Normal

by David Goldman

I was a year and a half old when I was diagnosed with diabetes.

I actually remember being diagnosed. For years when I was a kid I thought it was the remnant of a dream rolling around in my head – I’ve just woken up and I’m lying in a crib. But it’s not my crib and it’s not my room. I’m looking up at everything. It’s a bright place. The sun is streaming through the windows to my left and a breeze is blowing in. There’s a curtain hanging from the ceiling that separates me from the rest of the room.

My mom is sitting in a chair behind me and she’s reading a magazine. I’m reassured by her presence in this unfamiliar room. She smiles at me and that makes me more comfortable.

The door opens and two men come in. They scare me. I remember that they’re both wearing glasses and some sort of uniform. One of them has hairy arms. They’re dressed in gray, plain pants and shirts. They place my head between the bars of the crib so I’m facing up and I can’t move. I’m really scared now. I see my mom. I look back up and see a large syringe come toward my neck. Why isn’t my mom helping me?

I don’t’ remember anything else.

When I told this “dream” to my mom she told me it wasn’t a dream. It was when I was just a year and a half old and in the hospital being tested for diabetes. My dad was a diabetic and I was going to carry on the family tradition.

Back then the prospects weren’t great for a child diagnosed so early. The doctors told my parents to expect vision problems and possible blindness, kidney failure, issues with my heart, and more.

What did my parents do? They accepted it and raised me like a normal child. I had diabetes so that meant that every night my mom would boil our (my dad and I each had our own) syringes and needles to sterilize them. This was the era before everything was disposable. Every morning I got up and had to take my shot. I never felt like it was a big deal. It was no different than getting up and brushing my teeth. Sometimes the shots really did hurt. Back then the needles were much thicker than the current ones so you’d feel them, especially when you hit certain spots close to nerves.

I had to stick to a somewhat restricted diet. The rule was, no sweets. That was hard for me. Watching other kids enjoy something I couldn’t have was never easy. There was a drug store in our neighborhood and the kids used to go there for candy all the time. I’d look at all the different kinds – Hershey bars, Turkish Taffy, Snickers, and really want to buy one but I’d always settle for the bag of Planter’s peanuts. If I complained to my mom that I wished I could buy the candy she’d tell me I should be glad there was a snack I could eat. And she was right. Sometimes I would cheat. There were times at a friend’s house I would eat candy or a couple of Oreos. I always felt guilty doing it and I’d promise myself that I wouldn’t do it again. But there always came another time when I’d bend the rule. Somehow, I think my parents knew when I cheated and just let me get away with it.

Two of the most important things I had to learn and understand were low blood sugars and insulin reactions. Sometimes if I took a shot and didn’t eat enough, my blood sugar level would drop. It could also happen with a lot of physical activity. When you hear about endurance athletes or marathoners “hitting the wall” they’re actually having insulin reactions. There’s not enough sugar in the blood system to sustain you and things start shutting down. You become very weak, lightheaded and disoriented. When I was young I knew the signs and would either eat the hard candy I always had with me, or drink a sugary drink. My parents taught me it wasn’t a huge emergency but I did have to take care of it. It was part of life.

However, when I got older I lost the ability to sense low blood sugars. This put me (and others) into dangerous situations. I would check my blood sugar before leaving work (portable meters finally came into existence) and it would be fine. But sometimes it dropped while I was driving and I would have no idea how to get home. This happened way too many times. The ability to tell myself, “Your sugar is low. Eat something” was gone. Sometimes my coworkers would notice I was slurring my speech and they would make me eat candy. I was always lucky to have good friends around me.

When I started dating my wife, I invited her over for a dinner that I was going to cook. While standing at the stove, I became so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open. She told me to lie down and she’d finish. Half an hour later she couldn’t wake me. She called the paramedics and after a shot of Glucagon, an injectable sugar, I came around. What an amazing person she is to deal with all the baggage I bring.

My parents never treated me as different. They never said, “You’re a diabetic, you can’t do that.” When I was a kid my friends and I used to roam the neighborhood on our bikes. We’d spend days and nights playing baseball until the sun was gone. I always had friends and they always knew I was a diabetic. It didn’t matter. I could do what everyone else did. My parents didn’t tell me that. That’s what they practiced. There were times I had to sit out of a ballgame for a while if I had a reaction, and I wasn’t able sleep at a friend’s house until I was old enough to fill my syringe properly and take my own shot. But that was it.

I’ve met others who have grown up with diabetes and their parents sheltered them. Some still lead sheltered lives as adults and it’s really too bad. Raising me the way my parents did taught me a lot. It prepared me for all the medical adventures to come, and gave me the capacity to accept them and then fight through them. Yes, diabetes is somewhat of a burden but it doesn’t mean you can’t lead a normal life.

This is what my parents instilled in me. It is the greatest life lesson and gift they ever could have given me.