Diagnosis Story

      Every diabetic has a personal origin story of what they remember when developing and being diagnosed with diabetes. I have been a camper and councilor at many camps over the past 26 years, and I have heard a vast range of personal stories of struggle and acceptance. Some stories teeter on the fringe of life and death, some have silly notes, and some people were so young, that they cannot remember life without diabetes. I was old enough to know what was going on, and I even remember having a low blood sugar sensation in class weeks before I was diagnosed. That was a lifetime ago.

     My diagnosis story beings on a fateful day in sixth grade English class, when I was called down to the main office. I got the "Ooooo, he's in trouble" looks from my classmates as I left very confused, flipping through my recent memory, trying to recall what I had done. My mother was waiting there to take me to what seemed to be a random doctor appointment, since she hadn't told me about it. Sure I was shocked to be getting out of school early, but I didn't know the impact on the rest of my life.

     The impetus for the appointment occurred a few days earlier, at a friend's birthday party. My best friend had just turned 12, so over that weekend, he had a birthday party. Cake was served, Nintendo was played, and I had my fair share of everything. His mother noticed that I was drinking a lot of water, and using the bathroom more than any kid should. Being a nurse, and knowing my father was also diabetic, she was wise to the symptoms of an undiagnosed case.

     As a precaution, she told my parents. So as we left the school and got into the car, my mom promised me that it would be a quick visit to the doctor. Even though I felt fine, it was just a test to make sure everything was OK she said. Like a check up. Suffice it to say, everything was not OK.

     I was told about the circumstances leading up to the visit, the potential outcomes, and I was given a blood test. Because I was still in a honeymoon phase of partial insulin production (which is why I felt fine), my blood sugar was 328. I had a that wild of a ride eating sugar and snacks today, I would be in a coma. In contrast, I've heard other stories of upper 800's- even 1000's at diagnosis, so looking back, I was lucky that family and friends caught it early.

     I was admitted into the hospital across the street from the pediatric office, and stayed there for five days. Upon admission, my mom called my dad and I vividly remember the conversation with him. When I told him that I had diabetes, I remember he muttered the only curse word I ever heard him say..."shit." He of all people knew what I was going to go though. The only difference was that I had the luxury of knowing about diabetes through seeing his daily routine. All my life I saw him give himself shots at dinner, which appeared easy enough. I was not afraid of needles. He also had moments of crazy actions from low blood sugar, like when we'd play out in the snow. He just had to eat sugar cubes or drink orange juice, and it never seemed that serious. I remembered him using a device that he said would test his blood, and he'd write about it on a little pad. Again, it seemed pretty non-invasive.

1985 Diabetes Instruction Manual

     But now I had it too. While in the hospital, I learned the more about diabetes than anyone should ever have to learn. Although I had held my dad's skin when he gave himself an injection, I now had to practice doing the shots myself. I gave water syringe shots to many a variety of citrus fruits. I had nutrition classes to learn more about carbs and fats. I was introduced to and fine tuned my own insulin regimen. Pumps were still a good five years from being easily accessible, and Humalog / Novolog were still six years away from hitting the market. Regular and NPH were the cocktail ingredients I learned with.

     I also had to keep up with my daily life, as it was important to add diabetes into life, not have it take over. My homework assignments were brought to me by my parents. Some friends sent me their notes to look over what was going on in class. My math class even took a whole period out of their day to hand draw "get well" cards for me. Sure, most of the get well comments missed the point: I was definitely not going to get well- but it was not their fault. I'm sure they had no idea why I was in the hospital. I can only imagine what they were told to do when they made the cards. Being in the children's wing of the hospital, they also had a Nintendo and TV mounted on an AV cart, which was wheeled around to kids old enough to use it. This definitely helped normalize the situation.

     I left right around Superbowl Sunday. And not that I was ever into watching sports all that much, but it the idea was not lost on me that I had just come out the other end of the super bowl of life changes. I had a strong, educated grasp on what I had to do for the rest of my life, and I was not afraid. I jokingly told my mom that I could never trust her again when getting called out of school where what what was promised to be an in and out, non-invasive check up, turned into a week long gauntlet of learning new things that needed to become routine: my life now depended on it.

- more pics to follow.