My Type 1 Diabetes Diagnosis Story
Five-year-old checkup
It’s 1994 and my mother is getting me ready for my 5-year-old checkup. The doctors asked for a urine sample, my mom knew I needed to provide a urine sample. Being the good mom that she is, she told me over and over again that I wasn’t allowed to go pee before we left. So of course, I absolutely had to go pee before we left the house. And my mother, being the resourceful woman she is, brought my pee into the doctor’s office in a Tupperware. (You did what mom!? You brought my pee in a Tupperware? This is crazy and gross! I mean I don’t have kids, and don’t how I would have handled this situation if I was my mom, but ick!)
I’m Diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes
I don’t know if a doctor would test Tupperware urine today, but back in 1994 the doctors did test it. They found that my urine contained glucose. In order to confirm, they doctors wanted to send in the urine for further testing, and did not want to send in Tupperware urine. They required a more sterile urine sample, which I was eventually able to provide. With this second sample, they confirmed that I was in the early stages of type 1 diabetes.
Luckily for myself and my family the doctors caught this early. A lot of children that I have met and heard about were diagnosed because their blood sugar number was so high that they fell into a coma and were raced to the emergency room in the back of an ambulance.
Glucose Tolerance Test
The doctor’s confirmed that there was glucose in my urine. After, they sent me to the hospital for a glucose tolerance test. In 2024 the CDC says a glucose tolerance test for testing if someone has diabetes is as follows. “This measures your blood sugar before and after you drink a liquid that contains glucose. You’ll fast (not eat) overnight before the test and have your blood drawn to measure your fasting blood sugar level. Then you’ll drink the liquid and have your blood sugar level checked. These checks usually happen at 1 hour, 2 hours, and possibly 3 hours afterward.”
My family remembers it taking all day, much longer than 3 hours. I’m not sure if the procedures have changed since 1994 and/or if time and emotions have altered our memories. I do remember the doctors put a port in my arm, followed by a type of cast so I couldn’t bend my arm. In between blood sugar level checks, I sat in the waiting room, in unergonomic chairs to watch a CRT TV suspended in the corner. If you don’t know what a CRT TV is, then you were born more recently than I was. (And you missed you on the beauty that was the heavy box of a TV, seen below)
During my waiting room TV watching, I don’t remember having any positive or negative emotions. I must have blocked this out because my parents told me that I was steaming with anger. Sitting there silently stewing, glaring at the TV, wishing I was safe at home. I did not want to be there; I did not want them to do this test. I just wanted to be at home, living a normal 5-year-old life.
Temporary Reprieve
I did eventually get to go home.
The final step was for me to be hospitalized, to learn what being a type 1 diabetic meant. Learn all of the changes in store for myself and my family. And to determine what my insulin doses would be. October 31st was right around the corner, and because of this my parents asked the doctors if I could go home for a couple of days to celebrate Halloween. The doctors agreed! I was able to dress up and swarm the neighborhood with friends to collect as much candy as my tiny hands could carry.
Hospitalization
Depending on who you ask, I was in the hospital for two days or one week. In the hospital they continued to monitor my blood glucose levels. They decided on my carbohydrate counting ratio, my high blood sugar correction dose, and my basal/background insulin dose.
At the time, I was in preschool at the time and my class made me a giant Get Well Soon card, and one of the student’s parents brought the card to the hospital for me. It was very sweet, but my dad was very angry because (at a much later date) he said that “I was never going to get well, and this card wasn’t appropriate.” I understand my dad’s anger, but for the emotional range of a 5-year-old, I very much enjoyed my giant card from my classmates.
My parents were educated on everything type 1 diabetes. What they needed to do moving forward, including how to inject their young daughter with insulin. The doctors told them to call if they had any questions or concerns.
My mom did call many times about adjusting my insulin dose, dealing with high blood sugar numbers, and generally making sure that I, her daughter, was going to be ok. Like any mother, she wanted to do everything right and not do anything to make it worse.
One Happy Memory
Finally, we were done with hospitals, doctors, and nurses. We finally went home. It was now up to my parents to inject me. They had to show me that it was not scary to get a shot, and encourage me that it would be okay. They showed me how easy and safe it was by injecting each other with saline.
The following story is how I remember it. I am for sure that this is exactly what happened 🙂
I am sitting at the kitchen counter in a black 90’s chair, my parents are standing on the other side of the counter in the kitchen. As my dad injects my mom’s arm, he says “Look Emily, see it’s not scary, your mom just got a shot and it didn’t hurt.” I was genuinely still scared, I didn’t know what these shots meant. (At the time, I didn’t realize that is how I was feeling, at the time. I was scared and I didn’t want my parents to inject me every day. I didn’t want this to be my life. It was dumb and I didn’t like it.)
So, I said “No… I don’t know… do another one.” This time my mom injects my dad and she says the same thing “See Emily your dad just got a shot and it didn’t hurt him. It was nice and easy. It’s your turn.”
I made my parents inject each other a few times. Soon, I realized that I had so much power over them in this moment. The sneaky, sassy, five-year-old that I was really enjoyed making my parents inject each other, over and over again. I had to see how long I could make this last! So, instead of being scared, I kept saying “No, I’m still scared, I don’t wanna do this.” suppressing giggles “You inject each other again.” I have no idea how my parents figured out my devious plan, but they did. After making my parents inject each other at least three times each, I conceded that it was finally my turn.
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