I was recently asked by Kay’s ABA facility if I could provide another Type 1 diabetes training. Some staff members were not present during the initial training I offered, and a new RBT will soon be starting who will be working closely with Kay. I’ve provided detailed, written instructions that are posted and easily accessible for staff to reference, along with a copy kept in Kay’s personal folder. Even with those resources in place, I truly appreciate being asked to return, answer questions, and offer additional or refresher trainings when needed. That willingness to seek hands-on, personalized training means a great deal to me.
Managing Type 1 diabetes is not something that’s mastered overnight. We still have hard days, and Kay has been living with Type 1 diabetes for about a year and a half now. It’s an ongoing learning process, and even as her parent, I’m constantly adapting, adjusting, and learning alongside her. Because of that, I always welcome questions. Questions mean people care enough to get it right.
Sadly, many families are turned away from daycares, camps, and even therapy facilities simply because the responsibility of managing diabetes feels overwhelming. The reality is that Type 1 diabetes can be dangerous if not handled correctly, and that fear—combined with liability concerns—often results in families being denied support. In many settings, the absence of a certified nurse makes organizations hesitant to take on that responsibility at all.
Situations like this make me incredibly sad. Not only for the parents who rely on childcare, camps, or therapy services so they can work and provide for their families, but also for the children who are excited to attend camp or participate in activities, only to be told they can’t because managing their diabetes would require additional effort or accommodations. No child should be excluded from experiences simply because of a medical condition.
Even facilities that are willing to learn and support children with Type 1 diabetes often have boundaries in place. For Kay, that means her RBT must ensure she is able to give herself glucose gummies when she goes low. The RBT still needs to take out the correct number of gummies beforehand—otherwise Kay would happily eat the entire container due to her lack of impulse control—but we make it work. It’s not perfect, but it’s safe, thoughtful, and centered around Kay’s abilities.
I am truly grateful for Kay’s ABA facility: for their willingness to learn, to ask questions, to pivot when needed, and to continue showing up for Kay in meaningful ways. Their openness and effort make a world of difference, and they are a reminder that inclusion is possible when people are willing to learn rather than say no.