Robert Goldstein

Mission Possible: A Father's Story

By Robert Goldstein

The autopsy stated: "Marc Goldstein died from complications as a result of out-of-control diabetes." Until my son Marc died a year and a half ago, I was just "another guy with diabetes" and never made a big deal out of it. However, in the aftermath of this unnecessary tragedy, and as difficult as it has been to write, I feel compelled to share this story.

My wife Lainy and I lost a child to diabetes. There is no greater pain. It is every parent's worst nightmare. Those of you who have experienced such a loss will understand, and I pray that those who haven't, never will.

I really hate diabetes. It is mean. Unpredictable. Unrelenting. Uncompromising. Insensitive. Debilitating. It is an insidious disease, a constant fight. I hate it for lots of reasons-most of all because it killed our youngest son.

Our family is much too familiar with diabetes. I've had it for more than 50 years, diagnosed when I was 18, a freshman in college. Despite the challenges, I've done OK and haven't had any serious complications. I travel, work out, play tennis and golf (both poorly), and eat and drink whatever and whenever I choose. Basically, I live pretty much like anyone else. It's not just a way of life for me-it is my life.

There's no question that we can live with diabetes. The problem is that we can also die from it. For our family, diabetes didn't stop with me. Forty-one years after I was diagnosed, it hit us again when our son Bobby, then 18, was in bed with a relapse of the flu. He was always thirsty and always in the bathroom. He went so much that it started to burn, so we went to the emergency room.

I knew what was happening and was terrified. As we were driving to the hospital, Bobby asked me why I was crying. I told him I was worried that he might have diabetes, and he said, "Is that all? Dad, that would just make me more like you!" I can still hear those words in my head today, and they always bring tears to my eyes.

Well, sure enough, he had diabetes too. The test revealed that Bobby's blood glucose level was over 500. He has worked hard to manage his diabetes and is an example of how to live with the disease.

That's my story and Bobby's-but it didn't work that way when lightning struck my family for the third time. When Marc was diagnosed at 33, we were concerned that he wouldn't pay much attention to his diabetes, and we were right. We knew it was going to be a problem but thought that as a family we could help him get over his anger and resentment. I never thought he had any fear about his diabetes or really understood the disease's complications or the requirements for fighting it.

In November 2006, Lainy and I hadn't heard from Marc for several days. That wasn't especially unusual, but when we heard that he had canceled an appointment for a job interview that morning and didn't call or show up to take his kids to dinner that night, we knew something was wrong. I phoned him and left a message that unless he called back within five minutes, we were going to call 911. He didn't-and we did. And our very worst fears were confirmed.

We'll never really know for sure what happened. He had been throwing up for a few days, so he may have thought he had a stomach virus. Actually, he was going into a diabetic coma (DKA-diabetic ketoacidosis). He probably got into bed to take a nap, fell into a coma, had a heart arrhythmia, and died.

I am not writing this to lament Marc's death. I am writing to clarify that this could happen to anyone who lives with this horrible disease. Until there is a cure, we, but more importantly, our children and grandchildren, will continue to face this risk. Over 13,000 people are diagnosed with type 1 diabetes every year-more than 35 people every day-more than one person every single hour. We cannot let this continue to happen. We cannot lose another child to diabetes. Marc did not have to die. His death has illuminated my life's mission, and I will work tirelessly until we find a cure. I hope you will join me.

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