A Post-Holiday Nightmare Unfolds...

The first time my daughter went abroad post-diagnosis was on a school trip.

Diagnosed during Covid times, travel wasn't an option so when she got the chance to visit Barcelona with school, she reminded me of my promise two years earlier that I wouldn't let diabetes stand in the way of her doing what she wanted to do.

Lucky enough to only have one child - and having missed our honeymoon thanks to Covid - hubby and I decided to have a mini-break in Barcelona so we could be on hand if things went wrong.

I managed to book flights on a different budget airline that departed an hour after the flight school was on, and landed back at the same airport an hour before them.

We hid in the airport lounge behind newspapers with sunglasses on so as not to embarrass her in front of her mates.

The trip was pretty uneventful. Sure there were some daytime hypos from heat and walking. And a couple of overnight lows missed by the teachers where I had to repeatedly ring mobiles to wake them to issue jelly babies - but by and large, we fared better than the parents of the young person who had to be flown home with a broken leg.

That was until we were settling in to our seats on the return flight.

The nightmare unfolds

Their coach had gotten stuck in traffic trying to get to the airport and so there was a rush to get to airport security.

A WhatsApp message made my phone buzz.

"Mum, I'm stuck at security. All the teachers have gone through already and I'm on my own being searched. They don't understand me..."

The three dots appeared to show she was typing something else...

Then the message disappeared.

I started jabbing frantically at my phone to call her.

"Ladies and gentlemen we are about to depart. Please put away all electronic devices and ensure mobile phones are put into flight mode..."

A very stern stewardess appeared at my side and asked me to put my phone away.

My protests were batted away.

We were literally metres away and yet I couldn't help her.

She was 14 and in a strange country.

I'd meticulously planned the trip to be on hand and yet the one time she needed me, I'd let her down.

I felt sick.

Hubby clutched my hand and said "She'll be fine. School won't go without her."

Two very long hours later, the wheels hit the tarmac and my phone was out of my bag.

No signal.

The plane pootled in to the stand.

Nothing.

My husband's phone pinged with messages but nothing from Spain.

All I could see from Life360 was that she was still at the airport.

It was late in the day - school was closed. I felt helpless.

Bags were claimed and we joined all the other school parents who were already waiting excitedly in arrivals.

The plane landed.

I checked WhatsApp.

"Abigail is typing..."

Those bloody dots

...

...

...

I ring. No signal from her.

Her friends start to trickle through arrivals being met by homemade banners and hugs.

I count them one by one.

28, 29, 30, 31...

Three stressed and exhausted looking teachers...

I pushed through the crowd to find out what went on.

And suddenly there she is, yapping away to her favourite teaching assistant without a care in the world.

Safe and sound and completely oblivious to my angst.

On the trip home we got the download. She'd been first in the queue but because of her medical case she'd been taken aside for extra checks and the teachers had gotten caught up in the rush to herd the other 38 kids through security to make sure they caught the plane on time.

And once they'd realised she was missing, one of the teachers had intervened and gotten things sorted and there'd been a mad rush to buy stuff in duty free on the way to the gate - which is way more important than WhatsApping mum to say that you've not been incarcerated in some foreign prison for having diabetes tech in your hand luggage.

A unique set of circumstances taught us a valuable lesson.

Of course school wouldn't have left without her.

They count heads every five minutes (well when I've been on school trips, it feels that way - maybe a bit less frequently with teenagers!) but it clearly isn't a good look if you accidentally leave a young person in your care in a foreign country.

Having mobiles for contact and tracking and checking blood sugars is brilliant. But when comms breaks down, it's way worse.

If this had been the 1980s I'd have not known where she was or the plight she was in or what her blood sugars were so I'd have been blissfully ignorant and my anxiety in check (maybe). I'd have just trusted the school and only heard the tale afterwards.

So it was a valuable lesson in travel for us.

The school have updated guidance for how to support children with additional needs when they're travelling through airport security. There have been enhancements to comms plans for parents who have that little bit of extra fear about tricky things. Yep, all parents are anxious, but there is a clear recognition that some parents do need a little more contact.

We've made good plans with Abigail for when we travel about what to do - and whilst she's in a safer environment, we have let her take the lead in managing herself through airport security so that when she comes to travel alone at the end of A-levels or into early adulthood she knows what to do and say and how to be prepared.

And she's also learned that sometimes sending mum a message and not following up is a bad thing!

Perhaps that was the real lesson from Barcelona.

I couldn't plan for every possible thing that might happen.

I couldn't guarantee I'd always be able to get to her.

And I couldn't make every situation safe by simply being nearby.

What I could do was make sure she knew what to do when something unexpected happened.

And, perhaps more importantly, I could start letting her practise doing those things herself.

That's the uncomfortable bit of raising a young person with Type 1 diabetes.

We spend years learning how to keep them safe.

Then, gradually, we have to learn how to let them be safe without us.

Sometimes that means trusting the systems around them.

Sometimes it means trusting the adults supporting them.

And sometimes it means trusting the young person we've spent years preparing.

Technology can help enormously with that. We can see glucose levels. We can track locations. We can send messages. We can call.

But technology can't remove uncertainty.

And sometimes having more information doesn't make us less anxious. It just means we know exactly when the information has stopped.

Barcelona taught me that I don't need to be able to fix everything that happens to Abigail.

I need to help her become someone who knows what to do when I'm not there.

And occasionally, apparently, remind her that if she sends her mother a terrifying half-message from Spanish airport security, she really should follow it up.

Because yes, she was absolutely fine.

I was the one who needed the emergency jelly babies.

If you're a parent caring for a child with Type 1 diabetes, you might recognise that feeling of knowing you need to step back while every instinct tells you to step in.

That's something I talk about with parents I coach — not how to parent your child with Type 1, but how to make space for yourself alongside the caring role.

Find out more about coaching for parents of children with Type 1 diabetes →

And if you haven't read the original Barcelona post, you can find it here: Type 1 Diabetes and School Trips: Do Parents Really Have to Go Too? →

Suddenly worrying about how to bolus for paella was the least of my worries about the Spanish school trip