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I had been feeling terrible for over a week. Hot flushes, constantly thirsty and getting little sleep due to getting up 3 or 4 times a night to go to the toilet. In typical male fashion, I chose to ignore the symptoms and avoid seeing a doctor. The crunch came when I was driving to the local football grand final. Although my vision wasn’t that bad, I had trouble reading the number plates on the car in front of me. At the game, I couldn’t read the advertising signs on the opposite side of the ground. It was then that I decided I must see a doctor the next day. I continued to drink can after can of Coke that afternoon, without being able to get rid of that “about to die of thirst” feeling. I mentioned it to a few people at the game. “You must have diabetes” they all replied jokingly. The next day I rang the doctor and made an appointment for mid-morning. My appointment came and my doctor asked all the appropriate questions, without giving me a clue as to what he might be thinking. I was expecting a course of something-or-other, and a couple of days off work. Once I mentioned my eyes playing up, I could sense the change in his demeanour. He sent me to the lab tech out the back, who gave me a finger prick test, and I still hadn’t caught on. The result read “HI” and the tech proceeded to perform the test twice more, believing that the glucose meter was playing up. Finally the doctor returned and asked what the result was. The tech explained the high reading, and the doctor said he suspected as much. The doctor informed me that I had diabetes and that I need to return to work to get my things and report straight to hospital where the local expert GP and diabetes educator would meet me. The first thing that sprung to mind was the needles. No one likes them, and I am no different. All I could envisage was a lifetime sentence of huge needles at every turn. I ended up staying in the hospital for a week, and day-by-day was given more information from the educator and dietician to understand my condition. I must admit that it didn’t help ease my concern when a nurse administered my first needle from a classic syringe. She told me that there was “better” needles for people with diabetes, but she wasn’t allowed to use them. Still didn’t help much. My first concern was that my life would be interrupted severely. Talks about having to manage my diet and always having enough (but not too much) glucose in the system led me to thoughts of not being able to walk around the block without stopping for a 3-course meal. To a bloke in his late twenties, whose pure existence was physical activity, this was devastating. It looked like an early retirement announcement to the boys at the local football and cricket clubs. Having raised this concern, more info was forth coming, namely some of the performances of AFL footballer Dale Weightman, who was diagnosed during his career. A chat with a local teenager who still played cricket was also beneficial. My second great concern was that I learnt that although I had no history of diabetes in my family, that it was in fact hereditary. I explained this to my wife, who broke down immediately. She was 4 months pregnant with our first child. There was no real way of comforting her. I didn’t know whether our baby would develop diabetes, and no one could tell me for sure either way. I think I got too much “long term damage” information too early. When you are just coming to terms with this diagnosis, all I could think of was dying 20 years too early, blind as a bat, having a heart attack. I had about a day of feeling sorry for myself. I asked the doctor whether the life sentence passed to me would go away, as my eyes were already much better. Once I was told straight down the line that I had to deal with it, I just accepted it and moved on. That evening I game myself my first needle. I can still remember my hand shaking so much, that it’s a wonder I didn’t pierce the skin in about a dozen different places. The first was the hardest. I stayed in hospital about a week. Halfway through I went for a walk across to the beach and out to the end of the pier. I was absolutely terrified that my sugar level would drop out and I would collapse. But of course, I survived. My diabetes educator said I was a star student. She was very supportive to both my wife and I. She even took the time to contact my work colleagues and explain the condition, and what to expect from me, so that when I chose to return to work, I could return as though nothing had happened. That was great for a bloke that doesn’t like to talk about such things to much. I was lucky. I had a great diet anyway, and was physically fit. Two out three lifestyle changes already down pat, the only thing to manage now was the insulin. I had the opinion that if I was going to “get something” then it could have been much worse than diabetes. I came from a scientific background as university and work, so grasping the principles of managing diabetes was easy. I could understand the lingo the health professionals used. I was also lucky to be diagnosed at that age. I’d been a teenager, gone to uni and done all the stupid things that young adults do. I’d done my partying, got my licence, met a girl who became my wife without the pressures of having to explain diabetes or shooting up with peer pressure, not being too different from anyone else and acceptance from friends was the most important thing in your life. I’d already played 13 years of senior footy, coached teams and won medals. But I did vow that this condition wouldn’t stop me from continuing to do whatever I wanted. And it hasn’t. Barry |