help to change the future for everyone else affected by type 1 diabetes.

You can support David’s fundraising efforts by donating to his Team JDRF page.