A slightly gloomy title and photo! I'm sorry. It's tricky to find a good image which represents something that will likely last for the rest of your life. Although it's not the most cheerful of subjects, I do think that those of us diagnosed with T1D do, sooner or later, come to the dawning realisation that this condition is going to last for the rest of our days. News of new "cures" and break thoroughs do frequently make headlines but right now a diagnosis of Type 1 Diabetes means the same thing as it did in 1984; it's yours forever.
On the day of my diagnosis, I didn't know that. I assumed it was like Measles or a Flu - the illnesses mentioned many times in the run up to this day. This day was more important to me than the blurted out education and the books and leaflets. This day was my 8th birthday and I was ready to go home.
The NHS didn't think I was quite ready to leave their hospitality, just yet. They were right, of course. I knew nothing of Type 1 Diabetes, some might say that I still don't, and what followed was a very slow and boring lived experience education featuring:
- How to inject an orange
- Why I'm not allowed to drink Ribena
- Or Lucozade
- What a hypo feels like by inducing a hypo for me
and my personal favourite
- A leaflet featuring an info-graphic which detailed how to refuse a chocolate from somebody "because I'm a Diabetic".
Oh, how the Language Matters mob would've loved the last one.
This education included some important stuff such as insulin dosage, how to check my BG and urine and carb counts of various foods - which were published in a rather chunky book. The foods were listed in a traffic light system. Green for good, amber for caution, red for no! I've always been a big fan of red.
My birthday came and went and some of the nice nurses were memorably lovely to me. The "poor love, no cake yet" got old very quickly, though. I just wanted to go home because Birthday then Christmas and Star Wars presents!
After 5 days I was granted release, hurray! The staff said their goodbyes and I couldn't wait to leave the building. No more hospital! I'm better, I'm over that Diabeeting thing.
Dinner time on Dec 23rd 1984.
"Paul! Paul?!"
I was upstairs. Birthday toys.
"Paul! You need your BM and injection"
Wait... what? But I'm out of the hospital, I'm fine. I hesitantly made my way down the stairs. Mum was waiting in the living room while dad was in the kitchen, drawing insulin from vials and making the cloudy looking injection for me, I went in. BM done and injection administered, "All done" Dad chirped. I left the kitchen and approached my mum, sitting in the living room.
"Mum, when can I stop having injections?"
"Never" she said softly, after a pause.
"Oh"
I left the room and went back upstairs.
"Dinner in 15 minutes"
I didn't answer, I couldn't answer. I didn't want her to hear me crying through my response. Instead, I sat on my bedroom floor and sobbed, surrounded by my birthday toys. How could this be forever? How can I have two injections every day for the rest of my life? What have I done wrong?
Thank you so much for reading this blog. I do appreciate your visit and your support. As you might know, I LOVE COFFEE! So I've teamed up with a thing called Buy Me A Coffee. If you enjoy my content and appreciate the time it takes to create such things then you can buy me a coffee! AND until Jan 1st 2022 I'll be donating all your kind coffees to various Diabetes charities.
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