I’m celebrating my sixth diaversary (diabetes anniversary) by trying to share some aspects of my battle with a chronic illness. I choose to frame my journey with diabetes as a battle, because everyday, day in and day out, I wake up and fight for my health. It’s a celebration because approximately 15,330 finger pokes, 1460 needles, 650 pump site changes later, I’m still strong and I’m still learning about how to best manage my life with diabetes.
“You have diabetes.” Three words, one simple sentence. Three words that no one ever wants to hear. Three words that filled the silence of a small office, ripping through the tension and unleashing a whirlwind of emotions in my 15 year-old self. My battle was just beginning.

I remember instantly sobbing. The only things I knew about diabetes were the constant finger poking, the needles and that, stereotypically, it was most common amongst older people with ‘unhealthy lifestyles.’ My grandparents had diabetes— this wasn’t something I had envisioned for myself. But Type 1 diabetes was now my new reality. I was not immune to the ignorance of society in understanding this complex, labour-intensive, and frustrating autoimmune disease.

I spent four days in the hospital, allowing doctors and nurses to monitor my health and learning how to manage my new reality. To say that it was a lot to process would be an understatement.

I was introduced to the world of insulin, needles, nutritional information, lows, highs, and eventually carb counting and insulin pumps. What I was not told was that diabetes would take a mental toll on my life.

Diabetes is my battle to understand the seemingly unexplainable.

At 15, I fought to come to terms with my diagnosis– an illness that I had only ever heard spoken of in reference to ‘unhealthy lifestyles,’ obesity, high sugar intake and death.

It’s tough not to fall into a ‘why me?’ cycle of self-pity when there is no causal explanation for why one of your organs has essentially stopped functioning. Six years later, I sometimes still struggle to come to terms with my diagnosis.

Diabetes is my battle to be understood. I battle to educate people on the serious reality of my illness and to dispel misconceptions.

I battle against the mainstream diabetes discourse that suggests the patient’s diagnosis is a result of their carelessness and unhealthy habits. I fight to dispel the myth that in order to maintain my diabetes all I have to do is take my insulin, eat healthy, and walk on a treadmill twice a week. With Type 1 diabetes there is no cure, there is no magic pill. These myths invalidate my lived experiences with this diseases and undermine the amount of time I spend frustratingly adjusting insulin-carb ratios, figuring out the right percentage in insulin reduction for my temporary basal rate at the gym, and battling morning insulin resistance. It undermines the amount of time I spend trying to figure out why my blood sugar is too high or too low. Was my carb count off? Is my pump working properly? Did I pick a bad site? Too little or too much insulin? Am I just stressed? Am I sick? Is my physiology changing again? Are you lost yet? So am I. I could go on but I think I’ve made the point.
As someone with diabetes, I constantly encounter people who think we take a pill in the morning, then go on with our day without thinking about diabetes: this couldn’t be further from the truth. I struggle between wanting to accurately present my lived experience and not wanting to generate feelings of sympathy and pity. My battle is personal.

Diabetes is my battle against stigma. I battle against stereotypes. I battle against comments suggesting it’s my fault because I ate too much sugar, or comments suggesting I can be cured with okra and cinnamon. I get tired of correcting ignorant comments about diabetes, and the conflation between Type 1 and Type 2. I battle the assumptions that I’m trying to lose weight when I choose a diet drink or “light” beverage. I test my blood sugar in restaurants, on the street, on public transit, and in class. I try to do so discretely, but I refuse to risk my health because someone thinks a little drop of blood is gross.

Diabetes is my battle against lows. I battle against low blood sugars that leave me sweating, weak, and disoriented, that have me racing against time to consume enough sugar in a state of panic. The dangerous lows I don’t feel. The lows from drinking alcohol the night before, over estimating a carb count, pushing myself at the gym, or eating later than usual. The ones that I can’t seem to find a reason for.

But I also battle against the emotional lows. All those times when I feel down and want to run far away from a life of diabetes, but can’t. I fight the feeling of physical and emotional constraint.

