Highs, Lows, and Diabetes… Don’t Sugar Coat It--Ashlyn

I get “high” and take drugs a lot more than the average high school kid, but not the way you think… In January of 2008, I experienced something that has changed my life completely. I was eight years of age, in third grade, living a perfect life (a third grader’s idea of one, of course). That was the last time I ever felt what it was like to be just like everybody else. Normal. It was a cold Saturday afternoon and my soccer team had just won our second game. Elated, I asked my mom if I could go home with a teammate and spend the night. She said yes and I excitedly skipped off the the car with my friend and her mother. We stopped at pick up sticks to eat lunch and all I remember was filling up my drink about 20 times, not exaggerating. I figured I was just dehydrated from running around for two hours. We had to go to target before we made our way home as well. When we got there, I needed to use the restroom worse than I ever have had to in my entire life. All that lemonade needed to escape. I was relieved for about five minutes but before I could focus my attention elsewhere, there it came, once again. Cotton mouth, extreme thirst, and a bladder on the verge of exploding. I ran to the restroom once again and on my way out I started to drink water from the water fountain. I’m surprised that poor water fountain didn’t run dry because of how long I stood there slurping it down. I didn’t think anything of it, as I was eight years old and basically clueless to the fact the something could possible be wrong. The problems continued through the evening and I eventually was so annoyed and embarrassed that I asked to go home. It was one in the morning so my mother knew I wasn’t kidding when she received a call from me. She came to pick me up and by this time I was exhausted. I felt as if I had been deprived of water for weeks and hadn’t slept in months. I could hardly walk without losing my breath. I was up all night long, maybe got about and hour of sleep in all and at six in the morning my mom and I made our way to the emergency room. When we got there, there were no parking spots close enough to the front for my tired little body to walk so my mom dropped me off and told me to wait. I was so exhausted and “out of it” that I layed down on the sidewalk in front of Kaiser’s E.R. As soon as we walked in the door, someone brought a wheelchair for me to sit in and asked me to take a urine sample, which my mom had to assist me with. They took me to the exam room immediately and started pricking and poking at me all over. They tested my blood glucose level and unprofessionally, the nurse stepped back in shock and said “oh my gosh.” She showed the doctor something on a meter that she had just used on me. The next thing i knew i was being moved to the hospital building to be admitted. My mom called my dad, who then picked up my sister and made his way to the hospital. I was terrified. I was in a place that was foreign to me with a bunch of people dressed in blue and all smelled like rubber. When my dad walked into the room i began to get teary eyed; I have never seen him look so sad. The doctors came in and pulled out a giant needle. I began to squirm in the bed as they tried to insert an I.V. in my arm, so the doctor asked me if I wanted a stuffed animal. They brought out a soft little brown bear. I sat there with my dad trying to name it when he said “how about sugar?” I smiled, realizing that was the entire reason for me being in the hospital. My dad kissed me on the forehead and I didn’t realize until then that my I.V. was already in. As my family and I learned about type 1 diabetes and how to take care of it, we grew closer than we had ever been to one another. I now take self injected insulin every day, at least five times. I test my own blood sugar at least five times a day and sometimes deal with high blood sugars as well as low ones. Needles have become an everyday part of my life, drugs are normal, and the smell of the doctors office has become well known. It takes a lot of constant work to manage but it’s a lifestyle that I have learned to live and no longer let it get in the way. Diabetes and this small part of my story may not change your opinion of me, but it did change my life.