Did you know 8 is my lucky number? Well, I like to think it is. It was my number for soccer almost my whole life, it’s in most of my passwords (shhh), and I gravitate towards it. Even in weird things like my alarms, setting timers, etc.
8 years ago my I thought I was watching my whole world crumble as I sat in the doctor’s office hearing that I was being diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.
8 years ago, I knew what the phrase “near death” felt like.
8 years ago I figured out why I had been so sick since I was a baby.
8 years ago I learned that I have type 1 diabetes.
The first couple of years after my diagnosis, I had a lot of questions. If you know me, I hope that made you laugh because I always have LOTS of questions. But those first couple of years, I tried to make chaos orderly, I tried to make sense of the unexplainable. I attempted to control the pain that was suppressing me by cutting my own skin. I sat in the empty sanctuary of my church (I like to think you can’t trespass church), and I asked God why He hated me, I begged Him to tell me so I could fix myself. I asked a lot of hard questions. It was in this time that I first realized that the Christianity I was surrounded by in my high school, at my work, wasn’t the only way to be a Christian. I could believe both in Jesus and in Science, in the Creation story as well as Evolution.
I eventually got to a stage where I was angry, but not really in a rebellious way. I was angry that everything was harder. That there was such a lack of information and understanding that I had to explain myself and justify myself on the soccer field in college, that I was expected to warn my employers and professors and have all these things lined up in case something happened and I had to show I wasn’t lying. I was angry when things did go wrong and I had to sit out, I had to put in extra work to balance my blood sugars then do the normal school work, I had to wake up in the middle of the night to fix lows from evening practices.
So I looked for answers. And found none. I found a lot of answers about type 2 diabetes, but very few for type 1. So I figured it out for myself. I did my own research and have continued that since at Wake Forest where I know I will get to publish my results and if I push it into organizations, can be a great education tool for people with type 1. I know it can make a life-changing difference and will hopefully stimulate more research.
It fired up in me an anger about how our healthcare system is run… or the lack of how our healthcare system is run depending on how you want to look at it. I’ve been questioned numerous times if I’m really wanting to do my PhD where I will do research with Type 1, and while that would be amazing, I believe with my whole heart, I can continue that, I can continue to learn how to do better research for type 1, and I believe there will be a cure in my lifetime so I’m not going to bet my career on something I am thinking will be gone. However, I can take the tools I’ve learned from my type 1 research and what I learn in my PhD program and apply it to groups of people who don’t necessarily have a particular disease, but they’re a particular race, or a particular SES, or a particular gender. I can help minorities across the world.
But the thing that I think I’m still the most angry about? As a patient getting diagnosed, I can’t count how many times the educator person told me and my family that I could live a normal life. But not like, “Oh yeah, for sure she’s still a 16 year old girl, whatever, cool,” but said it so often and in a way that it was hard to believe. Like you’re only trying to emphasize this so much because you know when I walk out of these doors, I’ll be different. Like she didn’t really believe I could live a normal life.
The honest truth, my life is normal in the sense that normalcy is actually non-existent. Have I had challenges because of type 1 diabetes? Too many. Have I been looked at like an absolute freak? For sure. Have people judged me? Daily. And those things are wrong.
BUT I’ve also had extraordinary opportunity.
I’ve learned incredible strength.
I’ve built an amazing relationship with Jesus.
I’ve made connections that hold my heart.
I wouldn’t trade these 8 years for any amount of years without type 1 diabetes (but yeah please keep working on a cure).
After I got diagnosed, I went on to play college soccer, got loved and accepted by amazing friends, changed a policy at an event place, got to get my Master’s at Wake Forest, took over and fought for policy change for insulin at BCBS, got to work and write for an NIH grant with Wake Forest, Tufts, and Harvard, and am now getting my PhD at the top program in the country. It was hell at times, but SO. WORTH. IT.
So when you hear the educator person tell you that you can live a normal life? Tell them you can live an extraordinary life.
To my friends, my words will never amount to how much I truly love you. I’ve been incredibly blessed with all of you who hear me, see me, and try to learn.
To my brother, 8 years ago, I’m pretty sure you hated me for a few days because you had to move by yourself, but you never showed me anything but love and grace. Thank you for being my rock and my best friend.
To Bill, you walked into a family and just a couple months later, everything changed. You chose to go to all of the class. You chose to recognize the pain and the hurt. You chose to give me shots. You chose to support my research so much that you read my thesis! Most of all, you’ve chosen to be there for me and love me like your own. To be chosen to be loved is the best gift you could ever give me. I love you.
To my dad, there hasn’t been a phone call you haven’t answered in the middle of the night. When there’s something I just have to say or get out, you listen. When I need to just listen, you talk. When life doesn’t make sense, you tell me it shouldn’t, and then you help me get on a path to figure out what I can on my own. I love you with my whole heart.
To my mom, I am a damn good diabetic, but I am solely because of you. You will never get enough recognition for what you done, what you’ve sacrificed, what you’ve dedicated for me. To this day, you still treat my diabetes like a part-time job and I am amazed at your dedication to me living my best and healthiest life. I will never be able to thank you enough. I love you to the moon and back.
Lucky number 8,
Cheers