Taking Off My Medical ID Bracelet

There is a heart-shaped bracelet that always rests on my left wrist. On the back inscribed in tiny letters, it reads:

Lacy Ball

DM Type 1

Insulin Dep

It is a sentence for me. I don't mind wearing it, it's necessary - but the bracelet is a reminder, a chain placed on me by a disease known as Diabetes Mellitus Type 1.

I know Diabetes on a much more personal basis than just a name, though. There is so much more to a disease than just the name that labels it. The symptoms, the heavy-hearted worry, the finances, the physical, emotional, and psychological effects of it.

The way it alters your life.

I take off my Medical ID bracelet and stare at my empty wrist. Small indents from where the bracelet had rested still marked the area, but it was the first time that I had taken it off for months.

I was surprised about the feelings that arose from staring at the blank skin where metal, turned warm from my skin, had adorned it but a moment ago. The absence brought back memories - memories that aren't even long ago but feel as if they are remnants of a past life.

When I woke up in the hospital bed at 2AM on April 3rd, 2011, I woke up into a life entirely changed from my own. My world had suddenly expanded to twice its normal capacity, and with it came a flurry of new emotions and struggles and experiences that I never, in all of my childhood dreams or plans made on the cusp of adulthood, thought I'd encounter. I remember thinking the only good thing about getting Diagnosed was that I no longer had to pee 3 times an hour.

Since then, never once have I really looked back on what my life had been like before my diagnosis with Type 1 Diabetes.

It was,

That was my life then -

- This is my life now.

I've been so busy trying to just adjust and learn how to cope with this illness, looking back is an entirely different and foreign experience to me.

It makes me sad, even now, to think about my old life - like the only thing it ever was, was a dream.

I'll always mourn what I lost. Diabetes has had time to sink in now - I don't pity myself, and I don't burst into tears anymore. I take things one day at a time and don't over think things. I don't think about my next shot 3 hours from now, or how much the lancet hurts when the calluses on my fingertips are too tough for a lighter needle setting. I don't think about the discomfort of blood testing, or the Lantus when it stings me, or the bruises the Novolog leaves behind.

But sometimes I get glimpses of daydreams, fragments of both what my life used to be and what I now can only wish it would one day be again. I think of how carefree life would be without my illness. I think, with a wave of immense sadness at this very moment, how I used to go into a restaurant and order whatever I wanted without thinking twice, or take a bite - or two - or three, what did it matter? - of chocolate cake. How did I ever take that for granted? Why, in all of my prayers, had I neglected to thank God for letting me so much as eat a meal, carefree and healthy?
I remember sunny Summer days with chocolate chip cookies dough ice cream, and late night snacks. I remember all-you-can-eat buffets, ice cold soda, Steak n Shake milkshakes, and happy, lighthearted family dinners that didn't consist of begging waiters to let me have vegetables as a substitute for rice and arguing about this entree or that having too many carbs. I miss being able to not worry about skipping a meal and never getting low. I miss being able to wash a car in the hot sun and not worry about the shaky, heart-pounding feeling sneaking up on me. I miss sleeping without fear of not waking up every night, not just some of them. I miss blemish-less skin and unpricked fingertips.

In short, I miss a lot of things. What an experience it would be to eat some meal, just one meal, without the presence of a glucose meter or insulin pen and the worry...!

Lost in daydreams, dreams, hopes, memories, feelings - time all but stopped and faded away in those few moments.

That's what it was like when I took off my Medical ID bracelet.

But of course, those were daydreams only.

I clasp the bracelet back on my wrist and go on with my day.

Hola, Low, We Meet Again.

It is 10:52, and I've just checked my blood sugar. 113. I smile, happy that I've dosed my insulin right. I'm getting good at this, no?

Spanish class begins, and I sit alert in my seat. Everything is fine at first, as we watch videos and go over drills, preparing for our next test.

