The theory in my family is that my pancreas had been dying a slow death for fifteen years. A cow’s milk-related allergy (so the family lore unfurled)…
Tag: Diagnosis
“Your blood sugar was five hundred and twenty four,” whispered the doctor through pale lips, after gently pulling back the curtain that had been separating me from the reality of the situation. “I’m sorry, but you have Type 1 diabetes.” His mouth continued to move, but I heard nothing.
The number staring back at me on the display was in the low 400s. I had no idea what that meant, but I sensed it was bad. The doctor held his breath for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry to tell you my friend," said the doctor, "but you are a diabetic." That's it. In that brief sentence, one part of my life was over, and another part had begun.
Diabetes is so new, and the pain of it coming into our lives is still fresh. The sleepless nights are the only thing that’s consistent. I hate the feeling of running on fumes. If I don’t stay healthy, I can’t make sure you stay healthy. I am trying to put things in place to make sure that you do.
My husband had taken the morning off to spend time in the classroom, and since it was also our turn to clean, I left work to go to the school.
As I began stacking knee-high chairs and tidying up the classroom, my cell phone rang. On the other end was the pediatrician. Not the nurse, but the doctor.
“Where are you?”
“At preschool.”
“Where is your husband?”
“Actually … here with us.”
“Where is the school?”
I didn’t like where this was going.
“There was sugar in her urine. I was about to go to lunch, and I was looking over the morning labs. I want you to go to the hospital (literally two blocks away) and get blood work done, and then meet me at my office at one o’clock. Can you do that? It is really important that you do this quickly.”
Don’t talk A1C’s with your kids. Ever. Listen, before diabetes, did you take the lab sheet from your child’s annual physical and show them things on it and celebrate numbers? Of course not. A young child does not even need to know what an A1C is, never mind the result of one. I wish I’d known this.
Even though Bisi can live a long, healthy life, I feel terribly sad for her, and for us. Sad that she will need tens (hundreds?) of thousands of blood tests and injections; sad that what she can eat and how she lives is so much more regimented and restricted than it was before; that she faces health consequences and worries that a six year old shouldn’t have to know about or think about. And I feel sad, even though she is a girl who takes an enormous amount of pleasure out of life, that she knows her life is shadowed by this.
Until now, the effectiveness of GAD antibody testing as a diagnostic has not been completely endorsed by the scientific community. Researchers at the Institute of Diabetes Research at the Helmholtz Zentrum München, partners in the Deutsches Zentrum für Diabetesforschung (DZD - German Center for Diabetes Research) however, have concluded a study that recommends use of the test in diagnosing LADA.
She described her diagnosis with Type 2 diabetes, decision to join a clinic-based weight loss program, and gradual incorporation of new activities and attitudes into her life. I was struck by the thoughtfulness of her approach, honesty about her relationship to her body and health, and persistence at re-shaping her habits and thinking.
I had only managed to swim a mile once in my pool and my health seemed off that summer. I still pushed myself, despite the nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. I completed the swim, but I did so slowly. It felt like I was swimming in oatmeal. At age 48 I wondered, was I getting too old for such exertion?