The truth is, when I was diagnosed at the age of 12 years old and for the first 3 to 5 years of living with it, I really schooled myself on T1D. I regularly checked my blood sugar 4 to 6 times daily. I spent time learning and understanding how to adjust my insulin. The support I had from my parents was fantastic. Lets go back…I had experienced a simple ear infection 2 weeks before I was diagnosed. After the ear infection went away, I started to lose energy and weight. My father was real hard on me. I won’t forget, my father had asked me to help him work on his car. I was feeling very fatigue at the time and my dad called me lazy, telling me to pick my feet up and move a little faster son. As he was yelling at me, I remember thinking, what is wrong with me. As a kid, this was so unexplainable to me at the time. We did not grow up with much money, in fact, at the time of my diagnosis, my father had no health insurance. Not to put my father down, he was a hard working man…during one time of my life I remember him working 2 fulltime jobs. Me and my siblings were homeschooled by my loving mother. Anyway, back to that day, my parents started arguing. My mother yelling at my father telling him that your son needs to go to the doctor. My father said to make him an appt. for the following Monday. This was a week away from the day I am speaking of.
The day before going to the Hospital, on Sunday. On Sundays, my parents would take us to church; however, on this particular Sunday, my father stayed home with me. He made me eat, eat, eat, eat, drink, drink, and drink thinking he was doing the right thing. I was an emotional wreck. I couldn’t keep anything down. In fact, the minute I put one spoon full of that stupid trail mix in my mouth, dry cereal, and or one bite of that jelly sandwich that my father was forcing me to eat, I would throw it up immediately. I remember sneaking to the bathroom and throwing the food in the toilet that my father was making me eat. Or when my father told me, son drink this cranberry juice, I don’t want to see you get up until its done or your getting a spanking. Yes, needless to say, my father was very stressed out and I got many spankings that day. A week before this “said” Sunday, I weight in at 110 lbs. On the Monday, I was admitted, I weighed 62 lbs. Anyways, when my mother & siblings returned from church that Sunday, I remember my mother screaming and yelling at my father. He needs to go to the hospital. My mother was my safe haven on that Sunday. Thank you Mom.
Monday morning, I don’t remember much. I had lost my eyesight and the ability to walk. My mother took me to the my doctor’s appointment; however, she didn’t wait for my scheduled appointment at 9 am. Long story short, my BG was in the thousands and I was medevac from one hospital to another. I remember the doctor telling me I have to take shots. Well, as a young kid, I took it like a champ and schooled myself on this.
Now, getting to the cope part…sorry it took so long for me to get here, but after 3 to 5 years I had started getting depressed. Coping with what? Denial. To this day, I don’t check my BG. Now, my average A1C is in the range of 7-8, but for the longest time, I have not told many people that I live with T1D. I would hide it. Checking my BG was taking a chance of other finding out that I had it. As a kid, people would say, are you suppose to be eating that. They would say, my grandfather/grandmother has diabetes and I know you shouldn’t be eating what you are eating right. That got tiring real quick. Anyways, during the first few years of my new burden, I coped with it very well. After those years have past, I started to lose the battle, ignoring what I had and attending to it. Now, I at least, openly acknowledge it, but I’m not in real good control of it. I have a wife and two little princesses. I hope to God that this is not passed on to any of my two little girls or even their kids. My biggest fear is, I won’t make it to their graduation day or marriage. It has been a rough road. I had two strokes at the age of 21…a week before my 21st birthday. It scares me.
Anyways, that’s part of my story in as short as I can get it. I’m glad I found this site, because I have a lot to get off my chest and hope to find someone that is willing to listen and relate.
