Trigger warning: eating disorders, self-harm, medical issues, anxiety, depression, self-hatred, body image issues.
My story starts in the January of 2015, when I was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes. Just for a little more context, I was 13 years old then, being born in December of 2001. I am daughter of two doctors who own and run their own hospital. Within 6 months, through exercise, diet control, and medication I was able to overcome the heightened sugars in my body, and was declared to be non-diabetic by my doctor. Cut to, September of 2016.
On 16th of September, my life changed. I remember staying back from school as I was having severe pain in my abdomen and back, as well as, I was vomiting out every thing that I consumed, including antacids and water. I was taken to the hospital in the evening when my veins had collapsed, and the in-house nurse was not being able to inject an antacid through the intravenous route. My blood sugars had shot up and my ketones were more than 1.0. The extreme rise of sugars was alarming to my parents, and an investigation began (I know it sounds like I’m writing a thriller novel, smh).
It was found that I had pancreatic stones in my forked pancreatic duct. Over the course of 2-3 weeks and a treatment in a whole new city, I was back home, with a stent in my pancreas, and a life-long dependency on not just insulin, but also pancreatic enzyme pills.
The most important thing that stands out to me during that time is the question, “why me?”. Until recently, I have always struggled with the acceptance of being a T1D patient. In my head, I had always been a good child, a good student, and did whatever was needed without much complaints. Although I know now, all of my external behaviour is not a determinant of my body’s internal mechanism, back then, I hated myself. I hated the way my body looked, even when I had lost over 6-7 kgs after my first diagnosis. I hated that my body was “dysfunctional”. I have seen firsthand how misconstrued diabetes is in many people’s heads. I hated that I had an “old people disease”. It took me many years to accept that my life was always going to be a battle of blood sugars and how much insulin I needed to take.
In some ways, I needed to let go of the hope that one day I will be better, without diabetes. Eat like a “normal” person, not having to worry about what I ate, when I ate, and how much to eat. A lot of controlling my sugars needed dietary changes. These changes have a shrouded side-effect: eating disorders. My food became the only thing I could control, and so I controlled my food intake to a harmful level. I refused to eat more than a limit, even if my body needed the energy. I became relentless with myself, and in many ways, I still struggle with not feeling guilty about eating what I used to love eating. I thoroughly enjoy cooking and baking, but I never really eat what I cook or bake. I cannot bring myself to not feel guilty about eating a sweet, even if my sugar levels remain normal.
At one point, your mind gives out, exhausted by all the controlling. Mine did too, in the worst way possible. I wanted to give up. I found no reason to be a “burden” to my parents, and to myself. I never really found out how much, but the treatment of diabetes: insulin vials, cannula sets, and the insulin pump that I have on (Medtronics MiniMed 640G), drain one’s financial resources too. I have well-to-do parents, but that did not stop the guilt I felt (and still feel) about the costs that they incur because of me alone. It is extremely difficult to bring your mind back out of a rut of exhaustion. It took too long, and a whole perspective change that i found myself seeing the positives of my entire “situation”.
It began with seeing how much more disciplined I was than my peers. I had a set timing, I conditioned my mind into needing to move, allowing my body that release it needed through exercise. I saw that even if I at one point hated my body, I enjoyed having a slimmer figure. I got complimented on it a lot, and while that did lead to a mild body dysmorphia, through which I still struggle, I felt good. Among other things, I enjoy eating healthy food, and often try to make any recipe I come across healthier. After some time, I began to stop thinking that my T1D is all there is to me. I am much more than that. It took time for me to see things in a more positive light, and while I still have bad days, it does not affect the next days to come. I am a normal person, with just a slight twist of diabetes in the mix. Having diabetes does not make me abnormal, or having a pancreas that does not work is not abnormal. It is normal, it happens to a whole lot of people in the world, even if it takes time to see that.
I am normal, and I will always be. Because what is normal anyways?
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