Too long...
Yesterday was my 20th anniversary of being diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. It made me do a lot of thinking, that is, more than I usually do.
I was four years old when I started drinking gallons of water each day because I was SO THIRSTY. My mom thought I had a bladder infection, so we went to the doctor, who took a urine sample. I went off to kindergarten that day without a care in the world. I was excited because we were going on a field trip to god knows where. But the doctor called my mom, and my mom called the school, and the next thing I knew I was in the hospital.
I remember the bed I was in had bars that would raise up on each side to create a crib. I thought that was silly because I didn't need a crib. I also remember, very clearly, the nurse who put the IV into the back of my hand. She looked at me before we started and said, "Will you be my friend?" Of course I said yes. Then she sent my parents out of the room and started poking me with the IV needle. She couldn't find a vein, and it hurt, so I started crying (ok, screaming for my parents). I didn't get what was going on. She kept saying, "You said you were my friend! You wouldn't cry if you were my friend." Ugh.
Over the next four days, my parents learned all they could about diabetes. There really wasn't much information out about the disease at that time. They practiced giving shots to an orange to get used to the pressure they'd have to use on my skin. They learned about weighing and measuring food as well as what was good and not good for a diabetic to eat. It was a lot to take in.
I remember one evening I was in my hospital room with my dad. I was thinking really hard about all this diabetes stuff, but I still didn't get it. I looked over at him and said, "But I'll be ok when I go home, right?" Because, duh, people go to the hospital when they are sick, and when they go home they're better again. He had to tell me no, and explain it to me. That was the first time I saw my dad cry.
My parents spent a lot of years taking a scale and measuring cups to restaurants to try to figure out how much I could eat and how much insulin I needed to take. I was on a regimented schedule: I took my shots at the same time every day and ate meals at the same time every day. My mom even found a recipe for low-sugar cupcakes (no frosting, of course) that I could eat at friends' birthday parties.
I learned how to give myself shots when I was six. At the time, I was excited to have this independence, but it's always a little shocking when I as an adult see how small six year olds are.
I remember when I was 10, my doctor told me that I would see a cure by the time I graduated from college. That day came and went and still no cure. It's time for one to be found. I believe that a cure is close--now that some states have gotten a green light for stem cell research, my hope is stronger. To me, the more avenues that are open for researchers, the better.
When my parents were researching diabetes in 1985, the information they found said that the typical diabetic lives for about 15-20 years after diagnosis. And here I am, after 20 years, with zero complications and good health. I'm very lucky that I had the support system I did--it did more for me than anything else, I think. And I'm getting weepy now, so off I go. Thanks for reading.
You've all seen the LiveStrong bracelets--I wear one whose profits go to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. If you're interested in wearing one, let me know and I'll send you one. Every hour of every day, someone is diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. The only solution is a cure.
I was four years old when I started drinking gallons of water each day because I was SO THIRSTY. My mom thought I had a bladder infection, so we went to the doctor, who took a urine sample. I went off to kindergarten that day without a care in the world. I was excited because we were going on a field trip to god knows where. But the doctor called my mom, and my mom called the school, and the next thing I knew I was in the hospital.
I remember the bed I was in had bars that would raise up on each side to create a crib. I thought that was silly because I didn't need a crib. I also remember, very clearly, the nurse who put the IV into the back of my hand. She looked at me before we started and said, "Will you be my friend?" Of course I said yes. Then she sent my parents out of the room and started poking me with the IV needle. She couldn't find a vein, and it hurt, so I started crying (ok, screaming for my parents). I didn't get what was going on. She kept saying, "You said you were my friend! You wouldn't cry if you were my friend." Ugh.
Over the next four days, my parents learned all they could about diabetes. There really wasn't much information out about the disease at that time. They practiced giving shots to an orange to get used to the pressure they'd have to use on my skin. They learned about weighing and measuring food as well as what was good and not good for a diabetic to eat. It was a lot to take in.
I remember one evening I was in my hospital room with my dad. I was thinking really hard about all this diabetes stuff, but I still didn't get it. I looked over at him and said, "But I'll be ok when I go home, right?" Because, duh, people go to the hospital when they are sick, and when they go home they're better again. He had to tell me no, and explain it to me. That was the first time I saw my dad cry.
My parents spent a lot of years taking a scale and measuring cups to restaurants to try to figure out how much I could eat and how much insulin I needed to take. I was on a regimented schedule: I took my shots at the same time every day and ate meals at the same time every day. My mom even found a recipe for low-sugar cupcakes (no frosting, of course) that I could eat at friends' birthday parties.
I learned how to give myself shots when I was six. At the time, I was excited to have this independence, but it's always a little shocking when I as an adult see how small six year olds are.
I remember when I was 10, my doctor told me that I would see a cure by the time I graduated from college. That day came and went and still no cure. It's time for one to be found. I believe that a cure is close--now that some states have gotten a green light for stem cell research, my hope is stronger. To me, the more avenues that are open for researchers, the better.
When my parents were researching diabetes in 1985, the information they found said that the typical diabetic lives for about 15-20 years after diagnosis. And here I am, after 20 years, with zero complications and good health. I'm very lucky that I had the support system I did--it did more for me than anything else, I think. And I'm getting weepy now, so off I go. Thanks for reading.
You've all seen the LiveStrong bracelets--I wear one whose profits go to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. If you're interested in wearing one, let me know and I'll send you one. Every hour of every day, someone is diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. The only solution is a cure.