Happy Anniversary to my Dead Pancreas
Why I choose to celebrate one of the worst days of my life
I sat in my car for a few minutes as it idled when I got home from work yesterday. It had been a dreary January day, fog still hovering over my apartment building. I let my Spotify drone whichever way it felt as I scrolled through my phone.
That’s when it hit me. The Feeling.
I know The Feeling well. It starts with a weakness somewhere beyond my eyes. Every part of my body starts to feel a little lighter, and not in a fun way like it does when I’ve been sticking to my workout plan and feel incredibly in shape—it’s almost as if my insides have disconnected from my skin and are simply floating as a separate entity, waiting for their moment to escape.
Then I start to feel my brain slow down a little bit. Whatever I’m reading makes about 90% sense, until that number shortly starts to drop, 89…88..80…75….50…. and each letter starts to look like one another. Twitter becomes much more disorienting than it usually is.
At this point, the experience tends to differ depending on the time of day. Sometimes, I’ll start profusely sweating. Other times, I can barely form a sentence without sounding like a straight up lunatic. Almost every time, moving my body feels like treading water.
This is the feeling of a low blood sugar. Most humans, diabetic or not, have experienced this at one point or another, and it can usually be solved by a quick snack and a quick apology for snapping at your spouse (if you’re ever “hangry,” it’s probably a low blood sugar). For a person with Type One Diabetes, like me, it can mean life or death.
Today marks 22 years since I was diagnosed with T1D.
A person with this disease owns a pancreas that, for some reason or another, decided to stop making insulin. Insulin is the hormone made by the pancreas that breaks food down into energy. Your pancreas also does a lot of other work in relation to digestion, which includes releasing the hormone glucagon. Glucagon is the other piece of the puzzle when it comes to balancing your blood sugar level, bringing it back up as the insulin gets to work.
A person with T1D can still make glucagon, but our busted pancreases (Pancreai?) can’t regulate it in a way that makes it function properly. So when our blood sugar levels drop, and the whole system gets even more dysregulated than it already is, the only thing that will bring us into range is a fast acting sugar.
And if you don’t have access to that sugar, or you don’t have enough sugar as compared to the amount of insulin in your body, or you have been exercising all day and it takes more sugar to raise you than it usually does, or you miscalculated your carbs at your last meal, or something came up at work and you have to eat later than normal, or your at a time of the month where your hormones are bizarre, or you are asleep and you don’t hear your Dexcom alarm to tell you you’re low, or the wind blew North and you wore your hair in a ponytail……..
Then your body shuts down, you start seizing, you lose consciousness, and you can die.
On January 25, 2002, at five years old, death suddenly became a factor in my life when I was diagnosed with this disease. I was suddenly thrust into a lifetime where running alongside my friends could result in a severe low blood sugar, where I became close friends with needles and learned that if I didn’t, I’d have a future to look forward to with blackened feet and much shorter time than my three older siblings. Everything I needed to keep me alive cost a fortune and any tiny miscalculation in my medication could mean I wasn’t going to wake up in the morning (please, give my mother a hand for taking care of a rowdy five year old with this knowledge).
During my low blood sugar yesterday, I was hit with an untenable hunger. I finally got out of the car and walked up the flight of stairs (which is a truly horrifying task when your body is operating on a lower plane of reality) to get to my apartment. I set all of my stuff down and ran straight for the cookie jar my husband and I keep on the counter. (It’s filled with vanilla oreos, because my husband doesn’t like chocolate, which honestly might be the second worst thing to happen to me after Diabetes?)
And I ate. So. Many. Cookies.
I objectively know that my body had gone into starvation mode and was telling me, “CARBS. WE NEED CARBS NOW!!!!!!!!” (it sounds fun in theory but in reality, it leaves you laying in bed, bloated as all hell, and feeling defeated). But after these episodes, it horrifies me to think back to just, like, how much I actually ate. In a normal state of mind, I probably would have eaten 3, maybe 4. I bet I ate at least…12? My stomach hurts just thinking about it.
If you are a person with T1D, you know exactly what happened next. My blood sugar skyrocketed (made even worse because my Dexcom had expired and I didn’t see a blood sugar for two hours). That airiness from the low turned to complete and total sludge. I ached for water. I had almost no energy to read my book, let alone converse like a real human. I was exhausted and felt nauseous.
And it sent me on a blood sugar roller coaster that I’m currently still working on straightening out, a full 28 hours after I got home from work and sat in my car and felt the feeling of a low blood sugar smother me.
In the T1D world, the anniversary of your diagnosis is referred to as your “diaversary,” and it’s widely celebrated across our community (not everyone celebrates their own—my husband and one of my best friends don’t know the date they were diagnosed).
You might wonder why I’m celebrating today after reading all of this. And I want you to know, sincerely, that this is exactly why I celebrate.
Because today, even after fighting my blood sugar and knowing a $500+ bill is coming for me soon for diabetic supplies and I can only focus on the scars on my stomach every time I’ve looked in the mirror lately, amidst every reminder that this disease could kill me at any moment — I’m still wholly, undeniably happy.
I had a great day at work today and accomplished something I’m really proud of. My husband made a delicious dinner and we planned our upcoming trip to New Orleans. I’m almost finished with a book I’m excited about. My cats have been extra snugly lately. I am having a girls day with my mom and sister this weekend. I feel like I’m really coming into my writer identity. My life is filled to the brim with joy and excitement and so, so, so much love.
There are so many reasons I should celebrate my diaversary, for all of the things this shitty disease has brought me — my husband, some of my best friends, a place of solace, a strength and outlook that continues to serve me.
But every year, on this day, I celebrate how much I have been able to live for the past 22 years in the face of this disease. I will never stop celebrating that.
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