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First thoughts when diagnosed? (Type 1)
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<blockquote data-quote="LooperCat" data-source="post: 1721463" data-attributes="member: 468055"><p>I was 24 and studying for a PhD on plant biochemistry. I had a nasty dose of gastric flu, and within days I was ragingly thirsty, weeing all the time and had lost a fair bit of weight. Went to the doctor about the flu as soon as I felt strong enough to get there (I was living in a sort of hall of residence, but effectively alone), he took a urine test, declared it as sweet as golden syrup and said I had to get to Hemel Hempstead hospital ASAP. I had to ask my PhD supervisor to drive me there as I wasn’t well enough to use public transport, let alone drive myself. </p><p></p><p>I don’t remember much about the hospital part, I don’t even know if I was on a drip. I recall the side ward I was on being empty except for me, and I have never felt so alone in my life. I cried and cried and cried. A really brusque nurse showed me how to inject and said I needed to keep my levels between 6 and 8. I was discharged with a carrier bag containing mixed pig insulin and urine test sticks </p><p></p><p>My then boyfriend (we married a few years later) was working in Germany so couldn’t come over, and I don’t think my parents thought it was serious enough to travel the 200 miles. None of us knew a single thing about diabetes. All I knew was what I had learned in A Level Biology, and I do remember thinking that knowing my luck, I’ll end up with that...</p><p></p><p>Somehow or other, I ended up back at my parents’ house in Somerset for a couple of weeks and it really began to sink in. I had my first hypo in my dad’s car and we both panicked. Me because it felt so horrendous, and my dad because he just didn’t know what to do. The enormity of it all was a massive thing to cope with for them. I was adopted as a baby and felt guilty because I was “faulty” and had given them this to deal with. My first worry was that I wouldn’t be able to ride my motorbike any more. My boyfriend’s fear was that we wouldn’t be able to go out to eat. My mum later told me her first thoughts were that nobody would want to marry me and I’d never have children. Sadly she died a few months after I was diagnosed - she never got to meet her grandson. </p><p></p><p>I went back to my studies, and drank and drank and drank to numb my misery. I ended up in some very dangerous situations, including a near-rape. I came out of the other side of that after a few months, went to New York for a week and had a massive hypo in the middle of Grand Central Station. I was mortified. I’d had one right in the middle of the plane taking off too... I’ve been in burnout for years, I just had enough for a while and tried to live in denial, taking my basal but not bothering about any of the rest of it. That nearly killed me. Twice. I’ve got back on the wagon now that I’m using a Libre, I think it was the fingerpicking that did my head in. I don’t mind injecting. </p><p></p><p>Tl;dr - I fell to bits initially but I’m okay with it now. Not delighted, obviously. But I still ride motorbikes, eat out, travel the world, get married (twice so far, think that’ll do, unless anyone has a recipe for keto wedding cake) and have a wonderful kid (the toerag actually likes blood testing me before driving). Life is pretty good and I feel so fortunate to be living where and when I do. If I was American I’d be bankrupt or dead, or both!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="LooperCat, post: 1721463, member: 468055"] I was 24 and studying for a PhD on plant biochemistry. I had a nasty dose of gastric flu, and within days I was ragingly thirsty, weeing all the time and had lost a fair bit of weight. Went to the doctor about the flu as soon as I felt strong enough to get there (I was living in a sort of hall of residence, but effectively alone), he took a urine test, declared it as sweet as golden syrup and said I had to get to Hemel Hempstead hospital ASAP. I had to ask my PhD supervisor to drive me there as I wasn’t well enough to use public transport, let alone drive myself. I don’t remember much about the hospital part, I don’t even know if I was on a drip. I recall the side ward I was on being empty except for me, and I have never felt so alone in my life. I cried and cried and cried. A really brusque nurse showed me how to inject and said I needed to keep my levels between 6 and 8. I was discharged with a carrier bag containing mixed pig insulin and urine test sticks My then boyfriend (we married a few years later) was working in Germany so couldn’t come over, and I don’t think my parents thought it was serious enough to travel the 200 miles. None of us knew a single thing about diabetes. All I knew was what I had learned in A Level Biology, and I do remember thinking that knowing my luck, I’ll end up with that... Somehow or other, I ended up back at my parents’ house in Somerset for a couple of weeks and it really began to sink in. I had my first hypo in my dad’s car and we both panicked. Me because it felt so horrendous, and my dad because he just didn’t know what to do. The enormity of it all was a massive thing to cope with for them. I was adopted as a baby and felt guilty because I was “faulty” and had given them this to deal with. My first worry was that I wouldn’t be able to ride my motorbike any more. My boyfriend’s fear was that we wouldn’t be able to go out to eat. My mum later told me her first thoughts were that nobody would want to marry me and I’d never have children. Sadly she died a few months after I was diagnosed - she never got to meet her grandson. I went back to my studies, and drank and drank and drank to numb my misery. I ended up in some very dangerous situations, including a near-rape. I came out of the other side of that after a few months, went to New York for a week and had a massive hypo in the middle of Grand Central Station. I was mortified. I’d had one right in the middle of the plane taking off too... I’ve been in burnout for years, I just had enough for a while and tried to live in denial, taking my basal but not bothering about any of the rest of it. That nearly killed me. Twice. I’ve got back on the wagon now that I’m using a Libre, I think it was the fingerpicking that did my head in. I don’t mind injecting. Tl;dr - I fell to bits initially but I’m okay with it now. Not delighted, obviously. But I still ride motorbikes, eat out, travel the world, get married (twice so far, think that’ll do, unless anyone has a recipe for keto wedding cake) and have a wonderful kid (the toerag actually likes blood testing me before driving). Life is pretty good and I feel so fortunate to be living where and when I do. If I was American I’d be bankrupt or dead, or both! [/QUOTE]
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