My Story

As I was trying to decide what to write about in my next post, I realized that I never shared my own diagnosis story. I remember going to a diabetes summer camp in middle school, and as we sat in our cabins on the first night, still trying to learn each others names, we all shared our personal diagnosis stories with each other. I'm not going to lie, it was actually difficult to talk about, which I didn't expect; however, it created a bond between all of us that lasted long after that short week. I think it's important for me to share my story with anyone who happens to be reading my blog. I want you all to feel the connection I felt with my fellow campers that summer night in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Feel free to comment your own personal stories on this post, if any of you would so like!

Well, here it goes...

Looking back, I didn't realize how bad I felt leading up to my diagnosis. I remember thinking how strange it was that my pee was completely clear and that I was peeing at least four times a night. Also, I couldn't believe how much weight I was loosing, while eating so much food! Not that I was complaining about that part though! I honestly thought my mom was just overreacting when she told me that she was taking me to our local fire department to get my blood sugar checked. She had Googled my symptoms and came up with the diagnosis of type one diabetes. When she mentioned this to me, twelve year old Katelin dismissed it so quickly, without a second thought about how that could even be possible. At all. Nope. Wasn't going to happen. Silly mom. I don't have type one diabetes. What? No.

Despite my persistent denials, my mom instructed me to not eat breakfast that morning and proceeded to drive me the the fire station before taking me to school that day. A family friend had offered to check my blood sugar, and immediately regretted that offer when my blood sugar flashed on the screen. Even as he announced the results to my mother and myself, I still didn't acknowledge the fact that I might actually be in some sort of trouble.  Well, that is until I got called down to the office during English class for a doctors appointment I had no idea I had.

It's strange how little I remember about some parts of that day. I can't even remember leaving class or the ride to the doctors. I don't even remember much about being at the doctors besides having to give them a urine sample (which, by the way, I thought was for a pregnancy test at the time). The next thing I remember is walking back into the exam room, seeing my doctor physically upset, telling my mom that she needed to get me to the children's hospital soon. You would think that by this point, I would have finally realized how serious this situation was, but for some reason, I was only upset by the fact that I might have to spend the night in a hospital alone. My theory is that I was either in shock or denial, but I was not upset by the fact that I more than likely had type one diabetes. I wasn't upset in the least bit.

Being a patient in a hospital was terrifying. Absolutely terrifying. However, once again, I was terrified because I was in a hospital getting an IV and being ask a million questions, not because I was being diagnosed with diabetes. After arriving at the ER, I was admitted into the Intensive Care Unit. I didn't know exactly what that meant, all I knew was that it was bad. It was at this point that my dad was finally able to get off work and make it to the hospital. I think this was when I realized how serious this might actually be, when my parents had to leave the room when my mom started filling my dad in about what was going on.

Anyways, I spent a few days in the hospital, while they regulated my blood sugars and taught me how to take care of my diabetes on my own for after I go home. I remember having to learn how to give myself shots. I got to practice multiple times on some soft, gooey, fake skin stuff. Yeah, it was as gross as is sounds. All of the nurses were so excited because later that day at lunch, I gave myself my own shot for the first time. Looking back, I guess I did it because I had both of my parents there, multiple nurses, and my new endocrinologist all there watching to see how I would do. With all that pressure, I had no choice to be strong and do it, no matter how scared I was to shove that tiny sliver of sharp metal into my stomach and insert some sort of clear, smelly, medication into my body.

The true test of my strength came later when I was finally able to go home. My mom made my favorite meal (macaroni and cheese and hot dogs, by the way), but when it came time to test my blood sugar, I couldn't do it. I sat in our kitchen for at least ten minutes with the lancet held to my finger, scared out of my mind and sobbing. My parents actually thought they were going to have to take me back to the hospital because they didn't know how to make me calm down, and they figured if I was acting this irrational about pricking my finger, there would be no way I was going to actually give myself a shot. To be honest, I don't actually remember pulling myself together, but I must have at some point because I've been testing my blood sugar without crying for almost seven years now.

For some reason, this is the last major event I remember about my diagnosis process. In those ten minutes of hysterical crying, I finally realized how very real this situation was. I have type one diabetes. I will always have type one diabetes. However, after I finally came to terms with this huge shock, I was able to pull myself together and do what needed to be done. I think that describes the lives of a lot of type one diabetics. We're all scared of having to live with diabetes, but no matter what is thrown our way, we're strong. Our disease has made us strong, and we're able to handle anything because we're able to live our lives as type one diabetics.