March 1, 1992

I decided this morning that I wanted to share the story of my diagnosis of Juvenile Diabetes. Understand that I dedicate my time and efforts to finding a cure for Micheala, but I was thinking to myself last night that I should share the story of how we got to where we are today. I feel that it is important for me to share this story because many of you may not know it and in order to have an ending, we must understand the beginning.

I was 15 years old. In the last week of February, I got sick. Nothing that would have the average person too concerned and so we were not concerned. I went in to the doctor and was diagnosed with having walking pneumonia, nothing too critical, so I was sent home with medications and the instruction to get rest.

So I missed the next week of school. I was resting all day and all night, but didn't seem to be getting any better. Matter of fact, I felt as if I was getting worse. I started dropping weight, drinking fluids all of the time and urinating constantly. I was drinking a gallon of milk a day and lost a total of 25 pounds. I looked sick and come to ind out, I was a lot sicker than I thought.

My mom decided that I needed to go into the doctor again because my condition was not improving. I also happened to remember that in Biology class we were studying diabetes, so I was concerned because I felt that I had the symptoms of someone with diabetes.

We went to the doctor and I asked him to check me for diabetes, and feared that my assumption of being diabetes would come true. My blood sugar was tested and it was over 700. At that point, the doctor told my mother and I that we needed to head to St. Lukes hospital.

It was a very quiet ride to St. Lukes hospital. Neither one of us knew what to say because neither one of us knew what was happening. I was checked in and on March 1, 1992 I officially became known as a juvenile diabetic.

Laying in a hospital bed, I was flooded with emotion, nurses and education. We had no knowledge of diabetes and didn't know of anyone with diabetes, so all of this was knew to us. We had 72 hours to learn about a foreign lifestyle and we were scared.

A diabetic educator came in and made me laugh at first, but then got down to the details, which included the fact that I would be doing finger pokes and shots every day for the rest of my life. I was given a needle with insulin in it and told to give myself a shot less that 12 hours after I was admitted into the hospital. Even if I had a fear of needles, that didn't matter anymore, I was now faced with a life or death situation. I was 15 years old.

I was given videos to watch that explained diabetes. The nurse put in the wrong video at first, it was "Baby By C-Section" and had me scared to death. Even after putting in the right video, I didn't watch much of it.

My mom called my dad at his work and told him the news. He came down to the hospital and stood over my bed, just looking at me. In 15 years, I had never seen my dad cry, but on that day, he broke down. That got me scared.

I started feeling better, but all of us were nervous because we knew that my discharge date was approaching and we would soon be on our own. I had many visitors while in the hospital that lifted my spirits, but then they had to leave and once again I felt hopeless. Nights in the hospital seemed to drag on forever. I wanted to go home, yet I was scared about going home.

So discharge day came and I went home. Our meals now consisted of measuring cups and a growing teenager upset because he was hungry and couldn't eat anymore. It was hard to concentrate in school because I felt like everyone was looking at me, looking at me like I was different. I tried to hide the fact that I was diabetic. I would go to the office and hide in a corner to check my blood sugars. I would make jokes when my friends asked me about diabetes. My coaches were hesitant to have me on the team because of the "what ifs", even though they never expressed their concerns, I could tell by the way that I was treated differently. I was embarrassed to be different because I had always done a good job of blending in. I was the only diabetic in a high school of 200 students and everyone knew that. I remember sitting in a business class and having a low blood sugar. I was shaking like crazy but didn't want to interrupt the teacher because I was embarrassed.

I hated diabetes because it interrupted my life. It made me different.

After a while, the "diabetic kid" thing started wearing off. My friends still knew, but didn't bother me about it anymore. The questioning stopped and I was allowed to start living a semi-normal teenage life again.

That is how it all started for me. I look back on this and can laugh about somethings and still get a bit emotional about others. I was lucky enough to be 15 when diabetes came into my life. I had 15 years of my life to live without diabetes. I compare my diagnosis day to the diagnosis day of Micheala and feel sad that she was granted at least 15 years to live without diabetes. That's why I am fighting for the cure, to give her at least 15 years of no diabetes.

March 1, 1992.....my life, my parents life and eventually Micheala's life changed forever. Diabetes impacts everyone, not just the diagnosed. How has diabetes impacted your life? That is the question I challenge all of you to answer today.