Then I feel a little bit dizzy. It is 11:32. My fingertips and toes and then my whole body get a slight tingle. I'm not low, am I? There's no way. Anyways, I can just sit it out. We get out in 18 short minutes and I'm sure I'll be just fine. I sit for a while, confident that I can beat out this low until lunchtime. Besides, if it gets really bad I have a snack right?

Right?

Oh. That's right.

Not right.

In my rush to get to class this morning (having woken up late - again) my mental checklist definitively did have "grab 2 snacks and put them in my backpack" on it. That's great, except I'd forgotten. No worries, I'd thought, getting to my research methods class. At any rate, I'd probably run high all throughout the morning up until lunch.

But apparently I'd been dreadful wrong. The low was getting worse now, becoming hard to ignore. I turned to Crystal who sat next to me, a little bit panicked at this sudden realization. "I'm low and I don't have any sugar," I told her, my voice full of worry. She checked to see if she had anything in her backpack but she didn't. We were watching videos now, and it would be hard to get the attention of Professor Smotherman without disrupting the class. I really didn't want to call attention to myself, or interrupt anything. Sure, it was a medical emergency, but that would be rude and embarrassing. Ugh. My logic.

So I tried once again to ignore the low, meeting each attempt with less and less success. I finally pulled out my meter just to test and see where I was at. The meter flashed back at me: 59. I didn't need a Dexcom to tell me that I was most certainly still falling. I could practically feel it with each and every passing second. I got dizzier, the room span, my breathing grew slow and measured as I tried to control the weakness seeping through my limbs.

This wasn't even the lowest I'd ever been, but I felt worse than I ever had in a very, very long time.
I gave one last effort at waiting it out until I knew that if I stayed in class any longer it might end with somebody sticking a glucagon injection in me. Those needles looked plain nasty, but I figure if I'm ever low enough to need one, I probably won't care.

Note to readers: In case of a severe low, someone please stick me with this.

But getting a glucagon injection wasn't exactly at the top of my to-do list today, or ever. So I gathered up my belongings and quietly walked to the door, pausing by Professor Smotherman, hoping she'd turn around. When she did, I hurriedly said, whispering, "I have low blood sugar. I need to leave early and get something to eat." It wasn't as bad as I pictured it, actually. "Go," she told me, and I made quick work of leaving the room. I did my best to walk in a straight line. They say being low is similar to being intoxicated. I don't know if this is true, as I've only felt one of those sensations before, but I'd be hard-pressed to say that any alcohol drinker has ever felt as bad as I did in that moment. It felt like gravity was weighing down twice its normal pressure on me. My body shook, sweat dripped down my forehead and back. I had to grab hold of the rail to make sure I didn't fall down the stairs. Someone probably should have gone with me, just to make sure I made it to the cafeteria okay, but I managed myself. It was the longest walk of my life. 

I finally made it to the lunchroom, a panting, sweaty mess. I found an empty table, incapable of words at the moment, threw down my stuff, and walked as quickly as I could. Get.food. That was the only thing I was sure I could do at the moment, though making it to the lunch line and back to the table still seemed a pretty daunting task. Once I did, I sat down and scarfed it down as quick as I could. In the newfound heat of the coming early spring, sweat continued to bead down my back. I felt gross and sticky. I felt groggy. My tongue was numb. 

I wanted to cry, full of renewed bitterness towards what this disease had done to me. No person should ever have to feel this way. Not me, not my friends, not my family, not strangers, not other PWOD's, not my enemies. 

But I was okay. It was a close call, but I'd averted the emergency before it was too late. Yes, it was miserable, and yes, it was inconvenient, and I was upset that Diabetes had won out and made me leave Spanish class early. I hated being a shaky, sweaty mess. But I guess at the end of the day what's important is that I'm still here. Diabetes could have taken my life from the get-go, back when I was diagnosed. It very nearly did. But it didn't. And I learned a lesson. Next time, don't forget snacks. Tomorrow, give myself less Novolog for breakfast. If I'm low, don't be afraid to interrupt and leave class. 

