Happy Almost-4th Dia-versary to Me: I'm Writing a Book!

When I was first diagnosed with Diabetes, I didn't know what to do. I didn't know anything... I didn't know there were two types of Diabetes, and I thought an insulin pump was a sticker you put on your body that somehow cured your Diabetes. 

It's a week out from four years now, and sometimes I still don't know what to do. Sometimes I sit and cry because I feel defeated, I feel angry or mad or sad because I feel that Diabetes has one that day.

But there is something I know to do, and that's write. And I wrote when I first started - I still write now.

Four years ago, I started back on writing this blog with a fresh outtake on life. So, in honour of my almost-4th Dia-versary, now I guess is a good time to say that, I'm writing a book. I really, really am. I'm over 100 pages in! And I don't know when it will be finished, but it will be. And I want to share the first (very rough draft) intro and chapter with you.

Intro

          “I have Type 1 Diabetes” seems both an unfair and obvious way to start a book. I mean, for a Diabetic, that's almost outright laziness. Yes, I have Diabetes! Thank you, Captain Obvious. You knew that this book was going to have something to do with Diabetes when you decided to pick it up and read at least the title.

P.S. I feel like I need to disclaim from the get-go that I have the tendency to be very snarky.

Ok, so, how do I start adequately? How about...

“When I used to play the “when I grow up” game as a child, “growing up to have a chronic disease” was never what I envisioned.”

Now we're getting somewhere. Sentimental, a little bit over dramatic, but poignant and true.

Or,

“Irony: your biggest fear is needles, and you end up getting a disease that requires you to stick yourself over 5 times a day.”

Yes, it's just that. Ironic. Diabetes is a very ironic disease. More on that later.

Well, the truth is, there are infinite ways to begin a book. I've never written one, and I don't claim to be particularly good at it. Writing is my heart and soul, though. I feel like I can accurately take my thoughts from my head and transcribe them into words. I've always been good at it. As a child, I was obsessed with keeping diaries. Through thick and thin, writing has always been a part of my life.

So, whether it ends up being good or bad, there is one thing I feel that this beginning should accomplish, along with clarifying that this is, in fact, a book that is largely to do with Type 1 Diabetes. Well, it is, and it isn't. This book is my way of proving to you and to myself that Diabetes has impacted every single part of my life. But, on the same note, this book is a way of proving that Diabetes has not come to define me. Or limit me. Or control me. To say that Diabetes blows is entirely and unequivocally true. Diabetes is such a hard disease to live with because it is so taxing both physically and mentally. 24/7, you become a walking, talking carb counter- blood sugar monitor – insulin administrator – in short, you are an unpaid, overworked and over-tired pancreas. You're also a guinea pig. Do you think that Diabetes simply requires a set regiment to treat? A shot of insulin, and you're good to go?

Let me briefly walk you through it -

You sit down and have a meal. Ok, you have to count to carbs. You give insulin based on how many carbs you are eating, which implies that you have counted correctly. But wait. There's more! Are you going to do heavy labour or exercise-intensive activities afterwards? Have you done any prior to eating? Are you going to take a shower? Go running? Are you eating fiber or a high-fat meal? All of these things can affect the way that insulin effects you. What if you counted the carbs right and gave the insulin and you still have high blood sugar, or you wind up low? Are you giving too much 24-hour insulin? Do you need to lower your insulin to carb ratio?

Things don't go according to plan with Diabetes, almost ever. To a Diabetic, we learn to expect this. It becomes second nature, but still, it's hard, because a lot of the times we do mess up. We get it wrong. Living with Diabetes is like living on a see saw, and you are struggling to always stay balanced between high blood sugars and low. It is you who has to listen to your body and pay attention and problem solve. Sometimes, doctors can only do so much, and the rest is up to you. Sometimes, doctors are downright jerks, and they forget that you are not only a patient, but a living, breathing human being who has to manage this disease alongside all of life’s other challenges.

But now, back to the first point. Long, long ago, in a hospital far away...

