D-Blog Day

It's D-Blog day according to the D.O.C., and since I'm inspired to blog by all of those folks, it seems only appropriate to post about my own D-day, the day I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

After several months of losing energy and losing weight (so dramatically that my mom was convinced I was bulimic. And very good at it.), I had one of those, "there's something terribly wrong here" moments. Shopping with my mother at a local department store, I visited the bathroom twice in the short span we were there. Then, to my horror, I was trying on a dress when the urge to pee returned. I couldn't get out of the dressing room fast enough. Literally. 19 years later I still pity the person who used that dressing room after me.

Since 18 year olds don't normally pee their pants in public, my mom talked to the nurse she worked with, who helped her put it all together, and made me an appointment for the next day. "Don't let her have anything sweet," she told my dad, "It might be diabetes."

I thought it would be a good idea to look diabetes up in a home health reference while we waited to get in to see the doc. As ideas go, that one was not so great. I remember reading about the ravages of diabetes, something about a 30 year life span after diagnosis, and a comment about women with diabetes being discouraged from having children. Cheerful news.

Off to the pediatrician the next day. Peed in a cup which showed large ketones and lots of glucose. Off to the hospital for bloodwork. Waited several hours to find out if I needed to be admitted. Sat in the hospital waiting area with my dad, speculating about whether I would need shots or pills. Ped called the waiting area, told us to go to a nearby pharmacy to pick up prescriptions and return to her office.

The entire drive to the pharmacy I kept thinking - and saying - "as long as it's not shots, I'll be fine". I can't imagine what it must have been like for my dad to have to return to me, waiting in the car, carrying a box of syringes and some vials of insulin.

Back to the ped's office for a quick pep talk and a shot of insulin to get me through the night. Since my high school graduation was only 3 days away, and since my bloodwork was mostly normal (aside from that +500 blood sugar), the docs decided to keep me out of the hospital and set up 2 days of education in the endo's office, with "Rita the teaching nurse".

It was a blur, of course, but one moment with Rita stands out. After showing me how to use my new Accu-chek meter (I was lucky enough to be diagnosed after home meters became widely available), I asked her, "How long do I have to do *that* for?". You can imagine her response.

June 16, 1986. 6/6/86. Yes, I blame the devil.

Things have been pretty good since then, thanks for askin'. I'm still here, struggling like any other PWD, but for the most part enjoying a charmed life. Every day I look for ways to stay on track with the monotonous and unpredictable routine that is life with diabetes. We'll see if and how writing about it on a regular basis helps.