Today is my nine year anniversary of being diagnosed with diabetes.  It doesn't feel like it has been that long, but then again there are times when it feels like it has been ninety years. 

That morning I woke up feeling like I was having a low blood sugar attack.  I had been diagnosed with hypoglycemia 3 years earlier.  I felt so weak, like I couldn't even get out of bed.  I wished my mom was there.  Of course this was the first time my parents had left my and my older sister, Erin, home alone for a whole weekend.  They were in Oklahoma visiting my uncle and aunt.  So I dragged myself out of bed and drank a glass of chocolate milk and ate a pop-tart.  I still felt horrible.  Erin called my Mamaw and she took me to an outpatient clinic in town. 

When we arrived, I told the nurse I was having a low blood sugar attack.  Naturally, she gave me a large glass of sugar water to drink, then decided to test my blood sugar.  By this time my blood sugar wouldn't even read on the meter.  They checked my urine for ketones, which were very large by this point.  My Mamaw rushed me to the hospital. 

The triage nurse immediately took me back and I was started on an insulin drip.  I was so tired, thirsty, and hungry.  I couldn't understand why I couldn't eat....anything at all.  My Mamaw had called my parents and they were on their way back from Oklahoma, calling every hour or so to call from a gas station and check on me (oh, the days before cell phones!  How did we make it??!). 

After a day in the ER, I was admitted to the ICU unit.  I didn't fully understand what was going on.  I was 13 years old and of course I had read about Stacey McGill and her diabetes in the Babysitters' Club books, but it wasn't really hitting me.  That I would never have the freedom I had enjoyed before.  Those first 2 days were rough.  I had blood drawn every 4 hours and a blood sugar finger prick hourly.  My friend came to visit me in the hospital--I was supposed to go to a sleepover that night for her birthday party, so she brought me a party favor bag.  I will never forget the look of fear and discomfort as she surveyed the wires, tubes, and IVs that I was hooked up to. 

I made it through those first 6 days at the hospital, each day getting slightly easier.  My friend Darcie visited me every day and walked down the hall with me and my IV.  I made it though my first insulin shots.  My first finger pricks and my first dietitian appointment (which was when I decided I wanted to become a registered dietitian when I grew up) were a whirlwind of scary memories.  I never let anyone else give me my shots on a regular basis.  I wanted things to be as normal as possible--and I still feel that way.

I have made it through the last nine years.  There have been times when I have hated diabetes with every fiber of my being, but also times when I realize that diabetes is just a part of who I am and I wouldn't be me without it.  I am thankful for new technology (I love my pump and my freestyle flash!) and for friends and family who have been there for me through all the highs, lows, disappointments, but especially for all the successes!