Three Years Thriving

When I crawled out of bed three years ago yesterday, I felt awful. I hadn’t slept well, I had woken up at least four times to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. When I had finished showering in the morning, I immediately threw up. That was the morning that Brad saved my life by forcing me to make an appointment with the doctor.

When I got out of bed yesterday morning, I had slept well, I woke up once in the night to check my blood sugar. When I had finished showering, I brushed my teeth. Yesterday morning, and many mornings over the past 3 years, I felt good. I felt alive. And that’s not something I take lightly.

I might not be a “morning person” but I’m happy to wake up every morning and I owe that to my husband who made me go to the doctor and ended up saving my life.

August 11, 2011 was the day that I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.

Yesterday passed quietly, without celebration, but with an interesting level of peace with my body.

The fact that my own immune system tried to kill me is not forgotten and even three years later, I worry about what other damage may have been done in the weeks that I was sick. The unfortunate fact is that I was sick for awhile after my pancreas failed and we didn’t think to get me checked for diabetes because 1.) We didn’t know the symptoms and 2.) No one expects that the sick 22-year-old could have type 1 diabetes… because people seem to think it only happens in kids.

Yesterday was my 3rd diaversary. I doubt that as the years pass, my level of gratitude to my husband for saving my life and to the doctor who stumbled onto a diabetes diagnosis will lessen. My pride in thriving over the past three years, in a body that wanted to quit, continues to grow. Diabetes is one of few diseases where the patient is the one in charge of its treatment, the one administering medicine, the one running diagnostic tests. I may have support, but staying alive and being healthy is a one-woman job for me.

I would love to see a cure in my lifetime, but as I’ve said before, I’m not holding my breath. I will “settle” for many healthy years with the husband who saved me.

Other Reading:

My diagnosis story

What you should know (symptoms)

 

 

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