Diabetes Musings

A Letter To My 17 Year Old Classmates

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To My 17 Year Old Classmates,

While you were getting ready to buy your first bottle of alcohol, I was getting ready to buy my first blood glucose meter.

While you were nervous about getting past the bouncer, I was nervous about getting past my first insulin injection.

While you were applying for your proof of age card, I was applying for my National Diabetes Services Scheme card.

While you were busy planning your next wild night out, I was busy planning my next diabetes appointment.

While you were surviving from 4 cans of Red Bull a day, I was surviving from 4 insulin injections a day.

While you were in a state of extreme drunkenness, I was in a state of extreme ketoacidosis.

While you were in hospital getting your stomach pumped, I was in hospital getting insulin pumped.

While you were procrastinating on your uni assignments, I was desperately trying to get an extension from my hospital bed.

While you were out there partying, my blood sugar levels were out there having a party of their own.

While you were getting a 2am hangover feed from McDonald’s, I was getting a 2am hypo feed from my jelly bean tin.

While you felt wrecked after partying all night, I felt wrecked from dealing with diabetes all night.

While you were getting through a hangover, I was getting through a hypo.

While you were boasting about how many beers you’d had, I was boasting about how many good blood glucose readings I’d had.

While you were counting the number of jello shots you’d downed, I was counting the number of carbs that I’d downed.

While you had been abusing your body for a while, I was a fairly sensible kid.

While you were the one that deserved this more than me, I was the one that got diabetes instead.

And while I wouldn’t wish diabetes on you or anyone else, it would be nice to see you treat your healthy body with a little more respect.

Your classmate always,

Frank

A Rare Sighting of Diabetes In The Wild

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I have a love hate relationship with books. I used to be the most enthusiastic reader in my school days. I would wake up early in the morning just to squeeze in half an hour of reading before school. I would eagerly participate in the Premier’s Summer Reading Challenge, proudly logging hours and hours of reading. I would have competitions with my friends at school to see who could finish the new Harry Potter book first. I can even remember my year 3 teacher telling me off once because I was finishing the classroom books too quickly! And, I remember eagerly convincing my Mum and Dad to take me to buy the final A Series of Unfortunate Events book on the day it was released.

I’ve well and truly lost my passion for reading over the years, and I kind of feel guilty for it. My Mum and my sister laugh at me everytime they see me pick up a new book, knowing that I’ll set it down after a day and let it gather dust. Sure, I still read about the things that interest me. I collect a lot of reference books on technology, marketing, diabetes and diet. I read a lot of newsletters, magazines, news articles and diabetes blogs. But I guess I’ve lost that passion for reading something from start to finish. I’ve lost that motivation for sticking with something through. And I guess I just don’t see the point of reading books anymore.

I was book hunting on Saturday morning at the massive Save the Children Book Sale at UWA. My arms were filled with bargain books about – take a deep breath – diabetes. As I was standing there, leaning over those book tables crowded with people, a woman asked me where I had found the diabetes books I was holding. I pointed her over to the correct table, and she went on her way.

Normally, I would have ended it there. But that day, I felt hesitant. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to follow her. I wasn’t even sure if she wanted to talk to me. But then again, she already had spoken to me. I wanted to help her. I wanted to make sure that she didn’t pick up the books that I had found too medical or too technical to read. And so, I did the craziest thing and decided to chase after this rare sighting of diabetes in the wild.

As we stood there, talking books, we eventually went on to talk about our connections to diabetes. Turns out we both attended the same diabetes clinic, we both knew the same endocrinologist and we had both been diagnosed in the last couple of years. Pretty cool! I was a type 1, while she was a LADA (Latent Autoimmune Diabetes of Adults), or slow onset type 1 diabetic. I was a typical young adult, while she was an older and less common example of type 1 diabetes. She also volunteered at the new Telethon Type 1 Diabetes Family Centre here in Perth, which was quite fascinating to hear about.

