So, type 1 diabetes means trying to keep your blood sugars within range 24 hours a day, which is an impossible task. But you have to deal with it anyway.
It’s not lifestyle-related but an autoimmune condition with no cure.
The pancreas is an amazing organ, but when it no longer produces insulin, it simply means that I have to do the math.
Meaning, I have to count every carb, every dose, and think about the 42 other factors that might influence each meal.
A “free” life becomes tied to numbers and one undeniable truth: without insulin, I won’t live.
Therefore my brain is wired to detect, to feel, to manage, to survive one day at a time!
Others once saw only syringes and needles; now they see sensors on arms and insulin pumps attached to our bodies.
The technological possibilities make life easier (sometimes not!), but they also make me dependent on medical supplies.
There’s a high price for the life people with type 1 diabetes lead.
Nevertheless, I’ve always loved to live, to do things, sometimes not think, but just experience, learn, learn more, do more.
I loved working hard for years. I would not let my type 1 dictate or stop me from doing what I wanted in life. I would sit in meetings with high or very low blood sugar and act normal. But since time passes, it gets to you, shows on your face, and your brain and body really slow down, becoming easily exhausted.
So you are forced to adapt and find other things to do, while still trying to keep up with the highs and lows every day and night. It’s always there and never leaves you. Only if you’re a little lucky, you escape early complications.
But I don’t let it get to me. There is a border I don’t want to cross.
The times I do cross it are when I meet fellow type 1’s. I see their struggle, and it’s like looking in a mirror. Then I feel the pain, deep and sharp, like a needle in my heart.
For friends and family, it’s an impossible task to feel compassion and empathy every time blood sugars go up or down. Sometimes I want them to be more empathetic; other times I want to be left alone. It’s a thin line, and it’s difficult for my loved ones to anticipate.
At the end of the day, if someone likes or loves me, they get the type 1 for free.
Feel welcome in my world 🙂 It may not be unique or joyful, but it matters, because type 1 diabetics count too.
Diagnosed with type 1 diabetes in 1993 as daughter to a Dutch mother and Turkish father, raised across Zurich, Istanbul, Diemen, Cyprus, and now rooted in Amsterdam. Here, I worked as a health education and prevention specialist and as a pedagogue in child and youth protection with disabilities.
I wouldn’t really call myself an artist. Maybe in my inner world, yeah, but not in a way I’ve ever really shared with others. I tend to be pretty introverted, with a kind of intense focus that probably might fall somewhere on the AD(H)D spectrum.
What I do have is this strong need to make sense of things, to put experiences into perspective. Last year, I took some drawing classes and decided to tell my life story that way. But, as always, type 1 diabetes kind of took over the narrative.