Oranges

Insulin means injections. I have searched through my journals from the time of my diagnosis, and there isn't a lot there to document how I felt about it. Did I take it all in stride? Was I in denial? I remember just knowing it was what it was and not really shaking my fist at fate or anything like that.
I don't know how they teach you to inject yourself now, but in 1985, you were given an orange and a syringe and told to jab it in. Get used to the feeling of "throwing" the needle into the somewhat resistant flesh of the orange. I did fine with the orange, but when the time came to do it to myself, I couldn't "throw" it in. I still don't, and it has been 24 years. I poke gingerly, and if it hurts too much, I change sites. I have always preferred to slide the needle in slowly, which is maybe stupid...but what can I tell you.
At that time, I was taking 2 insulins: NPH and Toronto (regular to Americans). I was mixing them in one syringe, and had to learn to do that properly. If I recall correctly, I was taking 2 shots a day, morning and suppertime. But maybe not. It might have been just one. This meant that everything I was allowed to eat for the day was based on my morning shot, no changes allowed. Hungry, or not.
This is why I am thankful now to be taking 5-6 injections a day (I now take Lantus and Novorapid)...smaller and more frequent doses mean I can make changes throughout the day. If I am not hungry I don't really have to eat, and if I am starving, I can eat a little more-just bump up my dose.
Maybe some people are more terrified of their first injection. If so, please share your experience in the comments. The only time I ever felt afraid of injecting was the first time I injected in my stomach...for some reason that gave me the heebie-jeebies. Now it's my preferred spot. ;)

So that's what insulin does...

So I'm in the hospital. It's 1984. at this point I am not injecting anything myself. Whatever.I am sort of taking it all in stride. I never went through any denial (at least not for the first decade or so).
My first night out of intensive care and in my own (shared) hospital room, the nurse comes in with a white styrofoam cup. She puts it on the bedside table and says if you wake up in the night and feel weird, drink this. She doesn't tell me what it is, and I don't ask. Like I said, I was pretty docile and accepting. I guess she thought I would know what the deal was, but at that point I didn't really know much of anything.
Later that night, I find myself in a state somewhere between asleep and awake, kicking at the sheets and feeling extremely irritated. Still sleepy, but angry as a bee in a sweatsock (just made that up, like it?) And I'm hot. Really, uncomfortably warm. "This is freaking weird", I think, and DING!! A light goes on. The nurse said if I feel weird, drink this. So, like Alice in Wonderland, I do. I drink it, and wonder at the weird sweetness of it, what could it be? I also ring for a nurse, cause I figure it must be something they need to know.
The night nurse comes in and I tell her I had to drink the stuff. I think. I felt weird, so I drank it. "The stuff?" She smiles. "It's orange juice," she tells me, as she picks my finger to test my blood sugar (they still don't trust me to do it myself, I guess).
Yes, my blood sugar is low. Good thing you drank the juice.
Juice?
Weird.

Firsts

So I am giving myself a shot of another kind here...trying out blogging about diabetes. And since this is the first post, I figure why not write about some diabetic firsts. In fact, the plan is to write about various firsts ALL THIS WEEK. I don't know if you'll be able to stand the suspense, but I hope you'll try. If you're diabetic, you might recognise yourself. Or maybe not, my perspective is limited!

Here's a biggie: My first moment as a diagnosed diabetic.

Haha....Of course I had been diabetic for awhile, but was undiagnosed. I knew I was sick (hard to miss, really), but had been told I was anorexic. Which was interesting to me, considering I was eating enough to feed a small family. Happily eating it, too. I had NOOO issues with food at all, except that I couldn't get enough of it.

Anyway, I obviously digress.

The local doctor called to tell my mother I was diabetic, and that was pretty much all they said. Later, the children's hospital would call and say something along the lines of "Get yourselves in here RIGHT NOW and try not to indulge in any sleeping on the way or you might not wake up". Not kidding, they said that.

Before that call though, I had a day or two to keep on keeping on with what I was doing-knowing I was diabetic, but having no idea what I was supposed to do about it. So I started drinking Diet Coke instead of regular (I was 14...it's been a long time since I enjoyed regular Coke, I'll tell you). And I thought: Huh. Diabetic. Wonder what's going to happen now? Sure hope I can get by with pills.

Um, no, sorry. Doesn't work that way.

Then I went to get myself what we call a poutine-fries with gravy and curd cheese...cause you know there's no sugar in THAT. (Man, you can see I had A LOT to learn...).

I remember once the hospital did call and we went in-I found out all the things I was sort of taking for granted-trouble breathing or catching my breath, hunger, thirst, weight loss, were all signs of how sick I was. I spent a night in intensive care (probably like many of you) apparently clinging to life (no one told me how sick I was). I felt ok, actually, just tired.

Kids at school heard I was dead. Nice.

I was in the hospital for a week. They had classes every day, I learned about being diabetic. Or at least about being diabetic in 1984-a lot has changed and will keep changing, I am sure. But they were my first steps into a deep and unwanted, really, medical knowledge of myself.

Coming soon: more hospital stories. My first Injection and my first Low. Oh, the anticipation ;)