There’s a unique stillness that comes when you’re miles from a cell signal. No Dexcom share alerts, no text pings, no emergency call backup. Just the rush of the river, the rustle of pines, and the breath in your chest reminding you: you’re here, immersed in wildness and beauty.
And for parents of a child with Type 1 Diabetes, “here” can feel scary without the usual safety net.
This summer, I said yes to something I’ve been afraid of for years: a multi-day river rafting trip with my daughter. She’s 17, she has T1D, is autistic and has some other health challenges as well. AND she deserves the full experience of life—my fear should not hold her back. My husband and older daughter have enjoyed numerous river trips; we have a wonderful and skilled group of rafters to go with, and our younger daughter was asking to go. It was time. Deep breath.
But saying yes didn’t mean throwing caution into the current. It meant preparing like never before. It seems with T1D, that to enjoy the present moment, you have to be prepared for the unexpected. So I made a list.
Fear, Named and Faced
I had a list of “ifs”:
- What if we lose her insulin supply in the rapids?
- How do I keep her Omnipod and Dexcom on her body, with her phone as the receiver if the boat flips or she falls out in a rapid?
- What if she goes low and we don’t notice in time?
- What if she spikes and goes into DKA, and I can’t get help
But beneath every “what if” was a deeper fear: What if I hold her back?
So, we made a plan. We talked through every scenario. We had a Garmin should an emergency occur. We packed emergency protocols in both boats. And I made peace with not being able to control everything.
What We Did to Prepare
To feel safe enough to say yes, we:
- Divided essential supplies—insulin, extra carbs, Omnipods, Dexcom Sensors, meter, Baqsimi, ketone meter—between both boats in waterproof containers.
- Kept insulin cool in the ice chests. I brought vials for her pumps and pens-both long and short acting if needed as a back up.
- Created an emergency plan for pump or Dexcom failure.
- Made sure she wore a visible medical ID and laminated backup instructions.
Letting Go, Holding On
The first morning, as the cell signal faded, I breathed into the moment, and joined the river. I felt fear rising, the one that’s lived in my bones since her diagnosis, but also hope and excitement. But then I looked at her—smiling and no trace of worry. Just a teenager who wanted to be on the river.
So I breathed. And I stayed present. And I didn’t check her every five minutes.
That day, I didn’t need a cell signal. I needed trust—in my daughter, in our planning, in our ability to adapt, and in our capacity to live life to the fullest, embracing the beauty and joy of floating the Wild and Scenic Salmon River.
A Final Reflection
T1D didn’t get to stay behind on shore. But it also didn’t get to paddle the boat.
We planned, we packed, we prepared—and then we lived. The trip wasn’t perfect. But it was beautiful. And brave.
What brave things have you done since your child was diagnosed with T1D? What did you learn? Our collective wisdom would be a powerful book one day!
