Just the Beginning (Part 2)

Hello everybody! I am truly grateful for everyone’s comments and feedback. I’m extremely lucky to be surrounded by so much support! I would like to continue from where I ended my last post.

So far, all I know is that I have been diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes (T1D). Whenever I hear the word, “diagnosed,” I automatically think of something terrible, such as cancer. You never think you’re going to be “diagnosed” with something. I had to text and call friends and family the days after explaining to them what has happened. It was beyond weird to talk about it because it hadn’t sunken in yet. I think I was still in disbelief.

In the hospital, the nurses took care of everything. They gave me my insulin and checked my number over and over. The night we got into the hospital room, we were assigned a nurse. She started to talk and explain to us what T1D is. She gave my mom a pretty thick book with a picture of Pink Panther on the cover titled, “A First Book for Understanding Diabetes,” that had everything we needed to know in it. At this point, it was already past midnight and all I wanted to do was go to bed, but she kept talking. I didn’t comprehend anything she was saying. She was talking so fast and I was just so tired. My mom was also exhausted and overwhelmed. The nurse finally left and I was able to fall asleep, but just a couple of hours later I woke up to a finger prick and the same nurse standing over me. I was like, “Ow!” Why would she do that while I’m sleeping? I would figure that out quite soon. The next morning, I was bombarded. I’m not kidding. It was one doctor after the next. I don’t remember exactly in what order everything happened, but I do remember most of the people I had to meet. My pediatrician came in and he checked my heart with his stethoscope while talking to me about the events of the day before. I can’t tell you how many times someone pulled out their cold stethoscope and laid it on my chest while asking me questions. A social worker came in, another social worker came in, a nutritionist, and I met my endocrinologist. I was so overwhelmed and still so tired. I was learning so much in such little time. The social worker asked me if I had good friends, a supportive family, a good home life, etc. I hated those kinds of questions and I really don’t know why. The nutritionist talked about what I could eat, what I should stay away from, and how different foods and drinks would affect my blood sugar. The endocrinologist came in explaining the disease as a whole and trying to get me to understand certain key words and some vocabulary. It was like a full year class stuffed into about 4 days and I was just annoyed that I was there in the middle of July while my friends were at the beach or by the pool enjoying their summer. I didn’t really know what all of this would entail yet and I still didn’t fully understand the disease. Honestly, I’m still learning about T1D everyday. The doctors and nurses had to explain the same things over and over again. I never fully comprehended everything the first time they said it. The doctor came in one of the days and talked about a device that would be inserted into my body that would read my numbers for me. That means I wouldn’t have to prick my finger as often. I was totally up for this because I hated pricking my finger. A nurse came in and inserted the sensor into my stomach. I was scared of how it would feel when the nurse put the needle inside my body, but she assured me it wouldn’t hurt too badly. Just to make this clear, it hurt, and it still hurts every time I put a new one on. Once it was on, it was a pretty uncomfortable feeling. All of a sudden something was attached to me. It was hard to sleep with it on and getting up to go to the bathroom was pretty uncomfortable, too. I remember looking in the mirror and seeing the sensor on my stomach and realizing that this was real. It was the first time it really hit me. I had diabetes.

I can’t explain how much I learned. T1D is so much more complicated than I could ever imagine and I soon had another level of respect for my cousin. I never knew what he was going through all these years. One of the first days I was in the hospital, he and my aunt came to visit me. As soon as they walked in, I started to cry. It was the first time I cried this whole time. It was building up inside and when I saw them walk through the door I lost it.

That night, they gave me this hospital menu and next to each of the options there was the carb count. I had to learn all about carbohydrates and how to account for them according to what I was eating. This was the hardest thing in the beginning. I had no idea what had carbs and what didn’t. I never paid attention to what I was eating before. I had to learn how much insulin to give myself according to how many carbs I was going to eat. I had a quick learning experience right away. I ordered spaghetti and meatballs (first mistake: never order pasta from a hospital, it tends to taste more like rubber than your grandmother’s) and I gave insulin for the whole meal (second mistake). I got the carb count from the menu, so there wasn’t really much thinking involved. I remember these sheets they gave us that had the steps to make the calculations. These sheets were so incredibly helpful and I used them for months. My dad was the first one in the family to give me a shot. Before that, the nurses were taking care of it, but then they told us we couldn’t leave if nobody could give me an injection. (Unfortunately, the nurses don’t come home with you.) My mom would leave the room because she couldn’t watch and I even closed my eyes the first time my dad gave me a shot. Before that, I was just getting insulin through an IV or the nurses were giving the shots. I thought it would hurt, but it didn’t. My mom, in order to be discharged, had to be able to give me a shot, too. She struggled with it, to say the least. The first time she gave me an injection, it was in my leg and she stabbed me so hard, I was shocked. She went full force with this needle into my thigh and I winced because I wasn’t expecting for her to be so rough. I laughed and she looked at me with such fear because she thought she hurt me, but I knew she was only trying to inflict the least amount of pain as she possibly could. It’s safe to say she didn’t give me many more shots after that.

I started to eat the pasta and was done three bites into it. The nurse came in to check on me and she said I had to finish. I tried so hard to eat, but it wasn’t going to happen. She came back in and told me that if I didn’t finish it, my blood sugar would eventually go too low because of the amount of insulin I gave. I then had to drink a Gatorade and eat some graham crackers to compensate for my unfinished meal. I realized that I had to only give insulin for what I was sure I was going to eat. This was extremely difficult because I never knew if I was going to eat the whole plate of pasta or if I was going to be full halfway through.

Afterwards, it was really hard not to wonder, why me? Why do I have to go through this? There would be many moments to come where I would struggle with this question, but I believe God has a plan for everyone. I believe God gave me the strength and ability to handle this. I am so thankful for everyone in my life who have made me stronger and who have cheered me on. In my next post I am going to explain T1D further, the symptoms and signs, and continue with my experiences during and after my stay in the hospital. Thank you all for reading!