From a medevac to a school bus: children with diabetes need protection

The last time someone other than my spouse or myself cared for our daughter, she was being airlifted to the IWK Health Centre, fighting for her life.

She was 15 months old, her body shutting down from diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA). That night, the hospital broke pandemic rules to let me in and say goodbye — they didn’t know if she would survive.

Three and a half years later, that same fear returned — not in an ambulance, plane, or hospital, but on a yellow school bus.

Our daughter, Rosemary, is now five. Her life will always depend on constant monitoring and immediate action. Yet, even after nearly a year of paperwork, calls, and documented requests, we learned just days before kindergarten began that the medically required support she needed still wasn’t in place.

Our story isn’t unique.

This is a matter of life and death for many children with type 1 diabetes. It’s not an opinion; it’s a medical fact that type 1 diabetes is a life-threatening disability. A child with type 1 diabetes can die within minutes without someone trained to respond. Across Canada, access to trained support varies based on your postal code.

Even after years of preparation, filing forms, and following every instruction, it still wasn’t enough.

Families of children with type 1 diabetes are already exhausted by the extra care and constant coordination that come with managing a disability. So if even those of us who know how to navigate complex systems can’t secure safe, consistent care, what hope is there for anyone else?

Across Canada, children living with diabetes are being put at risk, with their safety dependent on their parents’ ability to push through or fill the gaps themselves. Too often, diabetes is viewed as a “manageable condition” rather than the 24/7 medical balancing act that it is.

Schools have obligations under human rights, accessibility, and safety policies. But without clear processes, training, and accountability, those protections can fail when consistency is missing.

Educators want to help — but this is neither their responsibility nor safe. Without consistent staffing, training or processes, they’re being put in impossible situations: making medical decisions they shouldn’t or avoiding them altogether. It’s not fair to staff — or to students’ safety and learning.

Families like ours are left to fill these gaps as well — chasing approvals, taking time off work, navigating confusion, and carrying the emotional and logistical load. Families lose peace of mind, teachers lose confidence, and children lose belonging..

I can’t say enough good things about Rosemary’s school, principal, teachers, and educational assistants. They’ve been incredible — compassionate, responsive, and willing to do whatever it takes to keep her safe. But schools can only do so much within the constraints they face. With limited staffing, budgets, and unclear processes, they’re often left to bridge gaps that should be filled by policy. They’re doing their best — but they deserve better support, too.

This patchwork approach isn’t just unfair — it’s dangerous. A single missed low blood sugar can lead to seizures, brain injury, or death. And beyond immediate medical risks, the emotional burden is immense. Children with diabetes are twice as likely to experience depression, anxiety or disordered eating. They already live in a constant balancing act between insulin, food, and activity. School should be a place where they can feel safe — not singled out or stigmatized.

This isn’t just about compassion — it’s about prevention. When children with diabetes are not properly supported, their blood sugar levels are not controlled, leading to higher risks of long-term complications. Those are the same complications that later drive up health care costs for everyone and greatly decrease these children’s quality of life as adults. Supporting kids now is both the right and the smart thing to do — an investment in public health and our shared future.

This isn’t about assigning blame. It’s about building a system that works — one that guarantees safety, dignity, and inclusion for every student living with diabetes, no matter where they live.

Last month, Diabetes Canada launched a nationwide advocacy campaign calling for consistent, safe, and equitable support for all students living with diabetes across the country. I’m proud to lend my voice to this effort alongside other parents and families across Canada — because no parent should ever feel afraid to send their child to school, or feel that their child’s safety depends on their postal code.

Scott MacMillan is a father of three, a devoted partner and a professional engineer. His daughter Rosemary was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at 15 months old. Living in rural New Brunswick, he and his fiancée face the daily challenges of managing a chronic illness while navigating Canada’s health care system and equitable care in the school system.