Diabetes is my battle against social isolation.

At times I have felt alone in managing my diabetes. I have felt overwhelmed by a university culture of partying, alcohol consumption and intense academic pressure. At times I have compromised my health to try to fit in, and I have separated myself to try to manage my health. I have compromised my health to exert myself academically and I have felt myself unable to exert myself academically because of feeling unwell. I battle against shame and self-guilt from having ‘bad’ blood sugars and worrying about future health complications.

It’s tough not to fall into a ‘why me?’ cycle of self-pity when there is no causal explanation for why one of your organs has essentially stopped functioning.

Diabetes is my battle against fatigue and burn-out. I battle to maintain balance.

People have asked me if I ever get tired of diabetes. The answer to that is emphatically and overwhelmingly yes. Life with diabetes often leaves me feeling exhausted. There are days I struggle to get out of bed. I can often sleep for ten or more hours and still wake up feeling exhausted.

The demands of life on its own can be overwhelming and stressful. Many students struggle with stress during exams. I am certainly not immune from these pressures. Dealing with diabetes on top of being a full-time student at university has pushed me in ways that are hard to accurately describe. I have experienced simultaneous burn-outs from both school and diabetes. That feeling of not wanting to look at another reading, go to another lecture, or write another sentence accompanied by the feeling of wanting to rip out my insulin pump, throw away my medical supplies and drop out of school. On those days I battle to move forward.

My battle wounds are far deeper than the scars from poking my fingers, or the marks on my stomach from changing pump sites. They have become an inseparable part of who I am in ways most people will never be able to understand.

I battle to do more than just survive. I battle to live life on my own terms. Diabetes is an obstacle and a pretty big one at that, but it doesn’t stop me from maintaining my ambitions. I get through today, wake up tomorrow and start the battle over again.

The post Six years into my battle appeared first on The McGill Daily.

After being diagnosed five years ago, I was quickly introduced to the hectic world of insulin, finger pricking, and all the complexities of diabetes management. As a second-year student at McGill and a type 1 diabetic, I am celebrating National Diabetes Awareness Month with a commitment to shamelessly and unapologetically share my experience living with diabetes, in the spirit of this year’s theme, “T1D Looks Like Me.” My intention here is not to explain the science of diabetes, but rather to share the ways in which diabetes intersected with nearly every aspect of my first-year experience. I wish to encourage an open dialogue about the challenges and barriers faced by those with an often invisible disease: to all those living with type 1 diabetes, especially those who may be struggling, I want you to know that you are not alone.

The first year of university is supposed to be exciting, often portrayed as a major milestone in life. As I packed my bags and left my hometown of Brantford, Ontario, I was indeed extremely excited, but also somewhat nervous. I was also concerned with how living with type 1 diabetes would affect my university experience and lifestyle. How would my diabetes management routine be impacted by all the new things that were about to be thrown at me? Would I be able to have the ‘typical’ college experience?

Many new students are introduced to university through Frosh. It’s no secret that Frosh is generally associated with a lot of partying and alcohol, and I won’t lie – the drinking culture associated with Frosh was intimidating to me. Excessive alcohol consumption and type 1 diabetes can be a treacherous, even deadly, mix. Although I drink alcohol, I must do so with caution. This means monitoring my blood sugar throughout the night and being prepared for the delayed effects that can cause very unpleasant (and sometimes dangerous) blood sugar lows.

The invisibility of diabetes often means that you have to advocate for yourself and your limits. One of the nights during Frosh, I was carrying an unopened bottle of Gatorade with me in case my blood sugar dropped too low. Upon entering a club, it was confiscated, and the bouncer didn’t seem to care when I tried to explain my situation – I was only able to get it back after speaking to a Frosh coordinator. While I did have fun at Frosh, my experience at the club illustrates how I feel about drinking culture in general: it can be stressful and overwhelming at times, and is the site of an internal struggle to constantly recognize my personal boundaries and ensure that they are respected.

With diabetes there is no vacation, no weekend off, or personal day to recharge.