It's a learning experience, slowly but surely. With Diabetes, more so than anything else I've ever experienced, knowledge is power. I can't always prevent lows, but next time, what I can do is be more prepared. And that's exactly where I've got the upper hand on Diabetes - so being more prepared is just what I plan to do.

New Reality

Argh what a hassle. My life is too busy to handle Diabetes. Lately life with my disease has just been... inconvenient.

Last weekend I sat, as a "Blue Princess", at the table, looking at the pizza in front of me and sighed. Someone loaded chips and cookies onto my plate. I smiled politely. The girls and guests would expect me, the princess, to eat. I had not told my customers that I had Diabetes. I very rarely do. My gloves cover my medical ID bracelet - no one ever asks, anyways. So I ate the pizza, and sighed. I worried about my blood sugar untul the party ended - thankfully, working with kids always drives my sugars down, so I was only 142.

With Diabetes, even the little things could - and usually do - become more difficult. Small things you take for granted and don't consider grow suddenly complicated with the weighted burden of (in my opinion) one of the most difficult to manage chronic illnesses there is.

Sometimes I am just so busy that Diabetes should take the backburner - I certainly have no time for it. I'm late for a show and have to drive halfway across Atlanta, while changing from princess Cinderella to a clown, in 45 minutes. But I'm low and I need to eat and I still have to input the right address into the GPS. Did I remember to grab all my paintbrushes from the last show? Hope so...

It's right before a test and I'm rushing across campus, about to make it to the classroom, but suddenly left shaking as I walk into the building. I have to check my blood sugar and make sure to treat it before going in. What if I forgot a snack in my backpack, or ate them already? What about when Physiology Lab runs late, it's 6 'o clock, and I'm low because I've had to skip dinner?

What about when you're at someone's house and they lovingly cook up a nice, delicious, warm batch of... pasta? They serve the plate for you? You can't weigh or measure it to get even a ballpark estimate of the carbs?
What if you suddenly realize you forgot your meter and insulin at home?

It's hectic. Diabetes complicates things, but I suppose that that's the nature of life. It's full of complications, but we move on. Overcome them. It's been nearly a year now --- one year with Diabetes, and it's hard for me to believe. Almost one year ago since I woke up in a hospital room and received news that forever changed my life, that forever changed me. Almost one year since I almost died. Almost one year since I've had a delicious XL 7-11 coke Slurpee.

Sometimes I wish I'd never gotten the disease. In a masochistic way I don't mind it, as it gives me a platform, something to stand up for. I like to talk about it. I like to share my experiences. But mostly I just wish that, one morning, I could wake up and be well again. I miss being healthy. I miss not having to live in Diabetes' constant shadow. I should be in charge of my body, not Diabetes.

But the simple fact is that I'm not. I'm not in charge anymore. I'm in charge of my treatment, sure - but when it comes down to it, I'm just here to try and fix everything that my body now messes up. Diabetes has changed things... a lot.
I don't want to think that I'll forget what it was like to live without my disease, to eat without testing my Blood Sugar, or never feeling the sting of an insulin needle in my skin, or having to worry about what foods will do to my blood sugar. To reminisce about what it would feel like to set the mental calculator aside and, for once, not look at the back of the packaging and see the nutrition label. To never have to keep the count the carbs in my head.
But sometimes I think I am forgetting. That kind of freedom is such a foreign concept to me now. I have dreams of eating a Chick Fil A sandwich and not having to so much as bolus for it. Eating a sandwich is something you take for granted until you suddenly can't do it anymore - not without insulin, anyways.

This life - this disease - has become my new reality for almost a year now, and like it or not, I'm in it for the long haul. My life is full of busy, but my schedule will have to make room for insulin shots, and testing, and lows or highs. But hey - I don't forget to count my blessings. At least I'm alive to complain about it. Because whether I like it or not, managing Diabetes has been, and will always be, better than my other option.