After having that conversation, I finally realised that what I am reading at the moment is a big deal. What I am reading does count for something, even if it’s not done from the first to the last page of a book. It doesn’t matter if I’m only reading a chapter out of a book, an article from a magazine or a post off of a blog. What counts is that I have an interest, even if it’s not an interest by choice. An interest that brought two complete strangers together on Saturday. An interest that offered me 5 minutes of great, and hopefully useful conversation. A conversation that helped me to feel a little more grounded and a little further away from the diabetes wild that I live in.

And that’s reason enough for me to keep reading.

If you’re in Perth and looking for some bargain books, the Save The Children Book Sale is on at UWA until Wednesday.

If My Diabetes Went Away Tomorrow

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My alarm went off at 6am, as it did every morning. I fought the urge to close my eyes once again, and switched on the lamp on my bedside table. My blood glucose meter was still sitting there, in the same place I have kept it for the last five years. I knew it was probably time to find a home for it somewhere, but I still hadn’t convinced myself that I didn’t need it. I still ripped open a test strip, from the same perfect angle that I’d mastered a long time ago. I still wouldn’t believe anything until my meter confirmed it. I stuck the strip in, pricked my finger, and let the blood flow to the test strip. 4.2.

I made my bed, got dressed and walked into the dining room. “Good morning Frankie,” Dad said to me, very enthusiastically for this time of morning. I walked over to the coffee machine and placed my half filled glass of hot milk under the nozzle. I noticed the sugar bowl sitting next to the machine as I stood there watching the dripping coffee infuse with the milk in my glass. I was tempted to spoon some into my glass. I knew I could, if I wanted to. But somehow I just couldn’t stop thinking about how hard it had been to cut out my sugar over the years. And how proud I was of myself for it.

There were leftover pancakes in the fridge that my sister had made yesterday. I was so tempted to grab the plate, heat them up in the microwave and drown them in maple syrup. But I couldn’t rid myself of the thought of my blood sugar levels spiking if I did. I closed the fridge, instead opting for my usual slice of Burgen toast and hard boiled egg.

It was 6.40am, and time to head off to work in the dark. I still carried my satchel with me to work every day, even though I knew that everything I needed would now fit into my pockets. But somehow, I just couldn’t convince myself that I didn’t need to carry my meter, insulin pen and jellybeans around anymore.

There was morning tea on the table at work. Iced donuts, Tim Tams, Choc Chip Cookies, Cupcakes, Potato Chips and Lollies. I’ve never been able to resist morning tea, and grabbed one of everything to eat. By the time it was over, I was feeling full. Guilty. And unhealthy. I went back out to work, but the thought of not having had any insulin yet was driving me insane. I couldn’t function properly. I was convinced my blood sugar levels must have skyrocketed by now. 18? 25? Ketones? An hour had passed, before it got to the point where I couldn’t sit there for a minute longer. I hurried off as fast as I could to the locker room. I seized my meter, tore open a test strip, furiously pricked my finger and began frantically squeezing for blood. After all that crap I’d eaten, I couldn’t believe the number 8.2 staring back at me.

I was back home and done with work for the day. And it occurred to me that I could go back to having junk food in the afternoons if I wanted to, just like I did back when I was in high school. I walked over to the cupboard, and stared longingly at the bag of Red Rock Deli Honey Soy Chicken potato chips in there. My favourite, none the less. I could eat the whole packet, if I felt like it. But I couldn’t rid myself of the thought of spoiling my appetite for dinner. I couldn’t stop thinking about my blood sugar levels spiking at bedtime because of all the fat in them. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how unhealthy I would feel for it afterwards. I closed the cupboard doors, and opted for my usual cuppa instead.

I could go back to my old habits now, if I really wanted to. I could go back to eating white bread. I could go back to eating junk food after school. And I could go back to eating as much as I liked at dinner time. But knowing what I know now, I couldn’t go back to that old life. Somehow, I’m proud of the diet that I’ve adopted because of diabetes. Somehow, I’m proud of the food habits that I’ve overcome because of diabetes. And somehow, I still won’t be able to rid myself from thinking about what the food I eat will do to my blood sugar levels.

