For years I've lived with this secret. To be exact - 12.5 yrs, I've lived with this secret. I am convinced I caused my diabetes. To understand, we have to travel back an additional 6 or 7 yrs.
I've always been tall. Always. I'm the same height now (5'10") as I was in 4th grade. As such, I've always towered over my friends and sometimes even my teachers. Being tall is great now, but back then I didn't feel tall, I felt F-A-T. Here I was probably 130-140lbs, which on 5'10" is actually skinny, but when you put me up against my friends who were lucky to break 5' and probably weighed 80lbs soaking wet, I just looked fat.
When I was around 9 or 10, one of my best friends (aren't all friends at that age, your "best") was diagnosed with T1 diabetes. I saw how her food had to be carefully weighed and measured and how limited she was in what she could eat (pre-"carb counting" days). I went home one night after spending the day with her and feeling incredibly fat and I actually - god I am literally shaking as I write this - wished and prayed that I would get diabetes, so that I would HAVE to follow a diet and would be skinny and petite like my friends.
I cry now for that little kid. How F'd up is society if a 9 yr old girl prays for a disease because she thinks she's fat?? I honestly saw D as my only way to lose weight. Nevermind that I swam competitively for over 6 months of the yr and was actually a normal weight for my height. That didn't matter, to me, I was fat, and D was my cure.
Skim forward a few yrs and I'm in the hospital. My sugar is 1500. I'm getting shots of insulin while I'm sitting at the registration desk at the hospital. Another shot as I ride the elevator up to my room. Oh, lucky me, I get a private room. The girl admitted right before me, should've gotten it, but since she was in a dka coma, well they put her with the 2 yr old (by comparasion her sugar was 900). Dr's are freaking out and I've suddenly become the side-show freak girl who's still walking and talking. I just wanted to eat lunch and would someone please bring me something to drink, dammit!!
I couldn't believe what was happening. I had lost a ton of weight and while I thought I looked great, apparently everyone else thought I had an eating disorder. I had all but forgotten about that night years ago. I had taken the diagnosis in stride. Didn't cry once that first day in the hospital, or the second, or third or even fourth. Not while I was practicing injections on oranges, not while I gave myself that first shot. I didn't cry until my final night in the hospital when I remembered that little girl and her wish. Then I cried and cried and cried. I did this to myself. This was ALL MY FAULT.
Ever since, I've felt like I can't complain about my D. I have to be the "well adjusted", accepting Sarah. The "ya, I've got D, but its really not that bad", "I'm fine" Sarah. This wasn't something that just happened. This was something I willed on myself so I best shut up, put a smile on my face and get on with it.
Fast forward to today, and D is my curse. Since my diagnosis I've gained well over 100 pounds from a combination of lack of exercise, poor food choices, and oh ya a little thing called Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome which causes severe insulin resistance which in turn causes weight gain, which requires more insulin, which leads to more weight gain and up and up goes the scale. And all this time, I've NEVER told anyone about that night so many years ago. And now here I am telling the world my deepest, darkest secret.
Now if I can only hit the publish button.