My History with Diabetes

I first learned about Type 1 Diabetes at six years old when I went to stay overnight at my neighbor friend's house. Kelly got an insulin shot, we had dinner, Kelly's mom tested her blood sugar, and we each ate exactly 6 vanilla wafers before bed. I drank juice, Kelly had a diet coke. The rest of our two year friendship was a blur of barbies, dress up, and tree houses... but somehow that example of diabetes always stood out in my mind. To this day, when someone mentions diabetes I see flashes of pin pricks, glucose monitors, and Kelly's Mom counting carbs. I was always sympathetic to anyone living with it, but to me, diabetes was a memory and a mix of people's stories.

Then in August of 2006 I met him, a tall, broad shouldered, brown eyed man I'll call "Mr. Amazing". He was spontaneous, energetic, athletic, funny, helpful, chivalrous, and diabetic. I honestly don't remember when I found out he had diabetes, it was probably the first week. As he came over more often I started stocking up on diet rootbeer, reminding him to eat lunch, warning him when I made cookies, and even made a batch of sugar free chocolate covered strawberries. When we started dating I scoped out the internet to find blogs on Type 1 diabetes and get a better understanding of what he needed. I stored granola bars in my car and occassionally brought extra soda on hikes. I listened and asked questions ranging from "Is this number high?" to "Why don't you have an insulin pump?". By the time we got married 6 months ago I thought I had a good idea of what it was and how to help him control it. Then I woke up.

After six months of living with it, I've determined that diabetes can't be controlled. It can be helped, it can be monitored, but just when you think that the spanish cheesy rice can even out the fish his sugar plummets and leaves him nauseated with a bad headache for the rest of the night. The best meal in the world can't keep him from being off when he's coming down with the flue. My menu is a crazy combination of weekly sales and "What Mr. A needs". Some weeks it's wonderful and all he has to do is get a sip of carbs one day and it gets right back up... but other weeks he has the flue and his sugar is too high for him to eat anything.

Some people might find it hard to fit a stash of insulin supplies in a studio apartment, keep a constant supply of soda on hand, or fit more red meat in the menu when you were raised on vegetables but compared to the rest it's a cake walk. The hard part is when we're in the middle of a confusing conversation spiriling down to nowhere and I finally realize he just needs a soda. When I watch his face contort for a second as he takes his insulin shot and see another of his burning red marks (he hates needles). When I panic for a second realizing I forgot his sugar kit. When he lays on the bed all night struggling with nauseau and a horrible headache and tries to stay awake "So we can spend time together". When my strong athletic husband has his head in his hands and can barely talk because he gets low and I can tell he feels worse because it's in public. When he has the flue for a week and blood sugar problems just make it worse. When I look at his face and know he hates it and there's nothing he can do.

I know that he has been looking forward to a cure for the past 11 years, but sometimes I think I want it just as much as he does.