An Ode to Oscar

by Paula Ohreen

My godson Oscar’s a lively lad,
And seeing him blue made us all sad.
Not wanting to go out with his friends & play,
Looking like he was wasting away.

Now his mother being a clever lass,
Tested his sugars and let out a gasp.
When the monitor showed 33.3,
She said to herself, “that can’t possibly be.
I know I’m no doctor, but Lord God in heaven,
I’m sure that number should be between 4 and 7.”

She called the health link, but to no avail,
The nurse was disbelieving of her tale.
She made her feel she was mad as a hatter,
For testing sugars to see what was the matter.
Take him to his doctor within 3 days hence.
Thank God his mother isn’t that dense.

So off to the doctor the very next morning,
You’ve no appointment, came the receptionist’s warning.
But a mother’s instinct is not to be messed with,
And mother bear syndrome is not just a myth.
So before poor Oscar even knew what was up,
He was in the bathroom, peeing into a cup.

And away they were sent not 10 minutes later,
The doctor had become her vindicator.
Your instinct was right, if you’d waited 3 days,
I shudder to think what might have taken place.

So off to the children’s with letter in hand,
And instructions to accept no delays, but demand
He be seen by a doctor with knowledge of type 1 diabetes,
This wasn’t the time for negotiating long treaties.
Time’s of the essence with this type of disorder.
He needs treatment now, and in good order.

No food was permitted for the rest of the day.
How can a body go so astray?
Just a few hours later the diagnosis came in,
For the rest of his life he’d be dependant on insulin.

‘Twas no boat loads of biscuits or truck loads of treats,
That made Oscar’s pancreas start missing some beats.
They don’t know why it happens. Just that it does,
And back in the 20’s the name Banting was the big buzz.
For he discovered a way to keep our Oscar alive,
And not only that – to even thrive.

In front of Banting’s house the flame of hope still burns,
And other researchers have taken their turns,
But they need your help to extinguish that flame,
And here’s where I tell you the aim of the game.
When the flame is put out it means they’ve found a cure.
No more finger pricks and injections for Oscar to endure.

If this tale’s touched a cord, and you’d like to donate,
Please follow this link, and take the bait.
Let’s put out that flame for once and for all.
Let’s get all the kids back to having a ball.
Playing rugby, or hockey, or just watching the telly.
Roll on, no more injections in the belly.