This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at McGill chapter.
I will start by making a very general statement: diabetes is a huge problem. It is something that can happen to your aunt, your grandmother, or your dad. We’ve all learned about it in biology class, maybe even primary school. Isn’t diabetes that thing with the blood sugar levels that happens when you lack self-control and eat whatever you want? It’s known as ‘the rich man’s disease’ in Chinese culture. It is associated with, frankly, not-so-fab things.
That’s all fine and dandy, until one day, it happens to you.
All of a sudden, a flimsy little paper from the lab, with the results of the readings taken from a vial of your blood now says that you are part of the problem, part of the statistic. You know that box you put everyone in? You’re in there with them now.
This past summer, I found myself opening my eyes every morning to the quest of quenching my intense cravings for sugar. One bubble-tea/frozen yogurt cup/gelato-cone/brownie/lollipop (seriously, you name it) at a time, my blood sugar levels were rising to the dangerous hundreds. All the time, I was completely oblivious to the teetering state of my health.
The first signs began to show themselves in the fall of 2014, when my thirst for water spiked randomly from day to day. To give my body full credit, it gave me an abundance of warnings, more than enough for someone logical to get a health check-up instead of resorting to denial (really, the human psyche is a fool—the ease with which we are able to deceive ourselves is shocking).
In the end, it took dropping 28 pounds and over half of the hair on my head to get a check-up.
The most ridiculous thing though? I still felt the need to ask my brother if I “look fat in this dress.”
I was 93 pounds. Nobody 93 pounds looks ‘fat’ in anything. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, my eyes would glance over my entire sternum which had become visible through my skin, my sunken cheeks, ribs, knobbly knees and all. I would be upset not because I didn’t have a gap between my thighs, but because it wasn’t ‘big enough.’ I didn’t care that I could no longer do a push-up. I cared more that I couldn’t fit my Intro to Neuroscience textbook through my legs without moving my feet apart.
Now that I am reflecting on all of this, it has become so obvious now that my body image issues were all in my head. In a word, I was sick, and I looked every part of it. The pinkness I used to have in my cheeks were gone—it was like someone had forgotten to color me in.
What does it mean to have diabetes type 1? Well, firstly it means getting over my fear of needles. My body produces a grand total of zero insulin, so I have to inject the appropriate amount of rapid-acting insulin into my abdomen before taking meals, and a long-acting insulin before bed. I did the quick math in my head. That’s 1,460 injections a year.
But what else does it mean? It means that if I do not monitor my blood sugar levels and the condition worsens, I could lose my eyesight, my toes, and at spikes or dips in glucose levels, my consciousness.
Basically, a lifestyle change was in order. Do you know what it is to change a lifestyle? Especially a college one? A college one away from home? I don’t either. It will take years and years of learning about my body and the condition to come to an understanding of how this diagnosis touches and will touch every part of my life.
I have been having body image issues since grade school, but because I have to eat small portions throughout the day, controlling my glucose levels is an amazing incentive to reign in my binge-drinking and binge-eating habits, and with those, my bulimic tendencies. Why did it take something as serious as this to wake me up?
This article is written in the hopes that it will take something less earth-shattering for you to realize the implications of what it means to take your health for granted, and to love yourself. Diabetes has become one of my greatest teachers, because I have learned some valuable lessons on this journey of diagnosis and treatment. Here are some of the things my experience has taught me:
1. It is a grave mistake to believe in one’s own invincibility. Age is not a force-field against conditions that are often misunderstood to only occur in the old, or obese (or both).
2. Believe what those who are close to you are saying about your body. My mind was conditioned to think I was fat. “Seeing is believing?” Not in my case. But I couldn’t see the truth, no matter how many ribs I could count in the mirror without raising my arms.
3. Observe the urges and cravings you get. Anything from increased thirst and fatigue, to excessive hunger and weight loss, is an alarm. It is a way that your body is trying to get your attention. It’s saying “Hey you! Stop, drop and roll!” If your cravings are not normal (and only you know what is normal for you), I urge you to get it checked over.
And the final thing I learned from diabetes?
4. Needles are the least of my problems.
Gradually I’ve come to realize that having diabetes is less like being in a box and more like being the citizen of a health-conscious country, complete with culture, history and cuisine. It took a while to accept my condition, but I know I can live in this place, and thrive.
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