I am sitting in my hospital bed. I have been in the hospital for a few days now, having been diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes after going into Diabetic Ketoacidosis*. My friend Erica and I have been best friends since freshman year. We are closer than can be, and Erica and I spend a good time during those days just sharing the too-small hospital bed and sitting in silence, occasionally uttering deep and poignant things. Looking back at this time, I don't number the days because I realize that they took on a life of their own. Those few days in the hospital – and honestly I couldn't tell you how many those were any more – were a world unto their selves, where the rest of the outside world ceased to matter any longer. Within the fog of this other world, my conscious parts to reveal the memory of the time that Erica came to visit and handed me a small blue journal and pen. There was nothing special about this journal, except that it was given with the knowledge that Erica knew the deepest way in which I could express myself was through my writing. Writing had seen me through all of my past times of trouble, and Erica had been there to witness the hardest of these. In my self-pity (there was much of this after my diagnosis) it hadn't really occurred to me to seek writing as a form of therapy for my shiny, brand-new chronic disease. I looked at Erica appreciatively but looked at the journal ruefully. It was in my nature to make snarky (told you) and humourous responses, trying to set my mind on the optimistic route so as to curtail the emotional damages of the situations I faced. What I'm trying to say is, I looked at the journal and laughed. “I am going to be the worst Diabetic ever,” I told Erica. “And to play fun at this disease, I need to make not a self-help book, but a non-self help book. Everyone here has tried to give me enough help, and I’ve had so much I’m sick of it.­” Erica laughed and agreed with me. After she had left that afternoon, I began the rudimentary journal that would serve as the gateway to my true therapy – the blog that was born of the “Non-Self Help Book”. My blog became my oasis from Diabetes – it became my salvation. I arrived home from the hospital, 90 pounds, physically and emotionally drained, and armed with a mini pharmacy of medications. Every day was a new challenge that began with the number that reflected on the screen of a glucometer. Every night ended with a wet pillow as I cried myself to sleep, begging God the question of why I had been the one in millions who was cursed with this disease. The beginning was rough for me, which I suppose was to be expected.

I came home writing in my little journal, funny quips about how there should be sugar free milkshakes, and the steps to give an insulin shot (1. Open pen cap 2. Inject insulin 3. Do not chicken out from injecting insulin).

I had experienced depression before, and Diabetes came with its own set of emotional pathology, it's true. I felt isolated from humanity. I didn't know any other Type 1 Diabetics. I struggled with a very real fear of needles, and a sense of being limited by my body. I sat down at the computer one day and opened up my metaphorically dusty online blog. I think most teenagers probably went through the self-realizing “start a blog” phase. Then comes the phase of writing a few decent posts. And the subsequent phase of forgetting they have a blog for an unspecified amount of time. I actually kept up with my blog well in comparison to most of these cases, but before diabetes, it honestly lacked specificity or a solid theme to hold it together. I mean, I’m interesting to me, but there was really no interesting reason for others to read it aside from knowing me. But now, I watched things click together in my head as I began to open up a new draft and document the series of events leading up to my diagnosis. And things really clicked when I saw how many people read it. Bad as it sounded, I realized that having Diabetes made my blog more interesting. People wanted to hear my story and my struggles. And writing them out helped me to cope with things. Everyday struggles of Diabetes became new material to blog about. Humour could be found in funny catchphrases and titles I thought up to summarize my posts.

And what's more... I watched myself begin to change with every post. Secretive, subtle Lacy, who bottled everything up, realized that life was too fragile to do that. And so I opened up and spilled all on my blog. My deepest emotions, my worries, my insecurity about my no-makeup face and concerns for how Diabetes would impact my dreams. What college in a new state would be like, alone and with a disease I was still stumbling to learn about. I began to open up, and with it, I realized how emotionally stable that my blog began to help me to be. What a sense of purpose by blog helped to give me. Diabetes had changed my life, but Diabetes also gave me a platform to stand on, an issue to follow and fight for.

1. Things More Preferable Than Death: Needles, and Writing.

I am looking at my body right now. It's spattered with a myriad of bruises varying in size, shape and colour. If you look closely, sometimes you can see little red pinpricks. My fingertips are callused over and covered in little red dots on the sides. This is my everyday reality: Diabetic. Broken. Bruised. Callused. Pain. Inconvenience. I live with it, and I am not madly unhappy. The truth is, you learn to become content with the lot that life throws at you. You accept it as inevitability, you make peace with the reality, and you push onward. At least, in my experience, that's how it works. So many people tell me (much to my annoyance), and I quote, “Wow, I could never have Diabetes. I hate needles too much.”

            Just think about that statement for a second though. One, I find it slightly offensive that you insinuated that I, oh, don't know, wanted to have Diabetes? And two, needles are slightly more preferable than death. But maybe that's just me.

But, I also look at myself from an outside perspective – like the outside looking in on me – and, allow me to be self-serving and sentimental about myself for a moment. I see a driven and passionate woman that fights every day for her goals and dreams. And suddenly, she is faced with this disease that makes her feel as though she is sometimes pushed to the wayside, a side actor in the limelight that Diabetes steals. Her fingers are hurt and bruised, and sometimes the insulin stings. And I think this:

My story deserves to be told. I don't want to go through this struggle silently, feeling like a martyr for a disease that tries to destroy me daily. This book is also my way of standing up to Diabetes. It may be a struggle I ultimately face alone much of the time, but I take comfort in the fact that I can share this struggle with others. Which, oh maybe-captivated reader, is precisely what I aim to do.