On Diabetes

In January of 2011, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. My diagnosis came after being very sick for almost two months, just hoping it would go away.
I was living on the third floor at the time, and I could barely make it up the stairs. I kept going to school and work every day, even though I felt terrible, but I had to have water with me at all times because my mouth was so dry that if I wasn't constantly drinking I would gag or get sick.
I can remember lying on the couch on New Year's Eve under a blanket with a trash can next to me, while Fernando and his friends celebrated and welcomed the new year.
If I had to use the restroom, Fernando had to help me walk the 15 feet from the couch to the bathroom. Even with his help, I would be out of breath by the time I reached the door. I even had to shower sitting down because I didn't have the strength to stand up.
In the two weeks prior to being diagnosed, I lost about 20 pounds (of muscle).
Fernando kept telling me I needed to see a doctor, but I kept saying No, I've just got a little bug, it'll go away soon.
But it didn't go away.
One Sunday, I woke up feeling worse than ever. I forced myself to get out of bed and go to work, anyway. (I had never called in before and didn't want to start.)
I could barely hold myself up as I tried to prepare the food at work. My vision blurred as I tried to read the tickets. All of a sudden, I burst into tears. My manager noticed and asked if I was alright. I told him I didn't think so. He took over making the food and told me to go sit in the back. I finally ended up calling my boss and going home. That's when I decided it was time to see a doctor.
The next morning, my mom picked me up and took me to the doctor's office.
Once I was in the room, the nurse tested my blood sugar.
589.
At the time, I had no idea what that meant, but I knew it was serious when the nurse told me I needed to go immediately to the hospital.
My mom drove me to the hospital, where they registered me, gave me a bracelet, and wheeled me to a bed in the Intensive Care Unit.
The next few days are kind of a blur. Nurse after nurse, needles, IV's, hourly blood testing.
For the first few days, I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything. I slept a lot and watched TV and never left the bed.
After 3 days in ICU, I got a real room. They began to give me carb-controlled meals and showed me how to give myself insulin injections. I met with an endocrinologist, a nutritionist, and a diabetes educator.
I had lots of visitors and received lots of cards and flowers. Everyone was so nice. But I kept thinking (and hoping) it was all a dream, and that I would soon wake up and be okay.
It took me a long time to come to terms with the fact that this is not going to go away.
I can manage my blood sugars and eat right and take care of myself, but I will always have diabetes. I will always have to see a doctor ever few months, test my blood sugar regularly, and take insulin injections four times a day.
Since my diagnosis, I have had to make some major changes in my life. I had to cut out regular sodas and sugary and carb-filled snacks (not completely, but for the most part).  I still don't eat as healthy as I should, which is something I really need to work on.
Having diabetes has changed my life, but I am not letting it ruin my life. There are times when it gets tough, when I feel my blood sugar drop and I start sweating and my hands are shaking and Oliver is crying and I feel helpless. Or when I'm at the grocery store and I start getting hot and my vision blurs and I know I need to sit down and take some insulin.
And it's not always east to sneak an injection in my stomach when I'm out eating with friends.
Being someone who has always been terribly afraid of needles, this hasn't been the easiest thing for me. In fact, it's probably the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with. And I still have a long way to go. But it gets easier every day.