Don’t get me wrong, I do look forward to being able to eat anything and everything that I want on occasion. But if I were to go back to my old life today, it would feel like living with diabetes for all those years was for nothing.

Thanks to Banting and Best, I Have a Chance

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If it was the year 1921 today, I wouldn’t be able to get up out of bed this morning. I wouldn’t be able to fight the urge to shut my eyes again. I wouldn’t be able to eat breakfast and drink my coffee. I wouldn’t be able to drive to work. I wouldn’t be able to talk, smile and laugh as I go about my day. I wouldn’t be able to buy that Sweet Treat Muffin and Hot Chocolate for lunch. I wouldn’t be able to crash on the couch at the end of the day with a good TV show. I wouldn’t be able to write this blog post. In fact this blog wouldn’t even exist, because I would have been long gone after my diagnosis with type 1 diabetes five years ago (and because, well, computers and the internet weren’t around back then either, but you get my drift…)

But thanks to Dr Frederick Banting and his assistant Charles Best, I have a chance. A very good chance, in fact, of a living a long and healthy life with diabetes. During this week back in 1921 (July 27, to be exact) and against all odds, Banting and Best first isolated insulin to treat type 1 diabetes.

Dr Banting didn’t let his lack of diabetes knowledge stop him from delivering a lecture on the topic. He didn’t stop himself from developing an interest in diabetes and fuelling his theories. He didn’t let his status as an unknown surgeon stop him from convincing the University of Toronto to give him a small laboratory to put his theories to the test.

Against all odds, Dr Banting managed to achieve the impossible. And if he was able to find a treatment for a disease that was a death sentence, then I think I am capable of achieving just about anything I put my mind to.

I feel like I’ve been spending a lot of time whinging about my diabetes on this blog at the moment. About all the ups and downs and highs and lows and crazy emotions inbetween. But when I think about what the alternative would have been back in 1921, I don’t think I have anything to be complaining about.

When I was lying in the emergency room five years ago, fazed by ketoacidosis, there were two phrases that I can remember the doctor telling my worried parents. The first was diabetes. And the second was something along the lines of me being able to live a normal life. And thanks to Banting and Best, that’s exactly what I’m able to do with type 1 diabetes each and every day.

There are some good reads about Banting and Best here and here.

Diabetes and Me

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Happy Diabetes Week to all of my d-friends in the UK! This year’s theme is “Diabetes and Me,” and asks us to think about how we manage our condition and live life to the full.

The one single thing that helps me to live life to the full every day is attitude. While diabetes has caused A LOT of frustration over the years, I don’t think I’ve ever spent my time wishing diabetes away. As angry as I might be, I’ve never cursed or blamed that setback on diabetes. I don’t walk around with a chip on my shoulder or attaching any stigma to myself. Diabetes is a reality that’s not going away anytime soon. Its something I’ve accepted.

I suppose I credit this to being hospitalised upon diagnosis (click here to read my diagnosis story). I had all sorts of horrible symptoms – lethargy, weight loss, urination, loss of saliva, excessive thirst, loss of appetite and panting. I honestly thought I might die. So, by the time I was diagnosed with diabetes in hospital I didn’t really care that much. I was just so relieved that all those symptoms had gone away. I had saliva and I could eat again!

In fact, most days I never really think of myself as a person who has diabetes. When I’m testing myself or injecting insulin, I never think too much about what I’m doing or why I have to do it. Its sort of become something that I subconsciously have to do and deal with.

Diabetes is one of the craziest, ever changing, emotional rollercoaster of experiences in my life. Its something that I fit into my life, and not the other way around.

I’ve graduated from uni.

I’ve cut down Christmas trees.

I’ve celebrated birthdays and enjoyed more than my fair share of cake.

And then there’s times where I’m still a child at heart (worth it!).

And when I remind myself that I have experienced all of these things with type 1 diabetes, it makes the victory even sweeter.

Diabetes Week UK runs from June 14 to June 20, 2015. Find out more about the event on the Diabetes UK website, and get involved by using the hashtag #DiabetesAndMe on social media.