Having a child diagnosed with type 1 is like being dragged out of bed at 3am and being shoved into a rally car as a navigator with no warning or training.  The pedal is to the metal straight away and the first blind bend downhill is hurtling towards you before you’ve even opened the instructions, which are bouncing around in your hands like a scorching hot potato.   All you can see is a cliff fast approaching as you desperately use your fear as traction to avoid flying off the edge into the deep unknown.  Somehow, and you really don’t know how the car’s rear grips the corner and your driver miraculously guides the car round onto the straight, phew, saved.    But there looms another bend, this time into dense trees with rocks either side, do I really have to do this again?  Yes, yes we do over and over.  Sometimes the route is not so treacherous and others it’s a 40mph motorway restriction for 200 miles.  This is what T1 for me feels like, you just don’t know what is around the next bend or if you can see the next page of instructions.  But you just inject right?  Wrong.  After three longs days of sugar highs and lows with no rhyme or reason, I just can’t be arsed to explain it all.  I’m learning myself and I don’t have the energy to tell anyone else.