How A Diagnosis Transformed My Life
Where do I start?
It was June 27, 2009, when my life changed forever.
Let me explain.
I remember being at my babysitter’s house, excited to go swimming. I slowly stepped into the pool and began floating on my back with the floaties that go around your arms. Yes, you read that right. I was 9 years old and still couldn’t swim. After a while, I started to get thirsty. So I kept yelling at my babysitter, but she didn’t really seem to care. I finally left the pool and walked up to her, demanding water. And she got me something to drink, but after multiple glass fulls, I couldn’t quench my thirst. I started panicking. Something didn’t feel right! I told her I couldn’t breathe anymore, so she called my mom and took me home right away.
I was with my mother for a while, just lying on the couch while she was watching TV. I was drained and kept dosing off throughout the day. My older sister came over to check on me and asked me if going to her house would cheer me up. My mom was hesitant to let me go since I was “sick,” but I reassured her that if I felt worse I would come home. After all, I wanted to cheer up after not being able to swim anymore. I went to my sister’s house, and we were watching TV up until I got a horrible thirst once again. I drank multiple glasses of water and everything else you can think of like juice, soda, and even milk, which I hated. I just needed something to make me feel better.
As you know, drinking makes you feel the urge to use the bathroom, so I had nearly 10 trips to the toilet before my sister knew something was completely off about me. On my last flight from the bathroom, I told her I couldn’t breathe. This was the worst feeling for me because I felt like I was suffocating even though she was trying to calm me down. She called a ride and took me back to my mom’s as it got to be too much for both of us to handle alone.
When we arrived at my mom’s, I headed straight for the toilet as the pain kept hurting me. But this time it was worse! I began feeling a sense of panic; I found it harder and harder to inhale air. That made me panic even more. My mother rushed into the bathroom to see why I was making a fuss. She told me we were going to the hospital. I was TERRIFIED. I disliked doctors. I dreaded needles, and hospitals creep me out. I ran down the hallway to try to stop her, but I collapsed before I reached her. From this point on, everything was blurry.
I remember feeling the arms on my back that carried me downstairs and to the car. My sister’s ex-boyfriend drove us. My babysitter was in the back seat to my left and on the right, my sister. I kept falling asleep on their shoulders. I felt like a bobblehead because my head fell onto my sister’s shoulder and then my babysitters, and they would flench each time to wake me up. As soon as we arrived at the hospital, I heard a lot of chaos, but I didn’t remember seeing anyone either. Suddenly, I was being transferred from that hospital to a pediatric specialty hospital 2 hours away. I heard the doctor say something about diabetes, but I was so out of it I could barely understand. I knew about my transfer because they couldn’t treat my condition at their hospital. In 9-year-old terms, I was “too sick”. The helicopter wasn’t available that day due to a weather delay or something of that nature, maybe something to do with nature.
I was told I would be going in an ambulance and the doctor told my grandmother not to try and follow because we’d be driving way too fast. Again, I was sick. I heard the sirens, but I was too tired to care. My mom finally said what I wanted to hear.. “You can sleep now.” That was the best thing that happened to me on the drive to the second hospital.
Everything else felt like a movie. I remember being pushed on a hospital cot and hearing all these voices around me, but only seeing bright lights. Then once again, I don’t recall any details. When I finally woke up, my mom said that I had slept for 2 days straight. (No wonder I had a sense of disorientation; not knowing where I was, what was happening, or why I had 2 IV’s, EKG stickers, and multiple monitors hooked up to me). I guess I wasn’t used to waking up that way. My mother finally explained to me that I had Type I Diabetes, and I needed to change most of my daily living habits.
After the doctors stabilized me, it was time for a crash course in diabetes management. This course consisted of injecting a needle into a bar of soap before starting. Like practice. I always thought this was weird, so I asked the doctor if I could just give myself the shot. And thus began my journey of multiple daily injections. I watched a woman draw pictures to explain my illness to me. She showered me with gifts, including a diabetic stuffed bear that shows you where to take your shots. I still have him, his name is Rufus. If you know a type I diabetic, you may know Rufus. I remember my grandma coming to visit on my discharge day and she wanted me to go play with other kids in the playroom; I refused. She tried to take me on a walk; I declined. I was so angry at the world and I was sad. I was confused about all of it but once I got home, it began to get better, slowly, day by day.
Being told to take 4 shots a day, with monitors all over you, and being in the pediatric intensive care unit for 5 days take its toll on a little 9-year-old girl. But somehow, none of this bothered me. I just wanted to be left alone to sleep because my body was in overdrive and I was exhausted. The one moment I will never forget was the day I heard my doctor tell my mother something. I was going in and out of consciousness, but I was able to make out the words this time. He said to my mother that if she waited one more day, everything would have been different. To this day, she doesn’t know what I heard. I choose to keep it this way because I know how that would make her feel.
However, it was too late. She was already crying when she found out.
I am sharing this with you to be open and show you that nearly 11 years later, some things still get to you. And it’s okay to break down about your hardships. Always remember to get back up when you fall and shrug the dust off your shoulders. A little 9-year old that was deathly afraid of needles is now a 19-year-old who takes them without flinching. It does get more comfortable, take it from my experience.
