The nurse came in. “The tests are back. She’s a type one diabetic.”
Those words changed my routine from get up, eat breakfast, get dressed, go to school to get up, prick my finger, put the blood on a test strip in a meter, read the number, eat breakfast, deliver insulin to myself, get dressed, go to school.
T1D means that my body, specifically my pancreas, doesn’t produce insulin, a hormone needed to turn sugar into energy. This means that insulin had to be delivered another way, either by a shot or by and insulin pump. I’m one of the lucky ones: my T1D was caught early, and my family could afford to buy me an insulin pump. Even with the pump, I have to put an attachment site in my stomach or rear.
Diabetes, if not well-managed, can cause blindness, liver damage, and kidney failure. I may never be able to have children because of it. Make no mistake-insulin is not a cure. It’s a treatment. I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me. I just want people to understand. There are positives, I suppose: I’m awesome at adding in my head, because I practice everyday with counting carbs-carbohydrates. My friends have made an adding game with my lunch carbs. But because of T1D, I have to be constantly thinking about my blood sugar levels, and thinking about how I feel. I have to have some kind of sugar everywhere I go in case of emergency, and alot of people treat me like I’m going to pass out and die any second.
So here’s to all the diabetics out there: We cannot, will not, let T1D stop us.
Nope. Never. Not happening.