Allow me to reassure you straight away. This blog will not be entirely related to Hobnob biscuits. Perhaps that's more a disappointment rather than reassurance to some of you! Don't run away if you're here for Hobnobs tales. They do get a mention, I promise.
It's #EatingDisordersAwarenessWeek according to Twitter. I think that I've known of some eating disorders for a good part of my life. Anorexia Nervosa was the term frequently heard when I was younger. It seemed entirely related to young women and girls and I rarely gave it a passing thought. Some time later and after embracing my Type 1 Diabetes, taking to social media to learn and share, the term Diabulimia began to get mentioned a lot. The BBC labelled it "The World's Most Dangerous Eating Disorder" in this article. I saw the video, relating to that piece, on BBC 3 after being sent the link by my lovely friend, Megan. Powerful stuff. I felt very sympathetic towards the women in the story but fortunately, I thought, it wasn't a problem for me.
Now, you're expecting a grand "confession" about how I've been battling an eating disorder. That's not happening. I've taken some time to read the tweets tagged to the above hashtag and it seems apparent that eating disorders are incredibly complex, brutal and, in many cases, very individualised in that the nuances appear to differ from person to person. That opened my eyes to the subject. It opened my eyes to the fact that although it is mostly women who are contributing and sharing, it's not only women. Some men also popped their heads above the parapet.
We men are not great at talking about health. I try but there are many things that I haven't spoken about openly and may never do so. I have my reasons but mostly it's because I find diabetes to be a far more interesting conversation. A condition which is forever changing in many respects and something I'm often learning something new about. Eating Disorders Awareness Week taught me something new and it relates to my diabetes. Boy! does it relate to my diabetes! Let's start at the beginning...
...Following my diagnosis of T1D in late 1984, there were Christmas and New Years Day school holidays. That was probably a good thing for me. That little break from school gave me and my parents the chance to get a grip of my diabetes before sending me back to the classroom. A week into January and it's time to fire up the pencil case and get back to it. Me? I was back into school 20 minutes before anybody else with both parents. Parents armed with a bottle of Ribena (remember when that was great for hypos?) a bag of blood glucose checking equipment, a letter explaining what Type 1 Diabetes was and probably a truckload of anxiety about leaving their recently diagnosed 8 year old child at school, to manage his diabetes on his own.
We had a chat, my parents left and the other children streamed into the classroom. I don't remember any of my friends questioning why I wasn't at school before Christmas. They were unaware of me lying in a hospital bed, fighting and screaming at nurses who were trying to inject me with insulin while they, my friends, were singing carols at the school assembly.
In 1985, insulin therapy was very much different than it is today. No pumps, no basal/bolus, no CGM and Loops were honey nut and you ate them for breakfast. You got two types of insulin which you mixed together after drawing it up into a syringe. That was injected twice per day, in my case, and I ate carbs to cover the insulin. If I exercised, I ate more carbs. That was it. Needless to say, it was a hypo-fest at many stages. Because of the need to eat carbs throughout the day there was a strict eating schedule to stick to. It looked something like this:
- Wake up, finger prick and morning injection
- 7.30am, breakfast
- 10am, mid-morning snack
- Noon, lunch
- 2pm, mid-afternoon snack
-5pm, finger prick and evening injection
- Soon after 5pm, dinner
9pm, supper
Yes, that's right. I was eating a lot! Sometimes it worked out, sometimes I was waking up at 3am with a BG of 3.2mmol. I know, nothing much has changed in that respect.
There are two times in that schedule which are important. 10am and 2pm. Those are not normal eating times for school children and on Day 1, back in class, didn't I know it. The chattering and excited children around me were the first ones to notice.
"Paul, what are you doing?"
"You're not allowed to eat in class!"
"Can I have some?"
and then "Mrs Parsons! Paul is eating!" exclaimed the loudest voice in the classroom. Every eye was on me. 30+ children staring at me and my two tangerines (It was after Christmas, it was a thing to eat tangerines at that time), Mrs Parsons settled everybody down. I do distinctly remember how hard it is to eat tangerines when you're trying to not cry.
Yes, yes, Diabetic Dad. All very bottom lip wobbly, but how does that relate to eating disorders?
For the next few days, I hated school. I hated 10am and 2pm because of the comments from other children. They weren't being mean or bullying me, they were asking questions, making comments and each time it was chipping away at my confidence and making me feel different. Eventually, probably after a week, I stopped eating my mid-morning and mid-afternoon snack. It was noticed by some children. They'd already become used to me eating at those times. When questioned, I said that "I don't need to do that any more. It's gone away".
By now, the tangerines had run out and I was sent to school with two little foil-wrapped parcels of biscuits. Hobnobs! They stayed in my coat pocket all day and I put them in one of the school bins before leaving at 3pm. Until, eventually, the school removed the bin that I was dumping my food into! I was devastated. I took the Hobnobs home and sneakily put them into the bin at home. It was noticed and I got a full on rollocking about not eating my snacks and how I could hypo and finish up in hospital.
So, the bin at school was gone, the bin at home was too heavily policed. What to do!? I can't bloody eat them! That would be ridiculous. I'd convinced my friends that I don't need to do that now. I was stuck but determined to look "normal" and so my next bright idea was to hide them in my school desk. School desks in 1985 looked like this:
