I have always sought to live a life in which nothing can hold me down. Not school, not parents, and most definitely not a 9 to 5 job. But, on Aug. 18, 2018, I was presented with a reality check on my dreams.
It was a sick day for me. I remember wondering why I had been sick so often that fall. After a relentless battle with my thoughts and my parents, I finally gave in and decided to visit a doctor. I only really visited doctors when I was ill so I was not at all thrilled, but I was hoping that I would be prescribed something so that I could get over this illness. After all, this was the fourth time that I had gotten sick in two months so it’s understandable that I was over it.
The doctor’s visit was routine for the most part. I remember stepping on the scale and it read 142.5 pounds. The attending nurse asked me about my eating habits as my BMI indicated I was underweight. In all honesty, at that moment I ignored her because I knew I never was the “skinny” kid.
After what felt like an eternity, I was finally able to see a nurse practitioner. She did some examinations and asked why I was visiting. I explained how I had been sick often and that I wanted antibiotics to bring me back to good health. The nurse practitioner almost immediately digressed from the reason for my visit and began asking me questions that seemed like they were almost perfectly designed for me to answer yes to.
She asked me questions like, “Has your appetite been sluggish lately?” and “Have you been drinking a lot of water?” As her questions continued, a feeling grew that she suspected something I was unaware of. When she finished her questioning, the nurse practitioner said that she wanted to run a blood sugar test on me by pricking my finger. I acquiesced in her decision and allowed the nurse to prick my finger and run a blood sugar test. I recall the number “591” popping up on the screen in red text and feeling as if that was a “well-rounded number.”
As the nurse left the room to speak with the nurse practitioner, I set in for what I thought would be another eternal wait. But the wait was not eternal. It took less than a minute for the nurse practitioner to come back and diagnose me with an incurable autoimmune disease known as Type 1 Diabetes. My “well-rounded number” was five times that of normal readings.
Clinic procedures required that I go to a hospital to perform further tests, so I had to visit an emergency room where I was informed that I had Diabetic Ketoacidosis (DKA). DKA is a serious life-threatening disease that causes severe dehydration. My case was so bad that I needed to spend three days in the ICU.
I would say that my biggest wake-up call was when the ER doctor told me I was lucky to be alive.
I spent the next few days reflecting on what my future would look like and learning to manage my disease. I remember asking myself: “Why?” I had spent my life being healthy, running two miles daily and weightlifting but I was now met with something that would hold me down. Did I mention that I did not have health insurance when I was diagnosed? Yes, it was scary for a little while.
Now, almost four years later and close to $100,000 in gross medical costs, I am still learning about myself and my condition. Throughout these years I dealt with ridicule, bullying and depression as a result of something that was totally out of my control. Although much can be considered tiring and degrading, it is important to admire the comical things.
One of my most notable memories involved me having to spend 30 minutes explaining to someone I met on Tinder that I was a diabetic and the device on my arm was not a “nicotine patch.” My best advice to anyone who is newly diagnosed is to set boundaries. This is your condition and you’ve been provided with the educational resources to handle it in the best way possible. Educate your friends and coworkers and most importantly never let your condition define you.
