Diabetes at 30,000 Feet: A journey of firsts

I was a mix of emotions—anxious, exhausted, and overwhelmed—as I hovered over a suitcase packed with supplies. Despite having traveled extensively with Reilly before, the diagnosis of diabetes had completely transformed our travel experiences.

We had finally escaped the diaper bag, bottles, and baby food, and the newfound freedom of traveling light had been a welcome change. But that freedom was short-lived. The added responsibility of managing diabetes complicated everything, making packing an increasingly meticulous task. With the urgency of ensuring we had all the necessary supplies—insulin, syringes, snacks, glucose monitors, and more—preparing for the trip felt daunting.

I remember sitting beside the suitcase, going over the checklist again and again. Tears welled up as I grappled with the reality of this new challenge. The diagnosis had come just a couple of months ago, and the dust had barely settled. But I knew I had to go. On the other end of this long journey awaited my mom—and I needed to see her, badly.

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I couldn’t agree more. As a single mom in Saudi Arabia, raising Reilly was already a challenge. The addition of diabetes made everything even more demanding. Sleepless nights, constant worry, and the weight of responsibility had taken a toll on me. I desperately needed support, and my mom was a key part of that.

Our flight from Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, to Lisbon, Portugal, with a layover in Istanbul, felt overwhelming. As I zipped up the suitcase with a mix of trepidation and resolve, I questioned whether I had truly prepared for everything. Despite my research and meticulous planning, I knew the real test would come once we were on the road—or in the air, as it turned out.

The trip was filled with firsts. The first one was explaining to a security officer why Reilly couldn’t go through the x-ray scanner. My broken Arabic, his broken English, and the support of the kind woman behind us in line allowed us to reach an agreement: Reilly would be hand-searched instead. The whole process happened so fast that my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Suddenly, I found myself staring at my 3-year-old from behind an x-ray machine. (Insert expletive here.) I should never have let Reilly go around before I was ready to walk through!

Frantically, I removed my shoes, unpacked the freezer pack that was keeping our insulin at the recommended temperature, and pulled out the usual assortment of tech—iPads, laptops, and whatever other ridiculous items they ask for at security. All the while, I kept looking over at Reilly, hoping he hadn’t somehow been swept away by someone while I was distracted by our things on the conveyor belt.

It felt like an eternity before I was finally ready to walk through the scanner and be reunited with him. When I caught his eye, I saw the relief in his face, and we held hands as I whispered for him to help me gather our things from the belt.

As we walked away from security, I knew we needed a better plan for next time. While waiting to board our flight, Reilly and I laughed about the whole experience. We couldn’t believe how far away he had been from me, and we both agreed that the next time, we'd get all our stuff on the belt first, and only then explain that Reilly couldn’t go through the scanner. That way, we’d walk through together. We promised each other we’d always be on the same side of security—and, since then, we’ve stuck to our routine. We’ve never had the x-ray machine between us again.

Along the journey, there were many other firsts. The first insulin injection on a plane—thankfully, there was no turbulence as I administered it. The first of what would become many high blood sugar alerts due to the inability to weigh food at 30,000 feet. The first low blood sugar alert as we approached the customs officer in Lisbon airport. And, of course, the first time I hugged my mom on the other side of that long flight, knowing we had entered a "new normal."

I’ll admit, this wasn’t the smoothest trip I’ve ever taken with Reilly. But it was an initiation—a kind of rite of passage into this new chapter of our lives. It was the first step into a reality we weren’t prepared for, but as with any new journey, that first step made the ones that followed a little easier. Each challenge, each “first,” has become part of our new normal, and we’re learning, growing, and adapting along the way.

First Flight with T1D: November 2021