Finding a semblance of balance in the busy life of university is challenging for any new student, but is especially important for good diabetes management. Eating a balanced diet, getting enough sleep, checking your blood sugar throughout the day, and trying to fit in physical activity while maintaining some sort of regularity to your daily routine are all vital factors in doing it well. It’s a lot easier said than done, and it is especially difficult when you go through a period of transition where everything feels like it’s changing at once.

The chaos of this transition to university really impacted my control over my diabetes. Staying up late studying, going out, having class at different times every day, constantly adjusting insulin dosages, changing my diet, and struggling squeeze in exercise and time to socialize made controlling my blood sugar extremely difficult. There were days where I was practically ignoring my diabetes; at other times, I was trying really hard to be diligent, but still not getting the results I wanted. I was exhausted, not only by the demanding schedule of university, but also by the daily emotional and physical effort of managing my diabetes.

Shortly after hitting a rough patch in my first semester, I had my first endocrinology appointment since arriving in Montreal. My test result was not horrible, but as I had expected, my sugar levels had gone up over the three months I’d been at McGill. The doctor’s response was that it was normal for a diabetic student at university to go through periods of poorer control and that I should just keep trying to do better. I was somewhat relieved by this response, but also felt a sense of great frustration. “Just keep trying” was not a satisfying answer. I was trying, but I felt in many ways that I was failing.

One of the most frustrating aspects of living with diabetes is feeling limited or socially isolated by the disease. I struggled throughout first year to balance pursuing a normal social life and taking good care of my health. I desperately wanted to just study, go for a run, or eat and drink whatever I felt like without having to take insulin, check my sugar levels, and weigh the consequences of every decision I made. I often felt guilty that I was neglecting my health, but at the same time, when I tried to meticulously control every aspect of my diabetes, I felt like I was missing out. And at times I felt incredibly jealous – jealous that, from my perspective, everyone around me was carefree and having a good time while I was in the corner checking my blood sugar, gulping down juice to treat a low, or weighing the potential consequences of having one more drink. There were times in my first year when, despite being surrounded by people, I felt alone, like there was nobody who could relate to what I was going through. I was experiencing diabetes burnout, and with diabetes there is no vacation, no weekend off, or personal day to recharge.

One of the most frustrating aspects of living with diabetes is feeling limited or socially isolated by the disease.

I learned in my first year that finding and accessing support resources is incredibly important. While I was able stay in contact with the diabetic clinic in my hometown, which was extremely helpful, I also found it necessary to access resources on campus. By registering with the Office for Students with Disabilities, I was able to receive exam accommodations, allowing me to take breaks without losing exam time. While I’ve never actually used the stop time yet, it provides a huge sense of relief to know that the option is there if I need it.
Other important sources of support for me were the floor fellows in my residence. Being able to openly express how I was genuinely feeling in a non-judgmental environment helped me deal with the complex emotions of a strenuous first year and improved my overall mental health. The diverse concerns and challenges I faced in terms of both my physical and mental wellbeing all in their own way impacted how I was able to manage my diabetes.

My intention in writing this article was not to dwell on negatives, but to be open and sincerely honest about my experiences. Living with diabetes has not stopped me, and will not stop me, from living a meaningful life. In fact, it motivates me to be healthy and to achieve my goals in spite of these challenges, and reminds me to be thankful for my amazing support network. My first year at university challenged me in many ways, but it was also the best year of my life.

Type 1 diabetes looks like testing your blood sugar more than ten times a day. It looks like the fear of serious future health complications from highs and it looks like panic, disorientation, and fatigue caused by dangerous lows. It looks like exhaustion, sleeping through classes, and moments of defeat. But it also looks like determination, success, motivation, and inspiration. It looks like groundbreaking medical advancements and incredible support networks. It looks like courage and hope.

My name is Ryan Jamula and type 1 diabetes looks like me.

Ryan Jamula is a U1 Political Science student. To contact him, email ryan_jamula@hotmail.com.

The post Type 1 diabetes looks like me appeared first on The McGill Daily.