Once Upon a Time...

It was Halloween night, 1994, when my parents received the diagnosis that I had Type I Diabetes.  At three years old, I had no idea of what was happening, or how my life would change.  I remember standing in the hospital shower looking at my thighs covered in Barbie Band-Aids, asking my dad why they continued to give me shots.  I remember sitting in the backseat of my mom’s old car asking for a sip of Mt. Dew because I was thirsty, and my parents telling me no.

Elementary school was a time for discovering that I was much different than my classmates.  At lunchtime, no one's mother came to see their child, yet mine arrived like clockwork every single day.  The worst part about her visit was when my good friend Luke Jones, a chubby, freckled face boy who I always played basketball with at recess started to make a game out of guessing my blood sugars.  He would yell out a number beforehand and after my mother would check, she’d tell everyone what it was.  To my friends it was a game, but for me, it made me feel like crawling in a hole and never coming out.  Why couldn’t I eat my lunch in peace?  Why couldn’t I be like everyone else?  Wishing to be “normal” was an everyday occurrence.

In sixth grade I got an insulin pump.  Finally, I could be more like everyone else!  With the insulin pump I could have the normal lifestyle I so desperately desired.  As thrilled as I was about this, I never predicted that the pump would be so annoying.  Unfortunately, I now wore a sticker on my forehead telling everyone I was a diabetic.  Everyone and their brother could see my pump clipped to me, and apparently this meant everyone was now entitled to ask me questions, even personal ones. 

A couple of years ago in a college class, after giving a presentation on appropriate nutrition for preschoolers, I asked if there were any questions, secretly hoping no one would raise their hand.  Of course, like usual, a couple of hands went up.

A short blonde-headed girl named Ashley asked, “Do you wear that thing in the shower?” 

At first I did not know what to say.  I was so shocked that she asked me such a personal question, that I hesitated.  “Um, actually I unhook it, even though it is waterproof.  I mean, it would kind of get in the way,” I said.

Another hand shot up, this time it was Sandra’s, an overly curious and nosy elderly lady. “How do you sleep at night with that hooked into you?” she asked. 

Good grief.  Now I wished I could chuck my pump in the ocean, just to prevent people from talking to me about it.  Instead, I responded by saying, “I’ve actually gotten used to it over the years, but I do sometimes wake up if it’s wrapped around me and pulling on my infusion set.  Generally when it starts hurting, I wake up.”

I quickly redirected the class by asking if there were any more questions pertaining to my presentation, and thankfully, they shut up.  I gathered my things and bolted for my seat, where I sat shaking, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

As much as I hate to admit, diabetes definitely rules my life.  It continues to put a strain on my social life as well as my relationship with my boyfriend, Joe.  There are many times when a low blood sugar interrupts the good times, and when a high blood sugar makes me physically sick.  Diabetes is not as simple as calculating carbs, taking insulin and checking my blood sugar.  It is forced on my mind at all times, and it is the co-pilot in my life journey that I am never, ever, able to ignore.