So... most of you would know by now that I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes in September 2010 after approximately three months of severe denial (Don't ask. Okay, you can ask - send me a private message.)
It took me around a year to arrive at some semblance of acceptance that this will be my life henceforth: Testing my glucose levels several times a day via a needle prick, injecting insulin at least twice a day, taking extra special care of my body by avoiding infection and injury as much as possible, and accepting that, when I do contract an infection or get an injury, I will take far longer than the average (read normal) person to heal.
After the diagnosis and the introduction of strict insulin doses, I had a few pseudo hypos. The hypos were inconvenient, caused an emotional response, but were few and far between and easily remedied with food and/or juice. Thus: Upsetting, but manageable.
Recently though, I had a far worse one and it scared the bejeezus (sp?) out of me.
It was a typical Saturday for me. I (stupidly) did 8 units of insulin and went to my Zumba class. It happened to be the 24th of December and I decided to do a bit of last minute shopping at Cresta across the road. Realising that I may be at risk having taken a large dose of insulin on a high intensity exercise day, I grabbed a sugary sweet from my car on the way.
I made my way into the mall, which predictably, was packed. I started feeling the telltale signs of a hypo: Periodic visual impairment and tiny shocks in my body. But, I figured, I have *just* had the sweet and my body will be fine in a minute.
Wrong!
By the time I made my way midway through the mall to CNA, I started feeling severely disorientated and my visual impairment was reaching gigantic proportions. I had to really, really concentrate for my brain to register the scenes around me. The scenes around me, of course, consisted largely of huge numbers of people with their Christmas packages and queues everywhere.
A hypo is difficult to describe...imagine, if you can, repeated short circuits in your brain. With each shock your vision, other senses, all thought, go blank in that instant. So imagine you're having this happen to you in a crazy, busy mall on Christmas eve...
I needed sugar and I needed it fast. If you know Cresta you will know that around the CNA area there are no fast food outlets nearby. My best bet was a chocolate from CNA.
Through the haze of my electric shocks and my intermittent sight, I identified the general direction to the CNA store. It was slow-going and an increasing panic was building in my mind and body. A few meters from the entrance of the store, my overwhelmed brain registered the queue that snaked around the magazine and chocolate racks...Disaster! I would not make it to the front of the queue in time for me to buy a chocolate and consume it...a diabetic coma was imminent and I was running out of time.
It is difficult to explain how disconcerting (understatement of the year!) it is when you are battling the physiological effects and the psychological panic of a hypo at the same time (is it possible to have the one without the other? I don't think so). My life did not flash in front of my eyes... there wasn't time for that. All I could think was: "Oh fuck, I am going to slip into a coma and die in front of complete strangers, all alone". Melodramatic? I don't think so. Realistically, if someone became unconscious in a large mall on Christmas eve ... how long before someone would notice? How long before centre management would be notified? How long before they would contact emergency services? When the paramedics arrived, how long before they would figure out that I am in a diabetic coma, if they would establish that at all?
Scary.
In my advanced state of disorientation and panic, I made my way to the serving bar at Tiffany's. I barked a request for juice. The waitresses complied. It was not enough. I barked a request for a second glass. I downed it. The electric shocks rippling through my body DID NOT SUBSIDE. The shocks increased in frequency and length. The manager of the coffee shop noticed the commotion and came up to us and asked what was going on. I managed to blurt out that I was diabetic and was crashing. I sounded incoherent to myself but he understood and led me to a table, ordering the waitress to bring a jumbo glass of juice.
In my mind the thought repeated: I don't want to die. And certainly not like this.
I was aware of people staring at me.
Three quarters through the jumbo glass of juice the shocks started subsiding and my vision started to normalize. All of this probably played out in a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime of anxiety and despair.
My body went into shock and I started to sob.
The manager was so incredibly sweet - he wouldn't let me pay for any of the juice. (If you are a Cresta patron - support them!)
I was beyond rattled for the rest of the day: Exhausted, pensive, humbled.
My doctor at the Centre for Diabetes advised me in November 2010 to get a medical alert bracelet.
There is no way I was going to do that. Ever.
I pity and judge people that wear these. And I don't want to be pitied or judged.
So I had toyed with the idea of a tattoo that would inform people of my condition sans the pathetic stares.
The December hypo was the final straw. I had "come out" to only a few people about a year after the diagnoses - I did not want to be seen as weak. But when dying is a likelihood, the time for pride and ego is over. Type 1 diabetes is a degenerative, lifelong disease. It was time to get a permanent mark to go with it.
The universal sign for diabetes is a baby blue circle. The baby blue did not quite sit with me so I settled on a darker blue with a roman 1 in the centre to signify my specific type.
When a paramedic looks at my wrist when I am in a coma, will he make the link? Hopefully. But if not, you dear friend, will see the commotion, recognise me and tell them to give me a Glugacon injection pronto.
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