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Type 1 Diabetes
How did your parents take the fact that their little child has diabetes?
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<blockquote data-quote="JMK1954" data-source="post: 2514986" data-attributes="member: 352098"><p>I was diagosed aged 10 in 1964, during the school.summer holidays. My dad was a pharmacist and had evidently been disturbed by the noise I made when I went to the toilet in the middle of the night. He instructed my mother to take me to the doctor's with a urine sample and the GP said (it was a Friday)there was sugar present at 2% and told my mother to cut out all cakes, biscuits and sweets over the weekend. On the Monday we went back with a new urine sample which still showed sugar. He sent us home and rang back a couple of hours later, giving instructions to take me to Alder Hey, the children's hospital in Liverpool, later that day.</p><p></p><p>I was in hospital for three weeks, basically because I was kept in until my parents and I could carb count and do insulin injections. The last few days were spent in transferring me from two injections a day to one.. Nobody ever told me I was diabetic, because I burst into tears on being told I had to stay in hospital, which interrupted the doctor's careful explanation. I realised I was a diabetic, because my dad had brought home Rose's Diabetic Orange squash for me two days earlier, so I had asked for some explanation of the term.</p><p></p><p> The hospital staff varied from the good to excellent in dealing with me, but I refused point blank to do any injections when I got home. It hurt too much. I only did the injections to be allowed to go home. My dad took over the injections. My mum refused to do them point blank.</p><p></p><p>It was five years or so before I finally started to inject myself. Nobody told the hospital I wasn't doing my own injections. I suspect they would have re-admitted me, so an endless loop of admissions and discharges would have resulted. My dad, being more informed, was the one who acted as the judge over what I should or shouldn't eat, which worked pretty well. The only time I argued with my mum over food was when I wanted salted peanuts when everyone else was being bought sweets in the newsagent's. She referred to my dad whenever a decision had to be made.(She did over a lot of things.) I feel I owed my dad my life. He recognised the symptoms, he did my injections and covered for me, he bought me disposable syringes as soon as they became available (but not on the NHS). Thanks to him, I didn't miss half my education. The hospital teaching was a bit patchy, even for a primary school level.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="JMK1954, post: 2514986, member: 352098"] I was diagosed aged 10 in 1964, during the school.summer holidays. My dad was a pharmacist and had evidently been disturbed by the noise I made when I went to the toilet in the middle of the night. He instructed my mother to take me to the doctor's with a urine sample and the GP said (it was a Friday)there was sugar present at 2% and told my mother to cut out all cakes, biscuits and sweets over the weekend. On the Monday we went back with a new urine sample which still showed sugar. He sent us home and rang back a couple of hours later, giving instructions to take me to Alder Hey, the children's hospital in Liverpool, later that day. I was in hospital for three weeks, basically because I was kept in until my parents and I could carb count and do insulin injections. The last few days were spent in transferring me from two injections a day to one.. Nobody ever told me I was diabetic, because I burst into tears on being told I had to stay in hospital, which interrupted the doctor's careful explanation. I realised I was a diabetic, because my dad had brought home Rose's Diabetic Orange squash for me two days earlier, so I had asked for some explanation of the term. The hospital staff varied from the good to excellent in dealing with me, but I refused point blank to do any injections when I got home. It hurt too much. I only did the injections to be allowed to go home. My dad took over the injections. My mum refused to do them point blank. It was five years or so before I finally started to inject myself. Nobody told the hospital I wasn't doing my own injections. I suspect they would have re-admitted me, so an endless loop of admissions and discharges would have resulted. My dad, being more informed, was the one who acted as the judge over what I should or shouldn't eat, which worked pretty well. The only time I argued with my mum over food was when I wanted salted peanuts when everyone else was being bought sweets in the newsagent's. She referred to my dad whenever a decision had to be made.(She did over a lot of things.) I feel I owed my dad my life. He recognised the symptoms, he did my injections and covered for me, he bought me disposable syringes as soon as they became available (but not on the NHS). Thanks to him, I didn't miss half my education. The hospital teaching was a bit patchy, even for a primary school level. [/QUOTE]
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How did your parents take the fact that their little child has diabetes?
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