Meet the monkey on my back

The monkey climbed on when I was eleven years old and I was diagnosed with diabetes.

I had had chicken pox around Valentine's Day, and by Easter I had diabetes. I missed alot of school that year.

My Mom started to notice that I had lost weight. I went from about 100 pounds to under 80 in less than six weeks. Being a child, I hadn't noticed.

I did notice that I was constantly thirsty, and as a result, constantly in the bathroom. I was using the bathroom before and after each class, and had started getting up in the middle also. Teachers were losing patience with me, they said I should go during passing time, not on their time. My family was losing patience also. And so was I, although I couldn't articulate it at the time. It's miserable having an unquenchable thirst and a full bladder following you around 24/7.

My Mom pulled me out of school and took me to the doctor. A quick urine test and the doctor came back to tell us that it was diabetes. I remember her saying the words, and I knew what they meant, but it didn't register then how much my life would change.

We drove straight to the hospital. It was around lunchtime and I ate my packed lunch in the car. I had cookies and a Capri Sun, and I remember thinking that I probably wouldn't be having either for a good long time.

I spent a week in the hospital. I learned how to draw and administer insulin shots on an orange(although my Mom did alot of the poking at the beginning). I learned how to use a glucometer, which I thought was even worse of a cosmic joke. I learned about the diabetic diet. I learned that Saturday tv sucked.

The hard part was coming home and using the skills at home. The diet was especially difficult. I was on 2000 calories a day, and my 80 pound frame could barely keep up. I had a hard time giving myself the shots. Now it seems silly, but at the time it was frightening for me.

My family was wonderful. They were supportive. All of us changed our diet. Sugar foods were essentially banned from the home. I focus alot on what happened to me, but it wasn't easy on my brother and sister either.

Diabetes altered my life. It still does. I make so many decisions each day that most people take for granted. I was forced at eleven years old out of my childhood into an adult world that I didn't fully understand. (how can you comprehend a life threatening illness at that age?) I've made choices based on being diabetic that have affected my life in huge ways. What friends to have. What college to go to. What I eat and when. What major, what job. What health plan. What to wear to accomodate my pump. Virtually every aspect has the stamp of diabetes on it.

Diabetes is the monkey on my back. It took me a long time, but we've made our peace. Since neither of us are going anywhere, we've learned to respect each other.

I'd give anything to not be a diabetic, but at this point in my life, it's part of the fabric that makes me me. I'm not even sure I'd know what to do without it. That scares me the most. I want my life to be defined by other things: daughter, mother, sister, friend. I could no sooner stop identifying myself as a daughter.

For better or for worse: I am a diabetic. Call it whatever you want, but that's me.