On this day four years ago, I had finally convinced my mom to take me back to the doctor to see why I was still sick after being treated for mono all summer. On this day four years ago, I saw a doctor whose name I didn’t know, and she turned my world completely upside down.
I can still feel how cold the room was, I can picture the busy streets of Alabaster hustling along outside the window, I can remember how I felt. I can remember a few days before getting yelled at by my dad because he was so astonished to how much weight I had lost in just a matter of days since I had seen him last. I can remember the amount of arguments I got in with my mom because she thought (understandably) I felt so badly because I was out all the time and not getting enough sleep. I can still remember how hungry I felt everyday, the packs of four sandwiches and an abundance of snacks for lunch at school. I can remember what it felt like to try to get through soccer practice everyday. I can remember wanting to get better, but never being able to do so.
I can remember being scared I’d never be able to eat carbs again and asking the doctor if I could eat a baked potato before going to the hospital in fear that it’d be my last. I can remember the doctor coming in and saying she had bad news and didn’t know exactly how to say it. I remember thinking how incredibly lucky my mom and I were that we saw this doctor that we didn’t really know, but had a Type 1 Diabetic son, so she was the first to even think about testing me for it.
For me, it didn’t make sense to be diabetic. To most people, I’m not overweight and I’m not sedentary. But for those who know the difference between type 1 and type 2 diabetes, I wasn’t diagnosed as a child and no one in my family has it. So of course no doctor ever thought to test me because it didn’t make sense.
I can remember calling in work to tell them that I’d be late because I had to go to the doctor. I remember calling them a couple hours later saying I wouldn’t make it in that day because I had to get to the hospital.
I can remember the walk from the car to the hospital, my mom frantic asking me to hurry because she was scared, and myself feeling like if I could just make it a few more steps… I would feel better. If I could just walk a couple more times, I would get help.
I can remember being in ICU, somewhat, this is the time I remember the least because I was passed out most of the time. I do remember waking up at one point, the nurse was about to give me Lantus, the long lasting insulin that’s injected once a day by needle, and asked if I wanted to do it. I remember thinking she was crazy for even asking, I mean who the heck would want to stab themselves with a needle?! I remember her explaining that I might as well do it now because soon I’d have to do it all the time.
I remember finally being admitted into my own room, having training sessions about how to be a good diabetic. I can remember the lady yelling at me because I had counted my carbs to eat the mac n cheese, but it was nasty (hospital food, the normal) so I didn’t want to eat it. I remember my parents spending an immense amount of time trying to explain to the nutritionist that I would need more than 15 carbs a meal to be able to do the type of training I was doing. I remember the social worker going on about all the different situations I’d be in now, legally, academically, emotionally. I remember all of them telling me that I wasn’t any different, that I could do anything I wanted.
And I remember thinking every single time that they had just listed off more things that I couldn’t do, more reasons I wasn’t normal. I wasn’t 6, I was 16, I wasn’t buying their bull crap. I remember my parents being in my room, thinking I was asleep, talking about little things that I couldn’t do like where tight shirts or skirts, I’d have to be so picky about my clothes. I remember sitting in the education room so overwhelmed by how much my life had just changed, going in my room, and crying in my moms arms. I remember a nurse coming in at that point asking if there was anything I wanted, and brought me what I did: Chicken fingers.
I can remember hearing my mom crying, thinking I was asleep, blaming herself for how bad it had gotten, thinking it was her fault, thinking she was a bad mom.
I can remember hating God. I can remember thinking God hated me.
I can remember just wanting to numb the pain.
I can remember wanting to take control of the pain. I can remember not wanting to hurt because of something I couldn’t control, but trying to cause myself pain to feel like I was in charge of my body and the pain I felt.
I can remember being able to finally go home and piling up all the books, supplies, manuals, notes, and everything else from the hospital and just staring at it on the kitchen table.
I can remember eating the exact same thing for breakfast everyday for the next year.
I can remember the hospital being to stingy about my insulin, causing me to continue to produce ketones and have elevated blood sugars that weren’t my fault. I remember missing weeks on end of school the second semester of my Junior year because my blood sugars were so high I couldn’t make it through the day. I remember being in class, staring at the boars as my teacher wrote our notes, not being able to absorb a single thing.
I remember getting sick the first time, having to go to the hospital, and them taking me back immediately. I remember feeling guilty for going before all the other kids in the waiting room.
I can remember all those things I felt those first couple years. The anger, the frustration, the betrayal, the pain, the confusion. I can remember all the things I wish I hadn’t of done because of feeling those ways, and I can remember not wanting to do it anymore. Any of it. All of it.
I can remember so much about four years ago, and the four years leading up to now. I can remember the good, the bad, the things I’ve cherished and held on to, and the things I’ve tried to forget.
But I know that at this point next year, I’ll be able to sit back and remember now. I’ll be able to remember changing the rules at Tuscaloosa Amphitheater thanks to my mom. I’ll be able to remember that I was still able to go on to play soccer at the collegiate level. I’ll be able to remember that I’ve been in two clinical trials thanks to my doctors and thanks to myself for controlling my glucose levels. I’ll be able to remember that at this point this year, my A1C was 6.4 (that’s really good by the way). I’ll be able to look back and remember how far I’ve come in my relationship with God, my mom, my dad, and myself. I’ll be able to remember that I didn’t just make it four years, but I made it four years really well.
Special thanks to my mom, my dad, my step dad, and all the ones that God has graced me with in this life… You’re a wonderful motivation to want to continue to do this life with and do it well.