When Life Gives You Ketchup: A Diabetes Tale in Thailand

The trouble with Thailand starts with me—and my psychological and physiological aversion to the place. I’m not going to lie: I’m probably one of the only people in the world who harbors a deep-seated aversion to Thailand. It’s not the people, the culture, or the food (those are all amazing). The trouble lies elsewhere. Let’s just say my bad luck involves ex-boyfriends, squat toilets, mosquitos, and an endless array of other profanity provoking situations. Oh, and there’s also the small matter of my face puffing up like a balloon, my eyes streaming, and an inexplicable rash wrapping itself around my neck the moment I step off the plane. Charming, right?

The reality, though, is that my dad lives in Thailand, and we have an extended Thai family. So if I want my son Reilly and me to maintain those relationships, the place is—quite literally—unavoidable. After Dad had visited us numerous times in Saudi Arabia, it was our turn to make the trek. I sucked up all my loathing, packed copious amounts of antihistamines, and, of course… the diabetes gear.

This would be Reilly’s first trip to Thailand and my first experience being both a parent and a T1D carer there. The flight was uneventful—or at least unmemorable. It was the usual high blood sugars followed by immigration/luggage claim lows. We arrived without incident and were greeted warmly by Poo Jim and Ya Lek (Grandpa and Grandma).

I had preloaded myself with antihistamines, braced for anything… but completely unprepared for everything diabetes would throw at us.

The Appetite Problem

For the first few days, we stayed in Pattaya, a big enough city with access to a variety of foods. My dad had gone above and beyond to make sure Reilly would be comfortable. He even hired a chef to prepare pasta dishes Reilly might like and had meticulously stocked the fridge with everything from my grocery list. Talk about hospitality!

But the trouble with Thailand? Appetite. Reilly’s vanished. Completely. Hypoglycemia should, in theory, trigger the body’s hunger hormone. Not for Reilly. Even our usual go-to snacks were a bust. Bread and butter? No appeal. Hamburgers? Different taste. Pasta? Nope. Hot dogs? Pass. Normally, my child’s adventurous palate is one of his strengths, but suddenly, food lost all its allure. Eventually, I threw up my hands in defeat. If bacon and ice cream were all he’d eat, so be it.

The Climate Problem

Then came the climate. I hadn’t anticipated how the heat and humidity would impact our diabetes management. We’re used to a desert climate, so I naively assumed numbers would mimic what we’d seen back home. Boy, was I wrong. The highs and lows were dizzying—like some sort of sadistic rollercoaster. And when your kid’s appetite is nonexistent on top of all that? Let’s just say I was feeling pretty useless.

The Infusion Set Problem

Next up: the infusion set debacle. Wrestling matches in pools? Ripped-off sets. Heat and sweat? Blisters around cannulas. Blisters? Pain. Pain? More frequent changes. Fun times, right?

The “Mom-of-the-Year” Problem

Now let’s talk about my crowning achievement in bad decisions.

After a few days in the city, we headed out to the family’s durian farm. Our Thai relatives were beyond excited to see us—especially as this was their first time meeting Reilly. As tradition dictated, we were whisked away in the back of a pickup truck to visit a local temple.

Before leaving, I must have checked Reilly’s blood sugar and thought, “He’s super high; we’ll be fine.” My brain, in its antihistamine-fogged glory, decided to bring just one fast-acting carb.

We set off. And yes, I let my then-5-year-old ride seatbelt-less in the back of a pickup truck down bumpy dirt roads. (Mother of the Year award, right here.) The temple wasn’t far, but we stopped at a 7-Eleven on the way for snacks. I had no money and didn’t want to burden our hosts, so I said we didn’t need anything. After all, we had one fast carb. What could possibly go wrong?

Every T1D warrior and every T1D carer should know better than to ask that question.

At the temple, Reilly’s blood sugar started to drop. I gave him the fast carb and tried not to panic. Then my internal dia-senses started tingling: This isn’t going to be enough. I suggested we head back, but by the time we reached the truck, his numbers had plummeted. I asked if anyone had sugar. Someone handed me a green tea juice from 7-Eleven. Reilly, bless his cooperative little heart, managed a few sips before declaring it too bitter. Fair enough. I tried it—it was basically liquid sadness.

And then… salvation appeared in the form of ketchup packets from the 7-Eleven snack run. I handed Reilly two packets and begged him to choke them down. And he did. My kid, who’d refused perfectly normal foods for days, sucked down ketchup like a champ.

Let me tell you, there are few moments in life when you realize how amazing your child is. This was one of them. He understood the severity of the situation and did the unthinkable. It wasn’t fun, but it worked. We made it back, and we got his numbers stabilized.

Lessons Learned (and retrospectively laughed at)

Thailand threw everything it had at us—and somehow, we came out the other side. Sure, our survival kit consisted of bacon, ice cream, and ketchup, but hey, that’s the stuff memories (and great stories) are made of. Despite the chaotic dance with diabetes, what truly stood out were the moments that shaped Reilly’s connection to his Thai roots: learning to climb trees and harvest durian, walking with elephants, and embracing a culture and lifestyle worlds apart from our own.

Reilly’s experience was nothing short of transformative. He found joy and a sense of gratitude, even while navigating his own challenges. Witnessing the realities of life in Thailand—like the absence of A/C in the jungle, children unable to attend school because they had to work, and living conditions so different from his own—sparked curiosity and a deeper appreciation for what he has.

Looking back, I can’t deny I was hilariously underprepared for this trip. I didn’t pack enough snacks, I didn’t think to switch the pump to auto-mode, and I grossly underestimated the effects of jet lag, heat, and antihistamines on both of us. But what I underestimated most was Reilly’s resilience. And if there’s one thing Thailand taught us, it’s that sometimes, survival looks a lot like ketchup packets and a grateful heart.

When life gives you ketchup, you make it work—because sometimes, it’s all you’ve got. And in the end, it’s not the challenges that define the trip, but the memories you create, the lessons you learn, and the resilience you discover along the way.