Eighteen years ago today I was diagnosed with diabetes. I've been incredibly lucky to have had such amazing people in my life who have helped me: my mother who recognized the symptoms when I finally told them to her, and had me at the doctor and diagnosed in just a few hours. (Not to mention that my dad was on RAGBRAI so my mom had to find a baby-sitter, call my grandparents to come and get my siblings, track down my dad, and take me to the hospital on her own [where my dad met us] where the real process began). She literally saved my life.
There are two people that I trust with my life, who learned alongside me, and are the ONLY two people that I might defer to in a diabetic emergency. My dad who held my hand when I cried, gave me shots on Saturday mornings so I could sleep in without missing my usual dosage, needled (get it?) and harassed me when I needed it even though it infuriated me, and gave me so much encouragement it was sickening. I'm pretty confident that if I asked him to take care of my health for the rest of my life, he'd still show up every morning and evening to administer insulin. The other person is my best friend Nicole, who gave me shots, learned how to check my glucose levels and what all the numbers meant, wasn't grossed out by the shots or the blood, wasn't afraid to lecture or scold me if I needed it, and above all, more than any other person, made me feel NORMAL!!! I'm so grateful!!
Eighteen years--as my sister said, I could receive a diploma for diabetes.
